The survivor.
The sheep that had once graced peacefully on the plains beyond the Firien wood where now reduced to some dozen animals hiding in the forest. The family that had herded them for generations over the fields of Rohan and Anorien, reduced to one lone member, living in solitude in a cave by the slow waters of the Mering stream. The cave was not damp, nor unpleasant. Created naturally on the top of a small hill east of the stream, its roof was made of two large slanted overgrown rocks, its presence almost undetectable unless you happened upon the small wooden door facing the stream. The smoke from the fireplace inside mixed with the morning mist that formed around the outskirts of the forest. It was not unlike a hobbit hole, but since men had always inhabited it, it did not have the same snug feeling; it had more of a homely practicality about it.
Inside the cave had the same shape as a simple tent strung up between two threes, with the highest point in the ceiling three meters of the floor and rugged walls slanting down. A well-crafted benchtop over a row of cupboards run along the left inner wall, cut to fit the unevenness in the rock. The bench curved to include the narrow end wall. Mostly made up of boulders, the gaps had been filled in with dry turf and covered with a mixture of chalk and mud to create an almost smooth surface.
By the right wall, a beautifully carved bed with soft sheep hides and knitted blankets was the largest piece of furniture in the simple home. It was never intended for such a small room, but had been a wedding gift some generations ago, when there was a bedchamber worthy of such an extravagant furnishing.
A stone fireplace, partly carved, partly built into the rock wall beside the entrance gave warmth and light. A cast iron pot hung over the slow burning fire, and on the hard trampled earth that made the floor of the cave stood two buckets of water. One other source of light, a simple iron chandelier hung from a chain bolted to the ceiling.
It had not always been a home. Once just a simple place for shepherds to stay in the summer months, it had now turned into a refuge for the last living member of the Hyrder household of Rohan. Orcs and Uruk-hai had raided through their village, and being too far from Edoras to reach it on foot, Elinoire of house Hyrder had fled to Shepherds keep; the only other safe place she could think of.
Her home burned down with her parents still inside it, the stench of burnt flesh had stung in her nostrils as she and other villagers had fled out in an unorganized turmoil. She doubted that the other survivors had made it to Edoras before they were hunted down. During the months she had stayed in Shepherds keep, she had seen no other men.
Now she stood on the moss-covered roof of her new home, with the mountains and the forest to her back, she was facing the vast plains and looking down river. She could often hear the faint metallic echoes of battle and the neighing of horses. The Rohirim where fighting the fractions of orcs and Uruk-hai that roamed the plains, but she could never be sure who came out victorious, because they were never so close that she could make out the men.
Today however, they were drawing closer towards her. She could see the riders driving what seemed like a black mass of insects between them. However, the black mass was greater in number, and one by one, the horses with the men on them disappeared into the mass. Elinoire stood frozen in place, even though she knew her silhouette could easily be spotted against the pale evening sky, she could not move or keep herself from watching. She did not feel horror or fear; those strong feelings had passed long ago. She felt a faint melancholy, a certainness that her time, and the time of men, soon where over.
The sun had set, but the noise from the slaughter kept on in the dusk. Although the black mass did not move further towards Shepherds keep, but past it and away from the riverbank, Elinoire stayed on the roof until it became too dark to see.
The morning after, Elinoire had not expected to wake. She imagined that her home would be broken into, and herself slaughtered, her blood staining the white sheep hides in her grandmother's bed. For a good while she just laid still looking at the rock above her, the cool light that came in through the cracks by the door was the only indication of dawn. She did not want to open the door, thinking dead bodies would lay all the way from her door to the riverbank.
Yet as she stepped out into the cool morning, all she could see was dewy grass and rocks, and the Mering flowing past in its usual calm manner. The nights would soon be so cold that the water droplets in the grass would freeze before morning, and she would have to keep the fire going all night to stay warm.
