She stood in the middle of the room, looking at her feet. She had been summoned, but the Steward was late. She had arrived precisely when she had been told to, but had been greeted by an empty room. She was unsure what the nature was, exactly, of the summons, but still she came and here she stood. The white marble of the throne room of Minas Tirith glittered around her, but she still stared at her feet. They were nice feet, to be sure; they were small and dainty, as any woman's should be, but she was agile and sure upon them. Her black hair tumbled down her back in its sometimes untamable curls. She was slight, but not without strength. She had been raised in the walls of the Citadel, and had spent her lifetime at chores that strengthened her.
After what seemed like all of the ages of Man had passed, a door to the side of the room flew open with a loud crash. The woman looked up from her feet to watch as the Steward of the throne of Gondor strode across the room to his lowly seat. She didn't greet him, like she would have on any other circumstance. He looked angry, with knit brow and string of muttered curses in the language of Númenor to prove the point. He sat and looked at the woman for a moment before sighing.
"Braedia, daughter of Dwavia and Deonvan, you have been called forth to this trail with charges of disobedience and defiance of your superiors. How do you respond?" Denethor said with an exasperated sigh.
He looked expectantly at the woman, Braedia, before him. She blinked several times, but otherwise did not show the shock that was permeating her body. She heard the side door open again, but didn't dare look to see who had entered.
"I am unsure that I understand what exactly brought about these charges, my lord." She said, her voice soft.
"You know exactly what you did, wench. Do not think that I am unaware of what you have been doing as of late." Denethor cut across quickly, his tone venomous.
Braedia looked back at her feet, unwilling and unable to fight with the ruling authority of the city.
"Because you offer no word to the contrary of these accusation, I take it that you admit to your guilt." Denethor said after a moment of her silence.
He had taken up his pompous blustering that he was so fond of. Again, Braedia said nothing. It was better to be silent then give in to the rage she felt pulsing through her veins. That would only make her current situation worse.
"You are hereby banished from the kingdom of Gondor. You have until sundown to gather your things and leave. Be gone from my sight and never darken my halls again." Denethor said.
Braedia looked up suddenly, and her jaw dropped. One relatively minor infraction earned her a banishment? How was it possible? But she knew better than to linger once she had been dismissed, despite the fact that she heard a voice calling to her from within the hall.
She held onto her tears long enough to reach her living quarters. She let them silently slide down her face as she packed, for this was not the time to grieve. She found a ruck sack quick enough and packed away as many of her few possessions as she could. She changed out of her dress and into breeches and a tunic. She strapped her father's sword to her hip, the sheer weight of it strange to her, and a quiver and bow to her back, another heirloom from her father. She grabbed her sack and went to the servant's kitchen, packing a few things like a flint stone for fire, some salts and spices. She knew better than to grab any food, because it would draw animals in the Wilds faster than she could eat it.
As she checked that her bedroll was secure and mentally made sure that she had packed everything, a sound behind her startled her. She quickly turned and saw that the Steward's son, Faramir stood in the kitchen doorframe.
"So it is true? You are banished?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
"It is true, my friend. I am sorry to go. But your father has given me until sundown to leave the city, and it is a long walk down to the lower levels." Braedia replied, trying to keep her sorrow out of her voice.
"Boromir is fighting with Father now. Just wait; maybe there is something that can be done." Faramir said, almost pleading now. Braedia smiled sadly, but shook her head.
"You and I both know that, as long as I remain in the City, your father will never be at peace. He found us out, Faramir." She said softly, trying to comfort the young Captain.
"But it isn't fair." Faramir said, tears slipping from his eyes.
"It was never promised to be. I am truly sorry. I know how much I mean to you…and your brother. Tell him…you know what I want to say, don't you?" Braedia said, walking to the door, and Faramir.
The Captain nodded and pulled the young woman into a tight embrace. She was startled for a moment, but then returned it just as fiercely. They stood there for a moment, and Braedia couldn't help the few tears that escaped her eyes. They pulled apart, each wiping the traces of sadness from their visages.
"At least let me escort you to the Gate. I couldn't let you walk alone in good conscience, regardless of the circumstances." Faramir said quickly.
Again, Braedia shook her head. "You need to be with your brother. I have a feeling this isn't going to be easy for him." She said with a sad half-smile.
She clapped Faramir on the shoulder one more time, and bid him farewell. Before he could stop her, she left the Citadel, and began the long trek down to the main gate.
By this time, the order for my banishment would have been circulated, she reasoned, so there should be little resistance to my wanting to leave.
Her reasoning was confirmed, for when she reached the Gate, they only slid the doors open and let her leave the White City. After a few hours walk over the plains of Pelennor, Braedia turned back and watched the sun set over Minas Tirith for her last time. But as the light grew fainter, she turned her back on the City of the Kings, and headed to face her fate in the Wilds.
As darkness grew in the lands of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, the Wilds became a place of hostility and death. Anyone rarely ventured out alone, let alone attempted to live there without proper dwellings. But that was how Braedia made her way. She lived along the edges of civilization, only coming into contact with Men when she was in dire need of supplies or shelter during the winter. For several years, Braedia was able to live in a cave in the mountains, and she thrived. She had been taught the skills of the blade and of the bow as she grew, along with her lessons in the pleasantry of the court.
