I wheeled my horse, Celam, to face the Orc I heard behind me. While it wasn't as bad as some wars, the carnage around me would sicken someone not used to battle and death. Orcs fought on wargs, men on horses. Both side's dead lay scattered on the ground, and the scent of their blood filled the air. The ground was soaked in it, mud and blood mixing in a foul blend. Blood coated Celam's coppery chestnut coat, most of it that of orcs. He was a faithful horse, Celam. A nice stride and courage when facing down wargs. I had raised him from a foal, and he as was dear to me as any horse ever was.
An orc sat astride a black warg in front of you. The warg's teeth were bared, ready to rip flesh from bone. The orc was as foul a creature as the rest of it's race, and it held a shoddy, poorly made axe. It heeled it's warg after you, axe outstretched. You gave Celam a quick tap of the spurs and he was off. At first, you went to meet the orc head on. You veered to the left, then wheeled your horse around to get at the orc's now open side. You spurred Celam hard and leaned low over his neck, urging speed. He rammed the warg as it slowed to turn and face you. You brought your sword down on the orc, missing it's head by a few inches. You blade sliced across it's back, causing it to fall off of its dying warg. The warg's spine crunched under Celam's hooves, and it gave a sharp cry of pain.
You trotted Celam in a tight arc around the wounded orc. It stood facing you, making no move to attack. It would wait for you to attack, then try and dismount you. That was the way of orcs, dirty tricks and foul tactics. You picked up a canter, Celam tossing his head in anticipation. He was a warhorse, and he knew your fighting style as well as you did. You turned sharply and charged the orc, blade outstretched. It tried to lunge at Celam as you knew it would, but was stopped when your sword seperated its head from its neck. Celam gave a wicker of pain, the orc's blade probably connected with his leg. It would be simple enough to heal, Bloran would have spare herbs for the horses.
You turned around to see that the battle was almost over. No less then four Rangers lay dead. A few of the other Rangers were chasing down the last few orcs, who were turned around on their wargs to fire bows at them. Aragorn and the others had met in the middle of the field, discussing. You gave Celam a well earned pat and started to trot him over, when an arrow slammed you to the ground.
It had pierced your light leather armor, landing in your left shoulder. You gasped at the blazing pain in your shoulder, and in your back from the fall from your tall horse. The arrow was long and shabby, oily black flecthing not in good shape. How it had flown, you didn't know. It must have been aimed at the Rangers chasing the last few orcs. You tried to sit up, to get help, but you only worsened it. Your whole shoulder screamed in defiance of the arrow lodged in it.
You must have given a cry, because Aragorn and Rhaemyr, a Ranger you had only heard of, were kneeling over you. Aragorn looked worried, grey eyes wide. He had a few cuts and scrapes on his face, as well as dried blood that wasn't his. Even dirty and bloodied as he was, the sight of him made you smile internally. He had confessed his feelings for you months ago, and you still couldn't believe it.
"Easy, meleth. Easy." His voice was soothing, calming. Rhaemyr eyed his chieftain oddly. It wasn't widespread knowledge the two of you were lovers yet, but it would be now.
You coughed harshly, your whole shoulder screaming in pain. Aragorn took your head in his lap and you could feel your muscles ease at his touch. How long you had watched him from afar, dreaming and wishing.
Aragorn turned to Rhaemyr, "Go get me some herbs from Bloran. Tell him its an serious arrow wound, he'll know what I need."
He ran a hand through your messy hair. He softly murmured comforting words in Elvish. It soothed you, and you lost yourself in his voice. You focused solely on that, able to push the pain away for a few moments.
Rhaemyr returned soon after, running. He held a pouch of herbs and a long strip of cloth to use as a bandage. He handed them off to Aragorn, who nodded his thanks. Aragorn took off his leather belt and laid it on the ground. He proceeded to sort through the herbs, eventually finding the one he was looking for. He rolled a few leaves in his fingers and then chewed them into a paste.
"This will hurt, meleth. Bit on this, it will help." He placed his belt into your mouth after you gave a faint nod. The leather tasted of oil and dirt, but smelled comfortingly like Aragorn.
"Rhaemyr, come here," he said, motioning to where he sat with your head in his lap. "I want you to kneel right here and press your hand on the wound after I pull the arrow out, okay?" He didn't wait for Rhaemyr's affirmative. Aragorn went about put the paste onto the bandage, adding a few leaves here and there.
