Part One
Awakening
"Oi, you! Paws off! I found 'er first!"
"Shudup you slimy maggot! I ain't had no food for three days! I'm deserving of a bite of man flesh every now and then."
"Well I haven't a decent meal in four, but you know who's gonna be cross if we eat 'er without telling no one! One mouthful of spindly meat ain't worth dying for, I don't reckon."
"Eh, you're right, much as I hate to say it. Might as well continue on. Glom'll find 'er soon enough."
My head is spinning wildly as I begin to come to. Hard footfalls shake the ground beneath me as they fade away into the distance. The creatures I heard talking earlier must not deem me desirable enough for a meal. The tongue in which they spoke was a strange and garbled form of Black Speech. Their words were barely intelligible in my own ears, despite my extensive knowledge of languages. All I know is that they fill my waking self with dread. Every muscle in my body feels as if it has been dipped into the fires of Mount Doom itself. My lungs ache in protest as I draw in a deep breath. Even my eyelids feel as if they are lined with thorns, and thus it is an immense relief when I manage to open them.
Snow. That's the first thing I see. The white flakes fall daintily onto my cheeks and lashes, and I blink them away in shock. Since when did it snow on the Brown Plains?
Mustering up my strength, I use my arms to help push myself up into a sitting position. As soon as I put weight on my right arm, however, a sharp pain in my bicep moves me to let out a small gasp. I glance down at it and immediately feel a wave of nausea sweep over me when I take in the gruesome sight. A thick stream of blood is trickling lazily down my arm and onto my wrist. At its source lies a deep slash that cuts a jagged pattern into my muscle. The wound is sticky with darkened blood that has stained the surrounding skin a deep shade of cherry. The reddened fabric that was once called my sleeve now hangs limply from my arm. I shudder slightly, not wanting to know how the injury came to be.
Driven by a spasm of panic, I stumble wearily to my feet and look myself over. The rest of my cream-colored attire appears mostly intact, but as I stretch out my legs I notice that my tan boots are splattered with a strange black substance. Frowning, I bend down to get a closer look. It only takes a moment for me to inspect the thick liquid before I realize it to be tar.
"How strange," I mutter under my breath.
Where in the world am I?
My memories blur together in a dense cloud of fog; there was a fight, and a nasty one at that. I recall fending off a band of Orcs and, judging by my wound, it is my guess that one of them cut my arm with a blade or knife. A bright surge of agony strikes my brain, and I cannot delve any deeper into memories without the risk of making myself faint. Shaking my head, I satisfy myself with peering around at my surroundings.
The steady fall of snow obscures a small portion of my vision, but I can still make out that I am surrounded by a dense group of leafless trees that seem to stretch out for miles in either direction. Birds chirp happily in the naked branches above me, singing songs of the growth and new life that are to come with the spring. They are either oblivious to my existence or seem not to care that I am here.
Their soft melodies ring sweetly in my ears, and I can't help but smile as I look up at the towering treetops. Never before have I seen such natural beauty up close. The barren plains in which I live are nothing in comparison. They harbor no more than dust and decay. I take several tentative steps forward and brush my fingers against one of the frozen trunks. The bark feels cold and rough beneath my fingertips, and the shock of it sends chills racing down my spine. I suddenly feel like a child again, remembering the time when my father showed me the woods of Lothlorien. It was during a winter such as this, when the sky was hazed with rolling clouds, and the wolves of the North had moved on to other lands. I recall him lifting me onto his shoulders so that I could catch a glimpse of the massive forest to the west of us.
The Elves live there, don't they father? I had asked him. Wouldn't we be able to say hello to them? I have always wanted to meet an Elf. They seem so wonderful.
The Elves of Lothlorien are not as welcoming to Men as they once were, my dear, he replied in a solemn tone. It is a shame how trust can be lost so easily. The Elves are indeed a wonderful folk: perhaps we shall one day rekindle the friendship that was once shared between our races. My father sighed as I clutched onto his shoulders, craning my head out towards the magnificent wood.
I look forward to when we can, I exclaimed happily, my youthful mind open to the idea of befriending Lothlorien Elves, or any other Elves for that matter. I had always admired them greatly.
The vision from the past is so vivid that I have to shake my head to be rid of it. My father taught me to never dwell on what has already been said and done. For it is the future that we are able to change, not our memories.
