Kyuketsen

By SariaSubi-kun

SariaSubi: I know. I mostly do anime fanfics. I guess watching LOTR so many times knocked me into finally writing a fanfic about it. Now, I have a feeling this takes place after all the plot is over. Really, I have only watched the movies, so no, I have no clue what happens in "Return of the King" Maybe if I wait until the third movie comes out, I can clear the plot up. Just enjoy what this is, whether it goes along with the plot or not. Aragorn is king, Frodo and Sam are back in the Shire, and Legolas and Gimli live in Aragorn's kingdom…or...thing (that's in Gondor, right?). That's what I have so far. Please bear with me. If you have any suggestions, though, I would gladly accept them.

Feedback: saria@linkinpark.com or you could just review it.

I have a feeling we all know I'm not J. R. R. Tolkien, so we all know I don't own Lord of the Rings.

Nolinae – nah-lin-nay

Ryuernet – ree-yu-er-net

Hasinea/Hashinea – ha-shin-nay-a

Tarleon – tar-lee-on

Nianerve – nee-ah-ner-vay

Andoltos – an-dahl-tose

Sale – sah-lay

Chapter 1

             The wind blows steadily over the land of men and elves united. The orcs and evil monsters of the Evil King and White Wizard lay dead in the black bogs behind Mordor. The shadow of mists is gone and peace among men, dwarves, elves, and creatures of Middle Earth can be a thought to strive for.

            The kingdom of men can be trusted again. Their king has returned, and the people rejoice. Their shouts of triumph scream that war is over.

            Hope is all that we can give, to say that war is over forever.

            The dwarf walked over with his beloved axe as he walked to stand beside his elven companion who was watching over the land from his high position on the roof of the castle. He watched with his eyes as an eagle flew over the grasslands and off into the direction of the mountains. He whispered something in elfish, and a cold breeze ruffled both their cloaks in the wind.

            Gimli growled. "Such a damn cold is not needed in the summer," his dwarf tongue rolled with accent, "I hate these dratted cold winds coming from those mountains."

            Legolas scanned the skies. "They come from Forlindon." He looked from side to side and whispered, "These winds hail from the tops of the Blue Mountains outside of Forlindon."

            "Hmph," Gimli lifted up his belt, "Forlindon is far north. How could their winds reach us here?"

            "I don't know, Gimli," he shook his head, "I don't know."

            The land of Forlindon. For years, the snow-capped blue mountains have overlooked an empty land. Until about ten years ago.

            It was a dark night and those who walked the land around this time were foolish and considered lost to the dark. But to the east, there was a band of fleeing elves, some were men, some women and children. The land they lived on was banished from safety, raided by disaster and evil. They had lived in the dangerous lands outside of Mirkwood, where it was thought to be safe, but, no, it wasn't. Orcs had come to the small town and now they were on the run, leaving as much as possible behind, most running on foot beside the horses.

            The elves of Mirkwood had no time to help them. The residents of the small town were already gone before a warning cry could be shouted to the town's neighbors. The elves were escaping as fast as they could, the evil, hungry monsters on their trail. They just ran wherever the road seemed clear; they didn't dare run into a forest where they could get lost, or, even worse, run into more orcs. The feet and hooves both stomped the ground, both growing tired in the run, but they had to keep on running if they wanted to live a few more hours.

            A young girl who looked just barely ten was in the back of the group, on her brown mare that was given to her at birth. Her father's sword hung from her belt, and she held tight to the reins, making sure that the group was far ahead of her. She herself had volunteered to keep the orcs off, even with the objections of the older elves. For her, it seemed like there was nothing else. Her father's blood was dripping from the mouths of those orcs. If anything, she would slaughter even just one to get her revenge.

            But deep inside she was frightened. Her body shook on the bare back of her horse, her hands trembling as she held the reins, but she pressed on. She had to if she wanted to keep the last of her clan alive.

            A bow and quiver hung on her back, bouncing with each gallop. She prayed that she would not run out if the orcs gained fast on her, for she knew there were hundreds. She cursed; there was a way to lose them, but she was in the far back…there was no way to get to the front and lead everyone to safety. They would be slaughtered anyways because no one would be guarding them. She shook her head, tears flying out of her eyes in the immense wind that was blowing her long hair in directions behind her. She was to remain in the back and keep the people safe.

            "Nolinae!" she shrieked as the pounding feet came nearer, "NOLINAE!"

            A young woman with dark brown hair longer than hers turned her head around. She was at the tail of the group, galloping on a white steed that was taller than her. Her piercing eyes looked at the girl desperately. She had little time to say anything.

            "Nolinae, tell Ryuernet to lead them across the stream and take the back! Let me be up front!"

            The older elf nodded, her horse losing speed. The girl nodded gratefully and urged her horse forward, passing Nolinae. She urged the steed to rush past the running people, who were frantic about her, up to the front, where on another white horse a tall elf with long brown hair, similar to Nolinae's, was ahead of the people, leading the group towards the stream ahead.