"Ready?" Both you and Rhaemyr nodded. You bit down into the belt, preparing yourself. Aragorn gave your hand a squeeze and placed his hands on the arrow's shaft. He yanked it free in one swift motion, grimacing. You screamed around the belt, on which you bit down hard. The pain was fire searing through you, but it faded quickly. You felt Rhaemyr's hand press to stop the bleeding, adding to the pain. You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut, spitting out the belt.
After a few minutes, Rhaemyr's hand was replaced with the stinging herbs and bandage. Rhaemyr gently pushed you up to a sitting position. You grunted, as the motion set your shoulder afire. Aragorn lifted your arm and wrapped the bandage in an intricate pattern around your shoulder and midsection. He tied it tightly to hold off any bleeding.
"Rhaemyr? Would you go find her horse? Its the chestnut with white feet. Celam." Rhaemyr nodded and walked away, sighing at being used like a servant.
You bit your lip. Your shoulder was blazing with pain. It was ebbing slowly, though. You leaned against Aragorn to hold yourself up, feeling feeble. He wrapped an arm around your midsection. Aragorn rested his head on your right shoulder, stubble brushing roughly on your check.
"You have a talent for making me worry, meleth." He said softly, his voice sweet as honey.
"Oh? I wasn't trying." You said a bit sarcastically. Though the fact that he did worry made you smile.
He kissed your neck delicately, momentarily banishing all thoughts of the searing pain in your shoulder. All you could think of was his lips on your neck, moving slowly up to your ear.
He was interupped when Rhaemyr returned, holding Celam's reins. He thrust the horse's reins at Aragorn, who stood to take them. Rhaemyr looked a little disgusted, his rugged features twisted. He walked away stiffly before Aragorn dismissed him, a bold move considering Aragorn was the Chieftain of Dunedain. But Aragorn didn't really mind, as long as people respected him and did what was right.
"Can you stand?" Aragorn asked, offering his hand.
"Maybe." You said dubiously as you took his hand. You pulled yourself up, ignoring the protests of your body. You winced as you straightened, and Aragorn's hand found the small of your back to give support. You took a few steps to the horse, slipping a foot into the stirrup. Aragorn stood off to the side, obviously concerned.
"Need any help, (name)?" He laid a hand on your bent leg gently.
"I can do this." You grimaced and swung into the saddle with a swear at the swift movement.
"Suit yourself, meleth." He gave an amused chuckle and walked over to get his horse.
You turned Celam and followed, firmly ignoring your shoulder's protests. You wouldn't give the Rangers who disapproved of you anything to use angaisnt you. Being a women and a warrior always earned you scorn, but you didn't want to spend your life tending a house, stuck in one corner of the world when there was so much to see. So much to defend.
Aragorn swung himself onto his horse, a great black gelding. He trotted over to where Bloran, Rhaemyr and some other Rangers were gathering. You nudged Celam after him, trying not to cringe at the little shocks the horse's movement sent up your shoulder.
"-it's not right!" Rhaemyr said furiously to Bloran. He face was twisted in anger, but Bloran wasn't having it.
"It doesn't matter if it's right or not. It's not your place to question." His older, rough face looked exasperated. He was getting old by the standards of the Dunedain. Still young enough to fight, and his skill with herbs was unprecedented.
"What's not right?" Aragorn said questioningly as he trotted up to the circle. Some of the Rangers parted for the two of you to join, so you did.
Rhaemyr stammered and bowed his head reluctantly. He took interest in fiddling with his reins. His older face was tinted red.
Bloran spoke up in annoyed tones. "Rhaemyr here doesn't believe it's right for you to be calling her your meleth." The elvish word rolled off his tongue naturally.
Aragorn gave him a threatening glare. He didn't say anything at first, just gave Rhaemyr that cold, icy glare filled with rage. Rhaemyr's eyes darted to you, then back at Aragorn. There was jealousy in his eyes when he looked at Aragorn, and a flicker of affection when he looked at you. Deep set, well hidden, but you could see it. You knew the look, and had seen it before. Being the only woman among large groups of men, it was familiar.
You laid a hand on Aragorn's arm and murmured quietly, for his ears only. "Aragorn, not now."
He looked at you, the anger in his eyes replaced with confusion. His eyes pierced yours, demanding answer. "Why? I cannot defend your character, as any man should?" Aragorn spoke just as softly as you had.
