Author's Note: Welcome back all to the sequel to Bâhukhazâd. This story has been long in the making and even longer in the thinking, but in between work and social obligations I have found little time to write recently. As such, I have gotten less far in the actual writing than I wished. However, I do have the first 10 chapters thought out, so at least that part is over.
As for this story, I must say I have never actually written a sequel before, so I hope I will be able to write something that will be captivating in itself as well as be true to the original story. In all honesty, I have less of clear thought-out plan than I did for Bâhukhazâd, except that I just could not imagine Ardhoniel living through the War of the Ring without somehow getting involved. So there you have it.
I hope you enjoy this first chapter. If you do, don't forget to let me know!
Chapter one: Split decisions and self-preservation
When the low drum of many heavy feet falling on the forest floor in synchrony reached her ears, Ardhoniel of Imladris was about ready to write it off as a hallucination of her tired mind. She had set off from the Rohirric settlement of Walstow four days ago, where she had left behind her best friend and a grieving family, and had not had a wink of sleep ever since. These were dark times, and the roads had become unsafe even during the day when Orcs would lay low. Any moment of in attention, no matter how short, could cost one their life. Fortunately, however, the Elleth had managed to avoid any trouble. Thus far, that is.
The drumming had started as a low background noise, so low in fact that she could hardly say when exactly she had first started hearing it. However, it steadily became louder, until her heart picked up its rapid beat and she surveyed her surroundings anxiously.
And then it had stopped. Or rather, it fell apart in a cacophony of single steps, each with their own rhythm and sound. Far worse however, was the unmistakable sound of clashing metal that soon joined in and caused her to freeze up in her saddle. Her sensitive Elven ears now also picked up on the grunts and cries of pain, and it was a small mercy that so far all of them had sounded inhuman. As she well knew, however, the luck of the other party could only last so long – and in the end, someone was bound to get hurt. Or worse.
Quite unconsciously, she had brought her horse to a halt, grey eyes staring off into the thicket of the forest as the youngest daughter of Lord Elrond contemplated what to do. From the sounds of it, there were many of the creatures – and in daytime too – and her logical (and terrified) mind knew that she alone would not be able to turn the tide if the battle would take a turn for the worse. Besides, she continued to reason to herself, this was not her fight. Should she have to risk her life for people she did not even know?
Her answer came in the form of a resounding horn, its call desperate as it echoed through the forest. Although it was unlike anything she had ever heard, the call brought her back to another time, another battle – another fight which had not been hears to fight. Was she truly to abandon these people, whoever they were, to their fates?
Another second passed in which Ardhoniel sat frozen on Nimloth, righteousness battling cowardice, before, quite on their own accord it seemed, her hands pulled at the reins and she forced her mount in the direction of the battle.
As she shot through the forest, catching flashes of great, black creatures between the trees, the horn sounded again, even more urgent this time. And then she broke over a hill – and that is when she saw him. Encircled by Orcs, the size of which she had never seen, swinging his sword around him in a last attempt at defense as two arrows already protruded from his chest. As he reached for his horn again, the Elleth spotted one of the creatures a little ways to her right, slowly drawing its black bow, arrow cocked as it took aim for what would surely be the finishing shot.
And suddenly she was moving again, the powerful horse beneath her dashing through the moving bodies, her own eyes fixed on her target as she tried to reach for her sword but found it to be out of reach. Were it not for the adrenaline coursing through her body, for the knowledge that if she did not succeed this man would surely die, she may have faltered here, the lack of a plan triggering a sense of self-preservation. But she didn't falter, didn't slow down her horse, and when she came within striking distance, Ardhoniel used all of her power to kick herself off of the mount – and right onto the bow-wielding creature.
Her momentum caused both of them to roll onto the forest floor, but did much less in terms of damage than it would have to a regular Orc. In fact, when this particular creature got back to his feet, he seemed little worse for wear – and only angered by her interruption.
For a moment, she stood frozen as the creature advanced on her, a crude black sword now in its hand. Then, Ardhoniel did the only logical thing that is left to do when one is facing down an opponent without a weapon of one's own. She bolted.
As she skidded down the small hill, she frantically looked around herself for Nimloth, but figured that the animal must have fled from the scene in a sense of self-preservation – a sense that she, apparently, lacked. Although she was not concerned the animal would have gone too far away, it did mean that she remained rather unarmed. Moreover, in her distraction, it seemed she had led the great Orc exactly where it had wanted to go; to the injured Man who by this time had sunk to his knees.
With one glance at him, Ardhoniel set her jaw, pulling out the small golden-hilted dagger from her boot as she turned around to face her foe. She was all the defence this Man had left – and she would not leave him to his fate.
