This is my attempt at some OC. You'll see who these people are – they're not just random, read to the end of the story and you'll find out. I hope that this story will be a bit longer. All of the character in my stories kind of go together, and this is just the middle part of the greater story of the lives of the King and Queen and all those other people. I've got the beginning figured out and the end, and now I'm kind of trying to write the middle, if that makes any sense. I hope you like it! Please review…
Disclaimer: I really don't own any of these people; I just kind of made up some of the characters. In the later chapters you'll know the darling Tolkein ones… including the precious….
It was night, again. Night seemed to come very often in this place.
Narwain felt lost. She was used to the silken sheets and the light nights of her home – but here, everything was savage. The ropes that tied her hands behind her back tore into her skin, and she had to concentrate hard on not falling off the horse.
It had been three nights since she had ridden out with her escort to Ithilien, three nights ago that her company had been ambushed. Some of them had ridden away; some had been killed. Only Elenya, who had been knocked off her horse and had fallen unconscious, was with her now. She rode on a horse behind a large, dark man wearing heavy iron armor. Her head was resting on the iron shoulder, and she seemed to be unconscious.
Narwain herself was riding on one horse alone, but with her hands bound to keep her from escaping. The horse was tethered to the one in front and obediently followed. Narwain had on several occasions tried to befriend the horse, whispering to it in Elvish, but it just nervously played with its ears and stepped around. When one of the guards accompanying her had noticed, she earned herself a harsh rebuke in a tongue she didn't understand.
Once, while they had rested briefly, Narwain had dared to ask where she and Elenya where to be taken, and if she could see to the bloody bruise on Elenya's forehead. The dark guard whom she had asked had seemed to understand the Common Speech, but he had scowled and made as if to strike her. Narwain saw a man wearing no armor but a dark cloak and hood drawn before his eyes make a gesture, and the guard refrained from hitting her.
She hadn't asked where they where going again.
Her concern for her friend was growing. Since sundown, she hadn't seen her stir, and now, she seemed hardly to breathe. She listened intently for any sound coming from beside her, but even her keener-than-normal senses betrayed nothing. All she heard was the sound of horses, and the dim whisper of the grass as it was trod on by heavy feet.
She looked out and counted the members of the troop again. There where 33 men on horses, 28 of them wore heavy armor and carried spears. The other five wore leather breastplates and dark cloaks; they looked almost like the Ithilien rangers she saw so often. However, they carried quivers with strangely long arrows and swords that were slightly bent at the end; this distortion of the familiar made them seem even more alien than if they had been clad in iron like their comrades.
The cloaked riders rode in two groups, there were two of them at the very front, and three brought up the rear. The one riding in front on the left seemed to be the leader; the group had rested and risen again at his signal. It had also been him who had stopped the iron-clad guard from striking her earlier.
Narwain tried to observe the movement of what she presumed was the leader, but the horses in front of her kept shifting into her way, so she soon gave up.
The darkness grew upon them, and still the men kept on riding. Narwain could now see very little, and decided that she would rather rest her mind than continue the fruitless effort.
Narwain relaxed her thoughts as her father had taught her, and soon, she felt herself wandering through lush, green grasses that were moist with rainfall. The sun shone brightly over head. There was a flower that grew right before her knees, and she almost stepped on it. Instead, she bent to observe it closer, being careful not to harm the delicate stem as she did so.
It was simbelmynë, the flowers of the remembrance – and the dead.
The thought jarred her out of her peaceful vision, and back into the harsh reality of heavy hooves and frayed ropes. Ah, well, thought Narwain, Perhaps it is better that I am alert now, at night. I should keep an eye on Elenya; perhaps some beast or foe that these riders do not see will spring upon us.
Looking over at Elenya, Narwain noted with some relief that she no longer seemed unconscious – she was breathing with the regularity of sleep, though her brow looked troubled and she moved every once in a while to see if she could find a more comfortable spot on the iron armor that served as something of an inadequate pillow.
Another hour passed, and the darkness showed no signs of abating. The ropes continued chaffing at Narwain's wrists, and she found herself wishing that they would stop and rest for just a little while.
Just then, the leader of the company – the one Narwain had given up watching – raised his hand, signaling a stop. They had been traveling a narrow, rocky path for hours, but now they had reached a wide-open plateau. All the horses and riders stopped, and the sound of clinking armor was loud in Narwain's ears. The guard sitting before Elenya dismounted, roughly grabbing Elenya and throwing her over his shoulder. Narwain heard her friend moan in protest, but no one spoke. The guard carried Elenya over to a small outcropping of rock and grass, and laid her down more gently than expected on a patch of moss. Narwain saw Elenya first wrinkle her forehead and then settle into the strange new position.
"Get off," Narwain suddenly heard a smooth voice command her in the Common Speech.
Irritated at the commanding tone, she bit back in a low voice, "I would, but my hands are tied, so unless you wish me to fall off, I suggest you unbind my hands."
"Very well, milady," the voice replied again, somewhat sarcastic this time. Narwain flinched at the use of milady, she resented it whenever this was used, but this man made it sound like an insult. However, she bit back a retort as she felt a knife slice through the bonds that held her, when her hands were free of the rope, she quickly jumped off her horse and examined her wrists. They where chapped and her left wrist was bleeding slightly, but no serious damage seemed to have been done. She turned to look at her capturer and freer.
It was one of the cloaked men, the leader. She tried to search for his eyes, but could not find them. "Who are you?" she demanded in a clear voice, "And where are you taking us?"