I turn my attention to the tree before me and briefly consider climbing it. Perhaps I might be able to get an idea of where I am from a higher vantage point. I ponder for a moment, absentmindedly knawing on the inside of my cheek. But just when I am about to grip onto the branch closest to me, I hear it.
A howl. It is a terrible, jarring thing that sends waves of fear coursing through my veins. My eyes widen, and I whirl around to press my back against the trunk. Clutching my injured shoulder, I barely contain a scream of terror as an enormous Warg bounds out from behind a large pine. Its brown fur is covered in drifts of snow, which it shakes off in agitation. I notice then that atop the beast sits a hideous creature with a wrinkled grey face and a sword in its hand. Only one word comes to my mind that could possibly identify the monster. It is an Orc. This one is much bigger than any of the others I have faced.
Stop it, stop frightening yourself! You have to get out of this…. Think!
"Ah, so the human has awoken," garbles the Orc in common tongue. The Warg growls menacingly. "It would've been better if you would've never woken at all, filth. Orcs love fresh meat."
My hands tremble, but I force myself to reply. "I see. Well, I hope you don't mind me asking, but where am I?"
The Orc's grizzled brow furrows, and the wolf snarls and flexes its claws. Saliva drips from its slavering jowls. I grimace as I imagine its yellowed fangs sinking into my flesh.
"Lost, are we?" the Orc scoffs.
"I'm afraid so," I reply, desperately trying to hide the waver in my voice. "But if I am going to be eaten, then I would like to die knowing where I am. Now if you please, where, in fact, am I?"
"You're in a forest, you miserable maggot!"
Orcs. Their brain seems to decrease the larger they get.
"Pray, do be specific." I spread out my arms. "This is, after all, a rather large country!"
A terrible sneer comes upon the Orc's face as he draws a second, rather evil looking sword from his belt. As if one sword wasn't enough to kill me. I am badly wounded and, much to my dismay, utterly defenseless.
"You are near the borders of Mirkwood, if you must know." The Warg kneads the frozen ground eagerly as its master clicks his teeth together. The Orc's black eyes glint with malice as he continues. "And you have just been unlucky enough to be found by several of my scouts." He leaps off of the Warg and begins to advance towards me, swords in both hands.
"Am I, now?" I ask nervously, slowly inching my way around the tree as the monster advances. "Well I wouldn't necessarily consider myself unlucky if this is the case. You see, there is a very lovely race of people that lives near here who would not hesitate to skewer you right through your filthy black heart. Do you know who I speak of, monster?"
"Do not speak of the treacherous elves to me, scum!" The creature roars and lunges. I just manage to duck as the a sword nearly separates my head from my shoulders.
"Who said I was talking about elves?" I say, dodging a vicious swipe to my stomach. "I could have been talking about mountain trolls! You do seem to have a rather large number of enemies, from what I've heard." Another swipe, this time closer, and the tip of the sword nicks my right eyebrow. I recoil in shock as blood dribbles down into my eye, blinding me momentarily. I try desperately to blink the red substance away, and my vision clears just enough for me to see the butt of the sword swinging down towards my head. It hits me hard in the temple, knocking me to the ground. My back slams against the trunk of a frozen tree, and I gasp in pain.
Dizzy and wounded, I watch as the Orc casts aside his first sword and clutches the second blade with both hands. The fight must have gone easier than he expected. The beast raises the weapon above his head, preparing to decapitate me. I frantically claw at the earth surrounding my wounded form, desperately searching for any means to fend off the blow. Then, just as the Orc brings the blade screaming down towards my face, my fingers brush against something hard and cold. I grasp the object and thrust it towards the descending blade.
A shower of sparks rains down on me as the weapon collides with the stone in my hand. The sword glances off of it and embeds itself deeply into the tree trunk beside me. The Orc let out a howl of annoyance as he tugs against the hilt, attempting to rip the weapon from the thick wood. As the creature struggles to free the blade, I spy a small throwing dagger tucked into his belt. Seeing my chance, I lash out and manage to snag the weapon. The Orc seems not to notice as he finally yanks the sword free and glowers down upon me.
"You thought you could beat me," he sneers mockingly. "You thought you could win."
I will myself to ignore his taunting, but something in the Orc's tone surfaces an emotion within me that I have not felt in a very long time.
Rage; pure, blind rage.
