Foreword
I take no credit for the names of people and places taken from the works of the great Tolkien and Jackson. I do feel obligated to apologize ahead of time to those who think that my fabricated names are not accurate to the background that the characters I've created would have. I just didn't think it would be necessary to be all that hardcore about getting the names right.
I did, after all, imagine up the storyline and characters in one night. I must also point out, ahead of time, that events from the actual Lord of the Rings that I plan on having my characters interact with will not have the correct amount of time passed between them. I did check this ahead of time, but I don't want to change the storyline I had planned out so that the appropriate amount of time would pass.
In any case, I do sincerely hope that someone will take at least a fraction of enjoyment out of this story that I experienced during writing it. Reviews and criticism are welcome. That's a big reason I went ahead and did this fanfic, to see how well I'd do and the reaction I'd get.
The sun shone down on the forested land of Southern Ithilien with an intensity rivaled only by the sun over Near Harad. Animals kept to the shade, creeping about in the contrasting near darkness of the shadows next to the well-beaten paths that criss-crossed the unsettled land. Sweat beaded on the back of the only human for a league. Running down under his heavy Haradaic clothing. It was a familiar feeling for Suladân, the Nâfarat.
"These lands are a good bit different than the deserts of Near Harad, are they not, Dalamyr?" Suladân asked of his horse, whom he was leading by the reins while Suladân himself walked under the hot sun. Dalamyr tossed his massive head briefly, before continuing the onward plodding pace. Dalamyr had better things to worry about than the speech of his master. Like the constant nuisance of flies, biting into his massive flanks. Or the heat from the sun, beating down on his skin, as black as the night sky.
Dalamyr was Suladân's only friend and companion in these new lands, despite the fact that Dalamyr had been stolen by Suladân from the first people that had given Suladân a home. Despite the fact that Suladân had either murdered or betrayed the friends he once had in the desert. Escaping the memories and inevitable pursuit that came with his past was one of the few reasons he had left the comfortable familiarity of the deserts of his home in favor of these new lands.
Suladân winced as a large black fly bit into the stub of his left wrist. He shrugged his shoulder and watched the fly buzz away to bother some other unfortunate creature. It had been more difficult than expected to get across the Gondorian border. "Shouldn't be another day or two til it's back, do you think?" Suladân inquired of his friend, with just as much interest returned as before.
With a sigh of acceptance, Suladân plodded on. Out of the corner of his eye, Suladân spotted a hare popping up out of the brush on the left of the path. Quick as a blink, Suladân released Dalamyr's reins and reached across to his left forearm, snatching a bone knife out of his bracer, and flicked it with snakelike speed and precision at the flushed rabbit.
With a barely perceptible crunch and a tiny screech as it's life was ended, the hare fell. Suladân made his way over and picked up the hare, speared a hook on his wide belt through the hind ankles of the rabbit, returned the knife to his bracer, and took up Dalamyr's reins in his right hand yet again.
Later in the day, after more endless hours of plodding along the path, the sun was going down. Suladân began scanning about for a good place to stop for the night. Suddenly, a new sound reached his ears, and the ears of Dalamyr as well, for he let out a brief nicker. The sound of running water. There was a stream nearby...
An hour later, the sun was halfway beneath the horizon and Suladân was planted upon the ground next to a small cooking fire, biting into the fresh cooked meat of the hare he killed earlier that day. Dalamyr, his only friend and companion, nibbled at the grass growing next to the stream that ran next to their campsite, 15 yards away. The loneliness of the night pressed in on the pair. It was a familiar feeling for Suladân, the Nâfarat.