While the first few months were difficult, Braedia became accustomed to the lack of warm food or soft beds quickly. She tried not to stay in one place for too long, especially when she knew that she still lay in the realm of Gondor. It took some time for her to understand animal habits, but soon she had the skill of a Ranger of the North, or so she liked to tell herself. She found it easy to remain unseen when she needed to, for not many men wandered around the Wilds. After less than one sun cycle, she found that her longings for luxuries like soap for her hair or wines diminished and the simple joys of a clear night and a warm fire were enough.
Eventually, she wound her way through the mountains and found herself living on the edges of the plains of Rohan. She knew the Horse-Lords for relatively kind people, but she still kept to herself, having grown unfriendly with all people. She found herself a simple cave to live in, and found that she was able to settle for a time. She spent several moon-cycles in the cave, and was perfectly content to make it her new home.
I slept near the back of my cave; my fire had died to barely embers long before. But then, I was awoken by a cry that was growing all too frequent these days: Orcs. I sprung to my feet, slipped my soft boots on quickly and gathered my things quickly. If they were that loud, then they were bound to be close. I moved quickly out of my cave and into the trees, keeping low to the ground. I almost heard the arrow before I saw it land with a solid thunk in the tree next to my head. They knew where I was, and were aiming at me. I stood up from the low vegetation and began to sprint through the trees.
I wove in and out of the trees, on and off the faint deer path, hoping to throw them off of my tail. I ran as fast as I could, not taking the time to stop and look back. I could hear the Orcs behind me laughing and snarling, more than likely thinking that the Man-flesh was giving good sport. I was starting to lose stamina, so I began looking for trees to climb. Although the Orcs were strong, they were not nimble enough to come after me if I climbed high enough.
I found a good tree, and I scrambled to the top of it. I panted, looking down and waiting for the Orcs to pass me by. I was not that fortunate, however, because they had been close enough to see which tree I climbed. A small party, no more than ten, gathered around the base of the tree. I sighed; I could take on three or four Orcs single-handedly, but ten was too many. But I didn't dare loose an arrow into any of them, for fear that I would give away my position in the foliage.
I heard them arguing about whether to burn the tree or cut it down, and settled on cutting it down. My eyes widened in panic. I looked around to see if there were any trees I could jump to, but all of the trees were spaced to far from my tree for me to feel safe jumping into. I sighed and pulled out my bow, knowing I had to be quick. Once they knew where I was, it was a matter of time before they started firing on me. I loosed an arrow into one of those who were hacking at the bottom of the tree and he fell, dead. I quickly released another before the Orcs even pulled out their crossbows. I felled another and then moved to a different branch, quickly shooting another. Bolts from the crossbows rained up into the tree, some barely missing me.
I went to fire another arrow, but then suddenly, a spear impaled one of the archers, driving the creature into the tree. A small group of horsemen, three total, then came from the trees and quickly dispatched the others. They walked around the base of my tree, but I froze, not willing to come down.
"Do you think it's one of their own that they have pinned in the tree?" one of the men said in a deep voice.
He couldn't see me, which I could use to my advantage to study them a moment longer. They wore the garb of the Rohirrim, and rode large, healthy steeds. All carried at least a sword, but a few had either a bow, spear, or shield or a combination of those to accompany his primary weapon. I could not see their faces, due to both the darkness of the night and the position from which I looked at them.
"No, that is no Orc. These are not their arrows. Come down, by order of the éroed of Théoden King." A second said, first to his companions and then up into the branches.
I considered not coming down, considered that I could take the three men and their beast from my position. I was a good shot, and I had plenty enough arrows. But then I saw the third reaching for his bow, and I knew that I would be dead before I had a chance to slay but one of the company.
"Withdraw your guard, and let me down." I called down, deepening my voice to the pitch of a man's.
Two of the men looked to the third, the first to speak, as if he were the leader. The leader looked up into the tree, as if trying to find me. Obviously failing, he sighed and nodded to his men. They withdrew a few yards from the tree, forming a line. I pulled my hood over my hair, taking care to hide my obvious Gondorian features, tucked my bow into its place, and began to descend the tree. I landed lightly on the ground, keeping my head bowed. I turned from the Men and gathered my arrows from the enemies I had slain.
"Stop, in the name of the king." The leader called.
I had finished my task and slid the arrows back into my quiver. The Men all reflexively reached for their weapons, but I held up my hands in a sign of peace.
"I only wished to gather my arrows. They are precious to me." I said, keeping my voice low.
"Do not try to exchange pleasantries with me, stranger. Who are you and what are you doing out in these lands?" the leader called roughly.
I was able to get a slightly better look at them now that I was on the ground, but the darkness still prevented me from really seeing their features clearly.
"My name is my own, as is my business. You never would have found me if it weren't for these creatures." I said smoothly, kicking one of the Orcs slightly with the toe of my boot.
"But as it stands, it is against the law for strangers to roam the Wilds of Rohan without consent from the King." The second said boldly.
"Is it now? Pity." I said, my face dancing with the ghost of a smile. The living thing had long since left me.
"Should we take him to the king? He is trespassing." The third said lowly to the leader, clearly speaking Rohiric.
Little did he know that I was versed in the language.
"We will see what the Third Marshal wishes." The leader replied in the same tongue.
The three turned back to me. "You are to come with us to our camp. Our leader will decide your fate." He said to me.
He started to walk his horse toward me, but I jumped back nimbly.
"I prefer to walk, thank you." I said holding up my hands in a motion for him to stop.
I walked over to he and his fellows and they surrounded me on three sides as we slowly made our way to their encampment.