My tired expression contorts into something much more menacing, and I feel strength return to my muscles. As the Orc brings down its sword once more, I raise up my hand and throw the knife. The weapon hurdles through the air before finding its mark, sinking deep into the exposed flesh of the Orc's throat. The grey creature lets out a surprised gurgle as it looks down at the blade protruding from its neck. A semi-hysterical smile curls at my lips as the foul beast stumbles back several steps. This is a short delay before the Orc collapses to his knees, then falls face-first into the snow. I let out a strained gasp. The creature is dead.
However, my fight is not over yet.
The brown Warg, having patiently watched the fight between me and its master unfold, steps forward and bends down to sniff the fallen Orc. It wrinkles its enormous nose in distaste before turning to look at me, fangs bared. It starts to advance. A sick sense of humor twists in my mind, and I laugh once. Just my luck. Not only did I have to kill the Orc, but now it's Warg wants in on the action.
However, despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the battle with the Orc has done nothing but weaken me further. I have no way to stop myself as I roll over onto my side, wheezing painfully in the frosty air.
No, Keira. Get up, echoes a voice from somewhere in my being. Get up and fight.
But my muscles have done all they can. As I lay bleeding on the ground, I hear the heavy tread of the wolf as it advances towards me. I glance upwards, hardly surprised when I find its face looking down upon me. Its dark eyes shine bright with anger, but I feel no fear as I gaze up into them. I have had much experience with eyes such as these. They do not faze me as they once did.
I cringe as black saliva drips from the Warg's fangs and down onto my cheek. Hot breath pants against my face. So this is the end, I think to myself. This is how I will die. I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for my throat to be torn open.
Suddenly, the sharp blast of a horn cuts through the frozen air. It is a clear and beautiful sound, unlike the ugly screeching of those made by Orcs and Goblins. My eyes fly open, and the Warg tenses and growls. It knows just as well as I that the sound is not the bugle of its masters. The wolf lets out an angry yowl and steps back off of me, hackles raised. When it glances down at me again, and I note that its eyes are filled with something other than anger. Fear.
I lean up into a sitting position, using my good arm to steady myself as the world seems to careen out of control. I blink rapidly in order to focus my vision. A large lump from where the Orc hit me with the sword throbs on my temple, and the wound has made me horribly dizzy. It takes all the strength I have not to collapse once more. But somehow, even in my injured state, the horn blast had given me hope that all is not yet lost. That maybe, just maybe, I can get out of this alive. I have been thrust into hazardous situations before-granted, none of them remotely similar to this one-and survived. How is this any different?
Gathering up enough courage I can muster, I speak.
"Warg of the Dark Lands," I say in a rough form of Black Speech, similar to the strain spoken by the Orcs. "Beast born of the Fires of Mordor. You have been raised a slave of the evil which inhabits your land." The wolf recoils with a snarl as if my words have physically struck it.
"I can help you," I continue. "We can help each other. I have freed you from your service of the Orc. Can you not return the favor by letting me live? Go now, spare the one who as saved you, and live a free life." The Warg cocks its head and takes a step forward.
"I speak no lie. Go now, while you still can."
The creature continues to slink towards me, but it now appears curious more than anything. After all, it's not every day that its prey can speak to it. I extend my arm out and point towards the forest.
"Go," I command. My palms have grown dank in my nervousness. Sweat begins to drip from my hand, stinging the sword wound. The Warg does not pay me heed, and terror courses through my veins when I hear the low growl emanating from within its throat. The beast is so close to me that I now notice the thin white scars decorating the bridge of its nose. The look of malice tucked away beneath its narrowed eyes.
Then, before I even have time to react, the Warg lunges.
I yank my arm back just in the nick of time, and there is a painful crack as powerful jaws close on nothing but free air. The Warg bristles in agitation. I stumble over to the side, half-crawling, half-walking around the width of the tree. Anything to get away from the creature. Fear and adrenaline are the only things moving my limbs, along with the blind hope that I might be able to escape.
The Warg seems to have other ideas.
Its hackles are raised to their full height as it advances towards me, massive paws crunching over the frozen ground. Despite the adrenaline coursing through me, I am only able to retreat a foot or so away before my back collides with yet another obstacle. I glance over my shoulder to find a massive tree trunk, far bigger than the one before, blocking my path. Dread sweeps over me when I realize that I might not be able to get around it in time. With a cringe of horror, I realize that I am as good as dead. Fatigue finally sets in as I slump against the tree, reluctantly accepting my defeat as the Warg prowls towards me. Its tongue passes over its lips; the scent of blood must smell irresistible. I feel sick when I imagine what will be left of me when the creature has had its fill.