            "Ryuernet!" she called.

            He turned his head to face her, and a look of utter disbelief and shook crossed his worried face. "Hasinea! What in hell's name are you doing up here? Who is leading the back!"

            "Nolinae is!" she shouted over the loud commotion, "I have a way we can escape!"

            Ryuernet didn't look pleased. The back was now in danger and a child, with so little wisdom of escape and battle to his 5,000 years, was telling him to let her lead the group to safety from orcs that were gaining on them faster and faster by the mere second.

            "Please!" she pleaded, her face twisting with disparity and despondence. Ryuernet frowned deeply. She was the prized daughter of Tarleon and Nianerve, the descendant of the founders of their now-destroyed city, Andoltos and Sale, and his bride. He knew Hasinea was to be the leader of the clan one day. He looked down solemnly, knowing this would be her first, and maybe her last, claim to leadership. It was just that she was so young.

            Reluctantly, the older elf nodded, and let they young girl take the lead. She stopped her steed for a moment and looked back on her people. Her people. She raised her sword in the air. Triumphantly she shouted, "This way!" She galloped forward with a burst of speed, the hooves of her mare splashing in the cold water of the stream. The elves lifted their skirts and tunics and trudged through the icy water as quickly as they could. Hasinea waved them to keep running as she posted her horse at the end of the stream. Her hazel eyes searched for Nolinae's white stallion. Please, Nolinae. Come quickly. She knew that Nolinae was like Lady Arwen of Rivendell; she could raise the water. If she did that, the water would spill out, clearing the scent of the elves, and delaying the orcs. Her plan had to work.

            "Nolinae!" she called, and her face softened when she saw the white stallion galloping, its mane flying in the wind, both the rider and horse so full of majesty and grace. Nolinae looked up for just a moment, and nodded, knowing her task. Hasinea smiled and took one last glance as Nolinae crossed the stream, the orcs close behind her.

            As she sped away to the front of the group, the last thing she saw of the elder elf was the rising of the water.

            "Yah!" she urged the brown mare. The mare was a bit like her; young, inexperienced, and slow. But its senses were sharp and very alert. The horse had been Hasinea's best friend since she was an infant. But she was still a child.

            Her shoulder-length blonde hair flew behind her, and again she raced to the front of the fleeing elves. "Ryuernet!" she called to him in the front, "head around the Misty Mountains! We should go around Fangorn and by then we should be in Rohan."

            "Around?" he was riding next to her, shouting over the loud commotion. "But if that leads us to Rohan, we can settle there."

            "No!" Hasinea yelled. "The orcs can find us there! We'll stand out too much. We have to continue north from there!"

            "Why?" he disagreed with her. If they were in Rohan, he thought, they would be safe! Why must she look to strain the others even more?

            "I mean," she shook her head in frustration, "we can rest there, but for a short time. If the orcs pick up our trail again, they'll head to Rohan and then attack the people there! We'll be putting innocent lives in danger!"

            "What about your own people, Hasinea!" Ryuernet shouted at her, the anger creeping up his spine. She was very smart for a ten year old, he had to admit, but this was ludicrous.

            "We'll be fine! And besides, we can borrow horses from Rohan and have the group ride on those."

            "How will we return the horses?"

            "Never mind!" she screamed. Ryuernet stopped his interrogation. The child was only ten, and he was, what, thousands of years older? He shouldn't put so much weight on her shoulders. He should be helping her. But somehow…she was helping him.

            A mere child? he thought to himself. But he shook his head, and forced himself to look forward. He could see the sun rising above the Misty Mountains up ahead. Turn, he remembered the order, and go to Rohan. Continue from there.

            She was his leader now. He had to obey her.

            "Turn right here!" he lifted his arm towards the fleeing elves. The stopped and looked at Ryuernet, the tall figure on his white stallion, and the little girl Hasinea, on her less regal brown mare. Their faces were distraught and strewn with worry for their lives. But Hasinea was strong, and she nodded.

            "Onward!" she shouted, her very voice changing from the softness of a young girl's to the strong, commanding tenor of a leader. Ryuernet stopped his steed to admire her.

            The little girl had grown up.

            The trip was long and weary. There were even ones of the people, which consisted of not only elves, but humans and half-elves too, men, women, and children all, that had been left behind at some other small towns to catch up with the group later. There were three deaths.

            They marched into Eriador, around the Shire and through the River Lune. Through few boats they crossed the Gulf of Lune. Hasinea and Ryuernet were in the lead of the group, with high hopes that the Green Elves of Forlindon would welcome them in.

            There were no Green Elves. Just a barren land of trees and rivers, and steep slopes from the Blue Mountains.

            There was no one there.

            Whatever life had been in Forlindon had disappeared without a trace.