"I didn't say that. I said not now."
"As you wish." He sounded disbelieving and a little disapointed. He turned to Bloran, "Can you prepare salves for the injured within the hour? The horses may need some as well. I'd like to make it back to the rest of the group by tonight, but there is a place nearby we can camp if need be."
"I should be able to manage, Chieftan." Bloran nodded and pointed to Celam. "That horse will need a salve for the slice on its shoulder."
You nodded and dismounted with a grimace. The pain shot through your shoulder, but was gone as soon as you were steady on your feet. Luckily you were facing Aragorn as you got off, so he was the only one to see it. He frowned at your pain, obviously worried. You handed Celam's reins to Bloran, who took them and rode off to tend to the horse and the few wounded men. There weren't many injured that you could see, and those you could had injuries similar to yours.
Aragorn nodded to the others. "Care for your mounts, when you are done, burn the orc corpses. Dismissed."
He dismounted to walk besides you. Aragorn offered a hand, and you took it gratefully. He looked weary, had dropped the mask of confidence he always had on as a leader. He only ever did that around you. Aragorn never wanted anyone else to see him break under the strain, the weight, of being a leader. That would make them think the same could happen on the battlefield, which it never would. Aragorn was a military genius, and an excellent warrior. His sword was like an extension of his arm, made all the better for the fact that he fought for the good of those who could not.
"We'll need to sew that up, you're going to start the bleeding again with all this activity." He said concernedly.
"You're probably right." You gave a sigh as you fought the urge to rub the shoulder. It would only make it worse, you knew, but the urge was there.
He slipped his arm around your shoulders. You walked in silence for a while, neither of you speaking. There was too much for you to think about, after you had caught Rhaemyr's true feelings. You remembered his hand holding your wound and wondered how hard that must have been for the Dunedain. The worry and fear for you he had had to hide. The realization that he must have had when Aragorn called you meleth.
You and Aragorn eventually made your way to a small stream. The banks were coated in soft dirt and ferns. Small rocks impeded the stream's path, but the clear water just trickled neatly over them. The soft sound it made was the only to be heard, save the soft songs of birds that called from the tall trees around you. It was peaceful and relaxing after spending a long day fighting. You eased yourself down to the bank and sat there, legs crossed. Aragorn tied his horse to a tree before sitting down soundlessly next to you. You moved yourself into his lap, resting your head on his strong shoulder. You needed this, the support he gave you. The issue of Rhaemyr loomed in your mind, but you would hate to spoil this moment of peace and silence. The two of you got so few, these days. Ride all day, talk when you could, steal kisses by moonlight. Fight a battle, and run to each other in worry at its end. No more, though. People knew now, knew of the love you shared.
Aragorn stroked your arm gently, almost as if afraid to break you. You rested a hand upon his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart under your fingertips. It was soothing, a sound you wished you had the opportunity to fall asleep to. You were not married, though, and the soldiers would have a fit if you shared his tent. They had already had their fits when you first started out with the group, but you skill with sword and horse silenced them.
Suddenly, Aragorn pushed you off his chest. You looked at him, bewildered. What had you done wrong?
He walked over to his horse and rummaged through his saddle bag for a moment. He pulled out something you couldn't see and walked over to you.
"Close your eyes, meleth." Aragorn said softly. You did so, still confused. It must have shown, for he planted a light kiss on your forehead. You heard him walk away, and a few moments later he returned.
"Open them, (name)"
You opened your eyes to the sight of Aragorn smiling, holding two things in his hand. One was a dû meril, a sparkling white flower with faint purple at the tips. It had six round petals that bloomed from a dark purple center. It was a beautiful thing, symbolizing love and beauty. The Dunedain used it in weddings and proposals. Your emotion surged upon seeing the simple flower, its beauty amplified by its deep meaning. You felt tears of joy stinging in your eyes. You had always hoped for this, but part of you feared he would leave you somewhere, abandoned.
The other thing he held was cupped in his palm. It was a necklace of silver and blue. A light blue, almost white, gem hung on the chain, surronded by a cage of bright mithril. The mithril swirled and spiraled into intricate patterns. You noticed a small inscription on one of the thicker lines of mithril. It read:
Melethnya, ui dadwen
You clasped a hand over your mouth as Aragorn beamed. He offered the flower to you, and you took it gingerly.
"(Name), daughter of (father's name), will you marry me?"