It is in that moment when my gaze flickers to something long and dark lying several feet next to me. I turn my head towards the object and narrow my eyes, willing my vision to swim back into focus. When it finally clears, I realize with a start that the dark smudge is one of the Orc blades. I vaguely remember the beast casting it aside as it prepared to slay me.
Heavy blood loss has made me dizzy and light-headed, but even in my convoluted state I am able to realize that the sword might be the only chance I have of survival. I blink several times before stretching my arm out towards it. My fingers barely brush the hilt.
Just… a little… farther…
Another horn blast, this one closer and louder, but I don't think anything of it. The Warg, however, seems to know something I don't. It glances nervously out into the forest before whipping its head back round to face me. Its muscles tense and then, eyes glittering savagely, the beast lunges for my throat. Its jaws are inches from severing my head when I hear something whiz through the air, followed closely by a dull thud as it impacts the Warg.
The creature lets out a terrible scream as it falls backwards off of me. My eyes widen with shock when I see the long feathered arrow protruding from the beast's side. The Warg writhes in pain, but its agony appears to be short lived, for hardly a moment has passed before the creature charges towards me once more. It is halted by an arrow to the neck. The wolf freezes in place, jaws agape, beady eyes pinched with hatred, before collapsing to the ground. A gurgling noise rises up from the beast's throat as a wave of blood spills out from the between gaps in its fangs, staining the ground beneath it an unpleasant shade of crimson. A racking spasm shakes the Warg's body once, twice, and then thrice before alas, the dying beast goes still.
The stunned silence that ensues is long and dragging. The birds that I once heard singing happily in the trees above have gone quiet. The only sound that remains is that of my heartbeat drumming in my ears. I look around, searching for any signs of life. The arrows had to some from somewhere! Then I hear it. A low, rustling sound, like the quick footfalls of some sort of animal. I frown slightly and reach for the sword.
"Do not move."
The deep voice startles me, and I jump, cringing as my wounded shoulder protests against the sharp moment. I whip my head to the side and let out a small shriek.
Six figures clad in forest green attire stand several feet away from me, longbows in hand. Each has an arrow knocked and pointing at me. I cannot make out their faces, for they are shadowed by the hoods that hang down over their foreheads, but there is an air about them that demands respect.
"Who are you?" asks the one closest to me. A puff of hot air emanating from inside the hood gives away the speaker.
"You have my thanks," I state quickly, his question having fallen on deaf ears. "I presume that it was you who killed the Warg?"
"I asked for your name, not for your formalities." A distinct accent is threaded into his words, though is not of any like I have heard before.
"Forgive me," I say, clearing my throat awkwardly. "I am Kiera, daughter of Byron, Lord of Brunsfarrow. I hail from..." My voice cracks, and I trail off, overcome by sorrowful thoughts. The steel arrow tips gleam dangerously in the light of the winter sun. I blink nervously. "From where I hail is not important. Let me assure you that I mean you all no harm, whoever you may be."
The person closest to me hesitates a moment before lowering their bow. The others quickly follow suit but keep the weapons held ready at their sides. The lithe figure then steps towards me, as if to introduce himself, when a sharp whinny cuts him off. I instinctively turn towards the sound and watch as a fast-moving shape appears on the horizon. It takes me only a matter of seconds to identify the creature.
A magnificent white stallion gallops towards us, weaving agilely through the gaps in the trees. It leaps swiftly over a tree root protruding out from the forest floor, muscles rippling beneath its glistening coat. Never before have I seen a horse move at such break-neck speeds, and through a dangerous terrain, nonetheless. The swift creature is upon us in a matter of moments, much to my utter amazement, and comes to a stop several feet in front of me. The animal rears up and lets out a squeal of fright upon noticing the body of the Warg, and it is then when I notice that the horse bears a rider. He is shrouded in a midnight blue cloak, and I watch as he leans forward to whisper something inaudible into the animal's ear. It takes a few moments, but the horse eventually calms enough to come to rest on all fours. The rider strokes the creature's neck soothingly before unclasping the front of the cloak and allowing it to fall from his shoulders.
My jaw goes slack.
The face I am met with is fair and smooth, framed by high cheekbones and dark eyebrows sparsely flecked with gold. Blue eyes, gleaming like the palest of sapphires, rest beneath them. I find myself just as drawn into them as a moth is towards a light. An ageless wisdom seems to be buried within their mesmerizing depths, and beneath that a history that I cannot even begin to uncover.