The Orc – or Uruk-hai, as she would soon learn – was not impressed by her choice of weapon, and its mouth pulled into a menacing grin as he advanced on her. Ardhoniel, in turn, raised the dagger in front of her, arm shaking and eyes wide in terror but nevertheless refusing to back down. She readied herself for the first swing, hoping she could somehow dodge the wicked black blade long enough to deal some damage of her own.
But her defence soon proved to be unnecessary, for just like that, the creature's head rolled off of his shoulders, coming to a stop near her feet – and revealing a familiar dark-haired Man behind it.
'Aragorn?' She questioned incredulously, but the address was lost on the Dúnedan, for as soon as the Orc was killed, he rushed past her and towards the wounded Man. Two more figures came sprinting by, one tall and clad in forest greens and a smaller figure in browns and reds. As she noticed them, Ardhoniel too noticed in surprise that during her show-down – if it could even be called such – much of the other creatures had been taken care off. All of the others had strangely chosen to retreat, drawing from the forest like poison from a wound.
That returned her thoughts to her original purpose in engaging the great Orc, and she turned around to find Aragorn, and the two figures she had seen pass moments before, kneeled in front of the Man.
'Forgive me, I did not see… I have failed you all,' the wounded Man said, his voice coloured with shame. As she stepped up, Ardhoniel noticed the silver tree embroidered on his outer tunic – and the blood that stained the fabric. Both arrows had sunk deeply into his flesh and though it appeared they had missed his vital organs at least, both wounds were bleeding profusely. He was surely to die if nothing was done.
'I am a Healer,' she blurted out suddenly, at the same time as the fact occurred to her in her own mind. The conversation between the two Men fell quiet, and Aragorn turned to her.
'You can heal him?' He asked her in Sindarin. 'His wounds are grave.'
'I can try,' Ardhoniel relented. 'Without medical attention he is sure to die.' Her eyes shifted from the grey-eyed Dúnedan's to those of the other company members – where she was surprised not once, but twice more.
Her eyes lingered for a moment on the fair-haired Ellon in the company, his appearance here puzzling her as much as making her wonder as to the purpose of this curious company. The last time she had seen Legolas had been nearly 80 years ago, on a day both of them had lost someone they cared about. Ardhoniel quickly shifted her attention to the final member of the group, a red-haired Dwarf whom she did not know directly, but nevertheless sparked a sense of familiarity in her. Before she could give the matter any more thought, Aragorn spoke once more.
'Our boats are tied up by the riverbank; feel free to help yourself to anything you may need. We are greatly indebted to you,' he inclined his head.
'You mean not to follow them?' Legolas spoke, his words more a statement than a question.
'Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands.'
'Then it has all been in vain,' the Dwarf concluded with a deep set to his eyebrows, 'The fellowship has failed.'
'Not if we hold true to each other. If we leave now, we may still save Merry and Pippin from torment and death.' He gestured towards the boats, 'Leave all that can be spared behind; we travel light.'
Before leaving, Aragorn's eyes once more found Ardhoniel's and he gave her a nod before the strange trio disappeared between the trees.
A second passed in which Ardhoniel was left to stare at the treeline. Then, remembering herself – and the dying Man who was now propped up against the base of a tree – she whistled loudly, and a second later Nimlothappeared, a little shaken but luckily no worse for wear it seemed. As she untied some of the bags and pouches from the animal, the Elleth could swear she saw movement – two small figures with mops of curly hair – on the opposite bank of the lake, but she had no time to linger on it. She crouched down next to the Man, finding that his eyes had drifted shut, and feared for one terrifying moment that she was too late. Her gaze drifted once more to the embroidered white tree on his torso, a symbol of the courage of Men – or so it had been at one point, long ago, before the kingdom of Gondor had fallen into despair and dilapidation.
'Leave me,' the Man suddenly choked out, and she found his grey and bloodshot eyes had snapped open, 'I do not deserve to be saved.'
'I cannot judge the truth of those words,' she said bluntly, as her hand touched his comfortingly, 'And it is not to me to pass such judgment; nor to you. But I do know one thing: your friends did not leave you in my care without difficulty, and I find that the manner in which his companions treat him says a lot about a Man. Now lie still and brace yourself, son of Gondor, while I remove these arrows; they have gone deep and it will no doubt cause great pain to remove them.'
Despite the somewhat morbid note at which they ended, her words seemed to calm the Man who had been so adverse to her help initially, for he simply closed his eyes, balling his hands to fists and nodded.
Regardless of his resolve, an agonized scream soon rang through the quiet forest and Ardhoniel tried to be as gentle as possible when she cleaned and bandaged the wounds. At that moment, in the back of her mind, she knew she would not be returning to Lothlórien anytime soon.