"Yes, Aragorn son of Arathorn, I will marry you." You felt tears run down your checks. He leaned closer, wiping them away before clasping the necklace around your neck. He put his hands on your shoulders and gazed at the sight of you, with the necklace he had given you on your neck and the flower he had proposed with in your hands. He smiled and kissed you, a tender kiss of love. His lips moved against yours perfectly, as if they were meant to be there. His hands cupped your face gingerly. You wrapped your arms around his neck, happiness and love mixing with joy and thoughts of the future.
He broke away reluctantly. Aragorn looked up at the sky, frowning. It would be time to leave, to get back to the camp. He had given Bloran his hour, and now to see if he was ready. He offered a hand, which you took. You both stood up and beamed at each other. All problems had faded away for the time you had been with him, and you were hesitant to let this moment go.
"Come, meleth. We must go." He went to untie his horse, and the two of you walked back to the group, already making plans to be married in Rivendel as soon as you could. Both of you were all smiles and laughter. You had decided either Elrond or Gandalf would marry you, whoever was available. Elrond had been like a father to Aragorn, and would be fitting. Gandalf knew the ceremonies of the Dunedain, so was the preferable choice.
There was one problem you realized as you talked. You had no male relative to be present at the ceremony. Your father had been killed in a similar battle to the one you fought today, and you had no brothers. Both your parents had been only children, so there wasn't a cousin to do it either. Gandalf could do it, as you had known him since you were small, but that would leave Elrond to do the wedding.
Aragorn chuckled at your worry and confusion. "Meleth, whatever the ceremony is, I will love you and we will be married. What more could you ask for?"
You nodded at the thought, and the confusion was replaced with joy once again.
You reached the camp in under fifteen minutes, and saw that the men had burned the orc corspes. They were setting up a pyre for the fallen Rangers, as was tradition. The men worked hard and fast, dedicated to giving their fallen friends their final rites. Bloran was working swiftly to bind wounds and tend to horses. You noticed Celam was happily munching on grass, wound wrapped in a light gauze. He had been stripped of armor and tack, and the majority of the blood had been washed out of his coat.
Aragorn stopped and turned to you, laying his hands on your shoulders. Now that it was common knowledge he loved you, neither of you cared who saw. He sighed before speaking, "I wish I could stay with you all day, today of all days, meleth, but I need to go oversee the funeral rites. Go get your shoulder looked at, Bloran should be able to stitch it up without problem. If we leave today, ride with me. We can discuss more of our plans. I love you, (name)." He pulled you into a quick kiss that you melted into. It was over in a few short seconds. He smiled at you, mounted up and trotted off. You smiled and watched him before going to Bloran.
Within the hour, your shoulder had been stitched. It was a painful process, the needle piercing your skin repeatedly. The sight sickened you, so you had been forced to watch Aragorn give out the last rites on the other side of the battlefield. It was still soaked with blood, churned and brought to the surface by horse hooves. The remains of the orc pile was smoldering against the darkening sky. The party would need to be leaving soon if they were to make it back to the others by midnight.
As the rites were finished and the pyres lit, Aragorn ordered men into action, preparing horses and the wounded to travel. Men came up to you and tried to help saddle Celam, since you seemed to be the only person with a shoulder injury. Men limped around the camp with bound legs, but you were the only person to not be able to saddle their own horse. You swore in frustration, earning you strange looks from the two men saddling Celam, but you didn't care. After they left, you swung yourself into the saddle with a grunt.
The Rangers were efficient, as they had to be. They had everything ready to go within twenty minutes of Aragorn's order. Granted, there wasn't much to do, but they did it well. Aragorn formed them into a column, and you heeled Celam up to it's head to speak with Aragorn.
He greeted you with a small, sad smile. Giving final rites did that to him. He hated to lose men, and had lost four today. The Rangers had been vastly outnumbered, the fact that they would lose men almost certain, but it still upset Aragorn. He expected himself to do better, made himself do better. Every man he lost was a hole in his heart.
You nudged Celam close enough to Aragorn so you could touch him. Laying a hand on his arm, you said quietly, "Alright?"