The stranger's lips are pursed into a thin line as he angles his chin upward, finally acknowledging my presence. A sudden gust of wind furls through the air, ruffling the long, white-gold hair that drapes loosely over his shoulders. Several strands blow into his face, revealing two small braids that adorn his temples. Pointed ear tips peak out from beneath them, and it is that moment that I realize who the man really is.
He is an Elf. Immortal, powerful, the fairest and wisest of all beings. Even in my delusional state, his very presence seems to have lulled me into a sort of trance. I sit in a stupid silence as I gape up at him, eyes bulging in shock.
I do not lie when I say that the sight of such an ethereal being renders me speechless.
"You're… an Elf," I manage to stammer out.
As if that weren't obvious, I think to myself. My cheeks flush with embarrassment as the Elf gives me a strange look. I try to put on a friendly smile, but it ends up coming across as a lop-sided grin.
"I am," he replies calmly. His gaze is steady and unwavering. "And you are young girl who I suspect to be very, very lost. Am I correct, or have you intentionally meant to infiltrate our realm?"
"Well, it's just—I was-" I silence myself as the words jumble together. The Elf tilts his head; somehow, he makes even that tiny movement look graceful. I shake my head at my own idiocy and sigh heavily. "I'm sorry, it's just… I've been through quite a bit in the small amount of time I have regained consciousness. It's been a very—intriguing experience, being I don't even know how I ended up here in the first place."
"Has it now?" the Elf states, raising a graceful eyebrow. "I can only imagine. Do you mean to say that you have no memory of how you came to be here?"
"In a way, yes," I tell him. "I can only remember bits and pieces, but as far as I know, something brought me here. Who, and for what reason, I do not know. I am sorry I cannot tell you more."
The Elf is silent for a moment as he ponders over my words.
"I assume that you were the one who killed the Orc?" he asks me suddenly, gesturing to the creature's corpse.
"Yes," I reply uneasily. "And they-" I nod to the six other figures who, judging by their similar accents, I presume are also Elves. "—felled the Warg."
"As I can see." The stranger turns to them, speaking now in Elvish. "Ellisar, alert the patrols and search the area. Where there is one Orc, there are bound to be plenty more. Report your findings back to me, and do not stay out past nightfall. Far worse things lurk in the forest under the cover of darkness."
"Yes, my lord," say one of the Elves, bowing deeply. "We shall not linger for long. But if I may, what do you wish to do with her?" He gestures in my direction.
The blonde Elf glances sharply at me before replying.
"We shall see."
Then, just as quickly as they came, the Wood-elves vanish into the depths of the forest. I watch the group melt into the shadows with a heavy heart, wondering what horrors they might face ahead of them. Having a good knowledge of the language of the Eldar, especially the Sindarin strain, I understood most of the short conversation between the two. Why would he send them away so quickly? He cannot possibly trust me already… can he?
"You are wounded."
The Elf's words disrupt my thoughts. When I look back at him, I am surprised to find that his gaze lies elsewhere from my eyes. I follow his eyes to find that he is staring intently at my hand. The blade seems to have somehow grazed my palm, for there is a jagged red line cutting a path through the skin. Blood has begun to pool up in my hand. It trickles down my wrist in a pand onto the snow beneath.
"Sword wound," I say blandly. "It was either that or a swift beheading. I favored the first option."
"And your shoulder?" he asks. His tone is not sympathetic; he seems to be more curious than anything. I shrug before leaning my head back against the tree.
"I don't know; I probably cut myself on a branch. It is not unlike me to do stupid things of the sort." My last sentence was a vain attempt at humor.
"I doubt that very much."
I let out a slightly hysterical laugh as my vision blurs around the edges. I hadn't realized it until now, but I am beginning to lose my grip on reality. That being said, I hardly notice when my back muscles give out, and I slump over onto the ground. The snow bites into the side of my face with cold and steely fangs. Black specks dance before my eyes. I am so close, so close to being free of the pain. The forest seems to morph into an endless black tunnel. Branches swirl together to create an impenetrable wall of nothing. A sliver of light gleams at the end of it. I chase after the glowing speck, but the light seems only to grow smaller the more I struggle to reach it.
Just as I finally give in to the darkness enclosing me, I feel something soft and warm press against the side of my face.
Do not succumb to the darkness. Come back to the light.
Then there is nothing.