"Questions, questions," the man said in a tantalizingly sarcastic yet melodious voice, "First I might ask – who are you?"
This surprised Narwain immensely; she sincerely doubted the truth of those words. "You do not know?" she asked, arching her eyebrows, though in the dark this was nearly pointless, "I hardly believe that."
"Perhaps we know who you are," the man said, "But since you asked to become acquainted with me, I might ask to become acquainted with you."
Incredulously. "I have expressed no desire to become further acquainted with you, in fact, I have none." Narwain wasn't sure how much information would be right to disclose; telling her and her comrade's true identity would perhaps cause more trouble than good.
"Oh, but milady, you asked me who I am," the man replied in an even voice, with no hint of irritation."
"I did not. I merely asked who this group we ride with is."
"That I cannot believe you do not know," the man replied with amusement in his voice.
"By the armor that your comrades wear," Narwain replied, stalling, "I might judge that you are from Mordor. But the Dark Lord is now defeated and so are all his minions, and I cannot place the clothing that you wear. They resemble those worn by the Ithilien rangers. Since you have not given me your name, I will call you Ranger. But your arrows – their style suggest that they are from the South, from Hador."
The man smiled, "Indeed, lady, you have answered your questions: we are the Haradrim, and we ride home. You shall be our guest."
"Guest perhaps," muttered Narwain, "But never has there been a guest less willing, or less welcomed."
Narwain thought she could see a slight smile forming in the shadow cast by the cloak. "For your rough handling, I apologize, but we were encountered by the Enemy, and you rode with them."
"The Enemy?" Narwain hissed, angered, "You would call us the enemy? A group of unarmed and outnumbered women?"
There was again a tantalizing hint of amusement in his voice. "Hardly unarmed," he replied, gazing at the slight bump that indicated where Narwain's sword lay concealed, "We removed the blade of your companions, but thought that parting you from your blade might be more trouble than it's worth. And," he continued, "why would a group of women travel in the company of a dozen armed men of Gondor? You were traveling southwards, were you not?"
Narwain scowled, her hand placed over the handle of her concealed sword. There was a slight tear in the top petticoat; she could pull out the sword if she needed to. When her company had been ambushed, she hadn't had the time to draw the sword Undomë and had decided keeping the weapon concealed might be perhaps more useful in the end. "We were traveling southwards, that is true," she replied, "But no farther than Ithilien. My companion and I carried swords, but the other women did not. And the guards where there for our protection."
Though Narwain could still not see the cloaked man's face, she sensed the wry smile. "And what five ladies would require a score of armed Gondorian men in battle outfit as their escort?"
Loathe to answer the question, she countered, "Perhaps they were trainees. They cannot have been fully trained since you defeated them so easily."
There was still no hint of irritation from the man. "Do not play games," he said wryly, "They where not ill trained. They fought fiercely, a dozen against a score and a half. Four of them and two women escaped, I saw them fleeing westward. The woman that died threw herself upon a sword; we did not slay the innocent."
"The innocent? The eight good men that you slew where there only for our protection!"
"Come, now," the man said, "Do not think me a fool. They were a group of scouts for a larger company, coming South to destroy our race after annihilating our men on the fields of Pelennor 20 years ago. You were riding with them only as a cover."
"I think you a fool," Narwain replied evenly, dangerously, "for your theory is farther from the truth than anything I have ever heard. We were traveling to Ithilien. There was no company of Gondor sent out to destroy your race."
"I would not think that you would admit such a story," the man replied, though for the first time his voice sounded less sure.
"Look at my dress," Narwain demanded, "Do I look like a woman designed to travel to war?" She loosened her hood, which had remained fastened to her hair by a pin that had withstood the last several days of riding; she had been very thankful for that in the cold of night. Her hair beneath it was free, and something on her forehead caught a glint of light from a fire that had been lighted nearby.
It was a silver circlet, with a single white jewel.
Narwain heard the cloaked man breathe in sharply. Deciding that secrecy had no sense now, she said sharply, "I am Narwain of Ithilien, daughter of Prince Faramir and Lady Eowyn of Ithilien. My companion is Princess Elenya of Minas Tirith, daughter of King Elessar and Queen Evenstar."
She let those words cut through the air and sink in. Then –
The cloaked man first froze, than sprang to action. "Lady," he said quickly, and without the sarcasm, "look after the Princess. This man will bring you what you need." He spoke quickly in his own tongue to the man who had rudely handled Princess Elenya before, the man, too, looked stunned and came over. Then, the cloaked man swept away.
Narwain herself ran over to her friend and shook her gently. Elenya shifted, then slowly batted her eyes and looked at her. "Narwain?" she asked.
"Yes, Elenya, I am here," Narwain replied.
"Where are we?" the Princess looked around in confusion. Then, noticing the iron clad man before her, "Who are these people?"
"They are the Haradrim, and they are taking us to Hador," Narwain replied, "How are you feeling?"
After considering for a moment, Elenya replied, "I'm alright, I think. My cut is nothing serious" – gingerly touching her forehead – "It is healing. But I'm dizzy."
Narwain looked at the iron clad man. "Do you have some wine?" she asked.
The man nodded and scurried off, returning a minute later with a cup of warmed wine. Narwain helped Elenya drink from it, and the Princess shook her head and sat up.
Surveying the rough shapes of the horses and the men against the lights of the fires that they had kindled, she asked, "What will they do with us?"
Narwain looked over to one fire, where a group of cloaked men stood talking. They looked tense and agitated.
"I do not know," she said.