He nodded solemnly. "Yes, for now." His eyes were heavy with the sadness buried there. He took your hand into his, more for his own comfort, you suspected. You gave a squeeze and he gave you a small smile. He released your hand after a moment, becoming absored in his own thoughts. You stayed by his side, offering what support you could. Aragorn worked himself relentlessly, pausing for moments with you. He needed rest, a break from the endless battle they fought. The people of Bree and the Shire considered themselves safe, but they would never know the cost. Anger welled up in you, for Aragorn's near heroic deads that went unnoticed. Few outside the Dunedain knew of Aragorn, son of Arathron, and that angered you. You stamped on the anger, though. Now was not the time.
You rode in silence for most of the trip. It was about four hours away on horse, a long trip with weary men. The men began to catch Aragorn's mood, as often happened on these trips, and fell silent. The only sounds to be heard were the steady hoof beats of horses and the sounds of owls and night creatures. The sun had fallen an hour ago, and darkness veiled the faces of the party. You didn't dare speak, the weight of silence on your ears.
Eventually you reached the campsite. It was a temporary camp, and the men who lived here could dismantle it and have it ready to leave in about an hour. There were two cook fires lit, and no more were needed. There were only about forty men in the camp at present, inculding the people in your party. The number dwindled whenever you lost a man, and there were so few Dunedain men, or women, coming to follow the path of their anscetors. Most believed there was finally peace in the world, and went to settle in the West. But there was still things to defend, still Orcs that threatened, and that was all the encouragement you needed.
You dismounted and set about untacking Celam. You ended up having to push the saddle to the ground to get it off, not being able to support the weight. The rest of the tack came off easily enough, and you stored it away next to Celam on the horse lines that had been set up. You looked around for Aragorn, to say goodnight before you fell asleep on your feet, but you didn't see him. So you set of to your tent, body crying out for rest.
As you pulled the flap of your tent open, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You straightened and turned to see Aragorn. He had stripped off his armor and stood in a simple tunic and breeches. The moonlight shone down on him, accenting every curve of his face. You gave him a warm smile and placed your hands on his chest. He leaned into you to kiss you, lips meeting yours wordlessly. You could taste the faint hint of blood from the earlier battle, the sweat.
He broke away and stroked your shoulders. You shuddered at the simple touch, skin shivering in the warm night. He gave a small smile. Aragorn reached out and fingered the necklace he had given you. He had wisely put it on a long chain. You would be able to wear it at all times, even in battle. Even though he smiled, you could still see the sadness hanging in his eyes.
"Not going to eat? Rhivnan set aside some food for the party." His hands traveled from the necklace back to your shoulders, his hands tender and warm.
You clasped your hand over your mouth to stifle a yawn. "Aragorn, I am exhausted. I'll eat in the morning."
He gave a chuckle and kissed your forehead. "Good night then, meleth."
"Good night, Aragorn." You smiled as he turned and walked over to the cook fires, no doubt to eat in silence away from the others.
You sighed and slipped inside your tent. The familiar interior was neat and organized, as you liked it. Your bedroll was laid out to the left, your one chest of clothes to the right. Sword oil, whetstones, and leather supplies were strewn about after your hurried departure yesterday morning. It would be good to sleep in an actual bedroll as opposed to the hard ground with your saddle as a pillow.
You stripped off your light leather, tossing it unceremoniously into the corner. It was a fine piece of light armor, of Elvish make. You had had it made by an old friend of yours, since you could find anything already made that would fit you. You would have to bring it back to him to mend, since it had a hole in the shoulder where the arrow had pierced you. There was light a light blood stain around the hole from when Aragorn pulled it shouldergaurds that were attached were tailored for you smaller shoulders. The bracers he had made for you were small enough for your wrists, but lined with hard steel chain mail. You threw those to the corner as well. You stripped off the light wool tunic you wore underneath, making quick work of the worn ties at the throat. You left the sleeveless undershirt on, since you never knew when a man would have to run in to wake you up. That had happened, once, and you had no desire for it to happen a second time. You left your light brown breeches on, they would be fine to sleep in.
Your thoughts slowed as you laid down to bed, pulling your blanket over you. All you could think of was Aragorn, his soft lips and warm hands. The thought of your upcoming marriage. Hopes of a life together, though you knew the wars would follow you always. You had chosen the life of the sword, the wars would never leave you. But you would face them down the horrors with him, and you could be strong for him. As you knew he was strong for you. He was the rightful king of Gondor, and the weight of the crown would only bring him down. If you could give him something to fight for, something to stand for, you would do so gladly. Eventually you drifted off to sleep, thoughts of the future lulling you to sleep.