A/N I began this story in 2010, as an experiment in attempting to write a female OC in Middle-earth that 1) wasn't a vile Mary Sue, and 2) would adhere to the standard I have for all my scribbles, of being something I, and you, dear reader, will want to read. Hopefully, I will manage to succeed on both those points. I hit a pretty major block on this story after a couple of years and ended up taking it down, but I became inspired again this past spring to give poor Ahrhî and Haldir a proper end to their tale.
This is not going to be completely canon compliant, but rather a combo of book/movie verse with just a touch of AU. This has some typical fantasy magic in it, as you may guess from the title, but I tried to make it fit in with Tolkien's work as much as I could, while still keeping to my own vision for the story. For any that choose to read this tale, I sincerely hope you enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.
Ahrhi's name, (which means crown/wreath/laurel) is pronounced like the letters R and E, or like the name Aria without the a sound at the end. I really know very little about Sindarin or Quenya, but I love languages and have put in hundreds of hours in research for this story (I learned more about archery that I ever thought I would), and when I add any elvish language bits, I have done my best, with the help of online dictionaries, articles, and phrasebooks to have everything make sense and come out correctly. Any mistakes made are entirely mine. Also, this story begins a bit before the War of the Ring, and I have kept the timeline intentionally fuzzy, as I didn't want to get too bogged down in dates, but you will recognize events when they happen.
The rating will be bumped up to M in later chapters.
If you have questions or anything needs clarification, please drop me a review or a PM. Le hannon!
CHAPTER ONE
Ahrhî stepped lightly through the west gate, eager to reach the Prancing Pony and the promise of a warm bath. She was tired and hungry, but she had enjoyed success in her venture, so her mood was celebratory. She had many pelts and skins to sell on the morrow. Hathor could not tease her about her hunting ability when he saw all that her traps and bow skills had yielded.
The borders of the Old Forest had been particularly rich in game, although she had been careful not to venture too deep into the woods. There was a queerness there that gave her pause, so she was careful to maintain some distance.
She smiled to herself and hefted her pack. She was eager to see her adoptive father again. They had agreed to separate as they sometimes did briefly, while he patrolled alone or with his brother Rangers. More often than not, she accompanied him, but she sometimes stayed behind in Bree. This time she had decided to spend her time more profitably.
It was likely Hathor had even arrived ahead of her, although she hoped that was not the case as she had not informed him of her intention to hunt prior to his departure. She quickened her steps at the thought, her brow furrowed in worry. She was not a child that needed permission, but she had no wish to give him cause for concern.
She felt the bite of guilt when she admitted to herself that Hathor would not have approved of her hunting in the wilds alone. Not even in familiar territory. He was overly protective of her, even though she was a woman fully grown and well able to look out for herself. He did not feel women could be kept safe without the care of a man. She had argued ceaselessly against such ideas for more years than she could remember. It was a favored point of contention between them.
Ahrhî navigated the lanes and alleys with the practiced ease that came from many years of visits. She grinned at a little girl playing in the road, her hair a tangled mess and dirt splotches across her face. With a complete lack of concern, the child poked happily at a mud puddle with a long stick, flicking filth every which way.
A wagon laden with firewood rumbled down the road, pulled by a weary pony under the watchful eye of a young lad. Ahrhî steered clear of the animal's path before continuing on her way. The inn was in sight now, and her steps quickened, urged on by her rumbling stomach. She had eaten nothing since dawn, and it was nearly dusk. The bath would have to wait until after she had broken her fast, she decided. Her less than pleasing smell may even serve a useful purpose by keeping any leering men at a distance. She chuckled quietly to herself at the thought.
She opened the door, then closed it softly behind her. The familiar smells of ale, pipe smoke, and the delicious aroma of cooking food greeted her. She scanned the room automatically, her eyes searching the dark corners often preferred by visiting Rangers. Finding no one she knew, she made her way to the red-faced proprietor, Barliman Butterbur, who was busy serving ale. She put in her request for a meal and drink, and retreated to an empty corner of the common-room, furthest from the fire. The buzz of conversation quieted slightly upon her entrance, but soon resumed.
Curious eyes bored into her as she walked, and she pulled the hood of her brown cloak further forward until the shadow of the cloth hid her eyes. Being a woman and attired as she often was in breeches and tunic brought her under scrutiny, but the folk of Bree generally left her in peace.
Placing her belongings on the floor, she took a seat with her back to the wall and a full view of the room. Within minutes, the friendly little hobbit, Nob, who worked at the inn, trotted up with a grin on his face. He placed a platter of food on the table that contained bread, cheese, and a large bowl of stew. A glass of water and a mug of ale was also set before her.
"How are you, Miss Flame? We've not seen you here in some time. Is your father not with you?" He regarded her expectantly.
"I'm well, Nob. No, he isn't, we traveled separate for a time. I take it he has not yet arrived, then?"
Nob shook his head.
"Well, he will be along soon, no doubt. Perhaps even tomorrow. I'll need a room, of course, and I'm desperately in need of a wash before I retire. Will you be a dear hobbit and see to that for me?" She gave him her brightest smile. He smiled back and blushed, shuffling his feet in embarrassment.
"Of course, Miss Flame," he stammered, "I will attend to it at once. Enjoy your meal." He left to do her bidding, and she attacked the food with gusto.
Ahrhî moved around the small room, arranging her belongings. She was greatly refreshed after the good meal and warm bath, but still much in need of sleep. She retrieved her brush and began working on the snarls and tangles in her long, red hair. She huffed in frustration. The curly mass was forever working itself into the most spectacular knots that took an inordinate amount of patience and effort to rid herself of.
At times, she considered taking her dagger and hacking off the whole lot, but ultimately shied away from taking such an extreme step. Hathor would be disappointed, for he greatly favored her long hair and she tried to please him, at least in that small way. He found the idea of short hair on a woman unnatural. Since she dressed as a man, and engaged in the traditionally male activities of tracking, bow hunting, and swordplay, she wished to keep at least one obvious link to her femininity besides her breasts.
Hair tamed at last, she quickly twisted it into a long braid, then slipped under the cool sheets of her bed. She sighed in pleasure, then turned to her side, seeking a comfortable position. The soft tunic she had donned for sleep twisted and bunched around her, and she growled in frustration. She sat up quickly and pulled the thing off, tossing it to one side.
Naked and drowsy, she smiled. Sleeping bare was a guilty pleasure she was seldom able to indulge in for obvious reasons, but she enjoyed the unobstructed glide of fabric across her skin when she had the chance. The only time she had complete privacy was when Hathor left her on her own in Bree and she had discovered the surprising pleasure of sleeping in the nude.
The comforts of a wanderer with no fixed home were few, but she didn't much mind. It made her thankful for the brief bit of luxury that village life offered. She felt for the medallion and ring that hung from a silver chain around her neck. Running her hand across them gently, she finally drifted off.
~o~