            Hasinea urged her horse in front, and through her young and scared eyes, they frantically searched the lands.           

            She turned to Ryuernet, her voice cracking as she spoke. "Ryuernet…there's no one here. Why…how…?"

            He shook his head in disbelief, grave anxiety crossing his aged face. Ryuernet turned and looked down at Hasinea, who was trembling and cold.

            "Hasinea, where is Nolinae?"
            Her teeth chattering, the young girl looked back on the group, who was grouped together, distressed and scared, huddling together to keep each other warm. But this time, she did not see the majestic white stallion. She did not see the graceful elf. All she saw was barren green hills and her people, scared and white with cold.

            "Ryuernet," she surveyed the land, "Nolinae will catch up with us. I know she will. For now, let us start this land anew. This is our home now. We now are the elves and humans both of Forlindon. This, now, is our land."

            But that was ten years ago.

            Legolas rubbed his ungloved hands together, blowing warm air on them. The winds were starting to pick up speed, and it was growing more and more colder outside by the minute. He had asked Gimli to accompany him inside, but the dwarf was used to this cold. Legolas was too, but he'd rather be inside.

            The stone lined walls of the Gondor castle were lit with torches, and there were maids, guards, and soldiers walking about, bowing with a "Master Legolas" when they saw him. The prince of Mirkwood walked through the citadel, searching for Aragorn. There was a feeling something wasn't in place, something wasn't in balance. Like the winds were cold for a reason. As if they were carrying a message towards him, but what?

            "Legolas." When the strong voice called to him, he knew at once it was Aragorn. He turned around, a warm smile on his face. Aragorn walked over to Legolas and stood before his elven friend and put his arms on his shoulders. "Just the person I was looking for. Where's Gimli?"

            "Outside," he responded, "he didn't mind the cold. He said he wanted to get some fresh air."

            "Ah, yes," Aragorn removed his strong hands and put them behind his back, and walked over to the window nearest them. The hallway was empty now, and only the two were there. Outside, the green of the land and the mountains far in the distance bordered Gondor, the towns and people, the bustling streets below them.

            "What did you want me for, Aragorn?" Legolas asked softly, his voice light but his face lined with alertness.

            Aragorn let out a slow breath and shook his head, looking down as he stroked his gristly beard. "Do you feel that wind, Legolas?" he looked to the blue and gray sky, the clouds moving fast with a bolster from the wind. Legolas looked up as well, and his face crossed with worry.

            "You feel it, don't you, Legolas?" Aragorn asked, still looking at the sky.

            "Yes, I do. I felt it when I was outside earlier, and I suspect Gimli is starting to feel it too. These winds are coming from Eredluin, the Blue Mountains in the north."

            Aragorn looked down at this hands again, trying to find something to piece together on the matter. "These winds send us something, I just can't tell what."

            "Do you think we should consult Gandolf?" Legolas put his head back inside, rubbing his arms as he walked to the opposite, and warmer, side of the corridor.

            Aragorn shrugged. "I have the feeling he will arrive here soon."

            "But that isn't what's coming."

            "No, it isn't," he shook his head, "but Gandolf feels it too, I know it. Maybe," he looked up at the blonde elf, "you are right, and we need to consult him. Come now, it's almost supper. I'm sure," he chuckled lightly, "Gimli wouldn't miss a meal."

            "Yes," a smile formed on Legolas' face, "we can't keep him waiting."         

            Aragorn laughed in response. "Come then, let's go." After passing through some more hallways and corridors, going down some more flights of stairs, the pair entered the dining hall, where, sure enough, Gimli was seating, fork and knife in hand. Aragorn seated himself next to the dwarf, and Legolas next to him. Just as they sat down, however, a scout burst through the doors, breathing heavily.

            Aragorn shot up. "What is it, lad?"

            The young boy stood up straight, though found it hard when he had so much breath to catch. He had lost it all running there. "A…sentry…"

            "Woah, calm down, lad," Aragorn walked over to him and rested his hand on the boy's shoulder. He leaned in as Legolas and Gimli joined him. The boy took a few deep breaths. "Now, what was it you were saying?"

            He looked up, his young face tired. "A sentry…on the outskirts…saw…army…about nine hundred men…marching…this way. Had to…alarm you, sir." Aragorn lifted his hand and balled it into a fist at his side. He soon forgot about his meal and walked past the boy, the dwarf and the elf behind him.

            "Aye," Gimli huffed, "do you think this is what we were feelin'?" he looked up at Aragorn and Legolas, whose eyes were focused straight forward.

            "I don't know, Gimli. Legolas, ready your bow."

            "Right."

            "Gimli?"

            "Aye," he patted his belt were his ax hung. "She's right here."

            "Good," Aragorn nodded, and pushed open the doors to the outside. Already people were in crowds as the swarm of soldiers walked nearer to the city gates.

            Aragorn clutched the hilt of his sword, taking a deep breath, and readied himself.