She wanted to gather the few sheep that where left and build them a shelter for winter, but she could not fathom where to begin. She could not carry the logs required for the shelter by herself, not to mention that the sheep had nearly turned feral by now. In addition, it would be foolish to draw more attention to her hiding place by building a visible structure close by. Maybe if she built one in the Firien forest?
The sun had risen high in the sky and dried the morning dew; still she stood with the back to the door, forcing herself to think of how to build a shelter for the sheep, dreading what lay behind the slopes of her home. With a deep breath to steady herself she marched back up the small slope from the riverbank, the hem of her brown skirt brushing through the grass. Inside she grabbed a well-worn leather satchel from the benchtop, fastened a long bladed knife in her belt and braided her straw-coloured hair to keep it out of her eyes.
As she climbed onto the hill that made the roof of her home the wind changed slightly, and a disturbingly familiar stench filled the air. Not many yards away, dark bodies lay strewn in the green and golden grass; some plaices the white and grey bodies of fallen horses lay like light smooth rocks in the ocean. The sun glimmered in helmets and weapons drawn in vain, the red blood of men mixed with the thick almost black blood of orcs. As Elinoir observed the carnage bellow her, she could not extinguish the hope that she would find riders that had survived. She had never ventured out to a battleground before, but this was so close. In the back of her mind, she had a wish to bury the dead, but if any scouts came back and noticed that riders where buried, they would surely search the area and find her. Nevertheless, she would say the proper prayers to ensure safe passage to the afterlife. They died in battle, a heroic death, and she wished to treat them thereafter.
As she made her way between the dead, she tried to avoid coming to close to the orcs. Their grotesque faces made her uneasy, as if they could come back to life if she disturbed them. In between the orcs and the men lay a few Uruk-hai, they had undoubtedly been leading the raid, heading for Edoras. She could not imagine any other villages that could still be standing. Now surrounded by death, she suddenly felt more alone than ever. The sun was high, and the smell of dead flesh increased with every passing moment, making her position almost impossible to bear. Certain that she had prayed over every rider of Rohan, she turned to go back, being careful again not to walk to close to the dead orcs, and taking detours to avoid having to step over any bodies. This resulted in her exiting the battlefield closer to the forest than she had entered it.
Elinoire stopped in her tracks. By her feet one of the bodies moved. A small, almost undetectable movement, like an involuntary twitch. She stood still like a rock, holding her breath, waiting for something to grab her leg or put a blade through her. Nothing happened. She looked down, and fear showered through her body like icy water. There lay an Uruk-hai, the white mark of Sauroman painted on his face. His hair was thick with blood and dirt, his skin was a reddish black. His armour was an unsymmetrical creation of steel and leather, ruined by a gaping wound below his ribs. He still held a large heavy sword in hand, but his helmet was gone, most likely kicked off by the horse of the rider who cut him down. His chest was rising and falling soundlessly, and the movement she had seen was his fist clenching and opening around his sword, as if he was trying to lift it even now.
Elinoire had never killed anything but fowl and rabbit in her life, and even though she knew the right thing to do would be to draw her small blade and plant it in the chest of this beast, she could not move. Suddenly his eyes flew open, and she stared into two dark yellow pits. Elinoire ran as if she had looked into the eyes of evil itself.
Elinoire did not turn her head until she was almost back to the hill that made the roof of her home. If the Uruk-hai was following, she did not want to lead him to her shelter, but rather turn right and run into the forest. Even in fear she had the mind about her to think clearly, however when she glanced over her shoulder, nothing was following her. The dead lay as before, there was no sign of life.
Back inside the keep, she bolted the door behind her and sunk down on the hard floor, trying to calm her beating heart. The Uruk-hai's wound had been deep; if she waited until next morning, he would surly die during the night. Still she could not be sure, and she could not decide if she should go back or stay inside and wait it out.
With a resolve she had not felt in a long time, Elinoire got to work. She peeled the bedding of her bed and covered the mattress with an old worn woven blanket. She filled the iron pot with water and made a fire to get it boiling. In one of the cupboards she found strips of old linen that her mother once had made ready as bandages, wrapped around a small clay pot containing balm. Along with what little sewing equipment she had, Elinoire put the items on the countertop. The axe she used for cutting wood hung on a nail by the door, and on her way out she stuck it in her belt together with her knife.
"I must have fallen into madness" she muttered out loud as she headed back out on the field.
She had no trouble finding the wounded Uruk-hai. He lay on the edge of the battle nearest the forest, still breathing but his fist now limp around his sword. She should leave him there to die, nothing good could come from this. Then again, she had waited on her end to come since spring, certain it would come. Maybe by a sword or arrow, sickness or starvation, but chances where she would be dead by next spring anyway. If she died while showing kindness, even a foolish kindness, maybe the gods would show here mercy in return.
"Can you hear me?" She said as she knelt down by him, her knife drawn. Once again, he opened his eyes slowly, as if it took a lot of effort. They had a colour unlike anything she had seen before; they were cold, but still so bright that they pierced through her very soul. She pitied the people whose last sight in life had been these eyes.
He pulled back his lips and snarled at her with sharp teeth like an animal, unable to raise his sword; he tried to raise his fist. To Elinoire's astonishment, she could pin down his arm as if he was a child.
"Please be still, I do not wish to harm you" She took away his sword, a rough blade about the size of her leg, and put it at a distance he could not reach. She put down a course rug on the ground beside him. Her father had used it to throw over the horses on cold nights. With some effort, she rolled the Uruk-hai over twice so he was on his back on the rug. He made several growls of pain, but did not have enough energy resist her actions.
Then started the long walk back to Shepherds keep, as she dragged the Uruk-hai on the rug behind her. The distance took her mere minutes without her burden, now the sun had started to set as she made it down the slope to the door of the keep. She was drenched in sweat, and she had emptied the flask of water in her satchel before she was halfway back.
The fire had died out, but the water was still warm. She took some gulps of water from the bucket before she started the fire again and set on the task of getting the now unconscious Uruk-hai into the bed.
When she had finally hauled him into the bed, Elinoire stated to take of his armour. It stuck to his skin with dried blood and dirt, but she managed to get it over his head and on the floor with a heavy thud. His chest was dark and grimy, but she could not see any other wound than that bellow his right ribs. After washing it thoroughly she discovered that it was not as deep as she first had thought. The blow to his head must have knocked him out, and the wound would have drained him of blood while he lay unconscious.
The Uruk-hai only twitched slightly while she stitched the edges of the wound back together, his lips pulled back into a permanent snarl without sound. She washed as much of his body as she could reach. His legs where bare, save the rough boots she had taken off and placed neatly by the foot of the bed. She let the loincloth under his heavy leather armour be. She did not think the Uruk-hai had any concept of dignity, nevertheless she would try to preserve as much of it as possible. His long dark hair left a grimy pattern on the pillow, and she wished she could wash it as well. Except it would be difficult to do while he was unconscious, so she let it be.
Elinoire had hard time getting the bandages under his back to cover his wound, but after a lot of pulling and tugging, she was finally happy with the result of her work. Her unwilling patient was either asleep or unconscious, she could not tell. In any case, when he woke she thought she should have something ready for him to eat. She had heard stories of orcs eating the flesh of the men they had slain, though she did not know much about the Uruk-hai, she did not wish to risk being alone with a hungry one, however badly wounded.
If she had caught anything in the snares she set in the forest yesterday morning, she could perhaps make a simple rabbit stew with potatoes and carrots. The two only things she had managed to grow in a sunny spot just beyond the first tree line of the forest. She took both her knife and axe with her, not wanting to leave any weapons behind with the Uruk-hai.
The air was clear and soothing as she set out into the dusk. The forest was as it had always been, alive and still at peace. Out on the field ravens and other birds of prey and death had started feeding on the dead bodies of men and orc. She stopped between the two berry bushes she used to mark her entrance to the forest, looking towards the birds gathering in the field. She had hoped to find a survivor in that carnage, and she had.