War Child
One: Shadows in the Dark
"I am the forests.
I am the leaves of the trees.
My heart beat is the breath of
the world.
I am the incarnation of the living
earth and wind."
Incara watched the black smoke billow up over the battlefield as the two armies crashed into one another. Her eyes narrowed and she tightened her grip on the reigns of her dark gray war-horse. There were black smudges on her face, covering the small red tattoo under her right eye. Her scale mail and steel armor were smeared with dirt and soot - and blood. The sword at her side lay ready near its companion, that lay sheathed on her back, the handle facing down instead of the regular up. Her dark red cloak flew in the wind around her calves and she was only a little pissed off. A field messenger rode up and handed her a hastily scrawled letter, she took it and waved the boy away.
Her emerald eyes narrowed as she read the note, her horse moving restlessly under her. So they were moving forward. This was an odd move for Lord Marshall Dahrin, of course, this was to be expected when you were allied with an over-rich country against the armies of Sauron. She held up a hand and her captain moved up, "I want the horse-archers and skirmishers on the field, the idiot's ordered a push. Cover his tracks."
The man saluted and rode away, she turned her attention back to the battle at hand. This push was suicide. What the hell was he thinking? He knew that if they pushed too far in that the Orc armies could trap them within the borders of this dark land. She brushed a stray strand of copper coloured hair out of her face and sighed as the signal for a push echoed along the battlefield. Her skirmishers moved into place - this was what the land of Desmorad was famous for. Their light calvary was trained as horse archers, skirmishers and for hit-and-run tactics. She held up a closed fist and waited for a moment, then she let her hand fall. The lines of horses charged past and another messenger rode forward, handing her the message and riding away from her without a backward glance - now that was one of hers.
Her eyes flickered over the letter and they smoldered in anger. She was being sent to a council of the free-peoples. Away from her troops. Damnit! She crushed the letter in her hand and turned her mount to her line of captains, "Ralik!"
The captain looked up from his tactics sheet, "Yes?"
"I'm giving you command! I've been summoned elsewhere."
Ralik raised an eyebrow at his long time friend and nodded shortly, "Are you leaving now?"
Incara's eyes narrowed, "Yes... I'd stay but I haven't got a choice. Don't kill my men Ralik - or you'll pay for it with your own hide!"
This was what she was famous for. She was famous for her vise-like control over her troops, and over her captains. She had been known to kill a captain for killing off her men needlessly, and she did it without a second thought. This had earned her the name Desdemona. Or Demon Child. She turned her mount and cantered away from the battlefield. It didn't take her long to reach the fortress that her troops were stationed at on the borders of Desmorad. She dismounted and walked into the building, shooting out orders. She was determined to leave at dawn, and she would do just that.
*****
The war-horse shot out of the gates of the fortress just as the false grey light of pre-dawn began to fade. It galloped into the distance, sending chunks of dry earth up in its path, and it soon dissapeared over the horizon.
Incara allowed her eyes to close as she strapped herself into her saddle - a saddle made for sleeping while riding. Demonsbane continued, knowing which direction to go as she fell into a light doze. Every now and then she would be startled out of the light sleep that held her by something she sensed but could not hear or see, and she urged Demonsbane forward each time. Three days had passed, and she had three days left until she reached Rivendell. She knew that she would be glad to get out of the saddle once and for all, but now, now she dared not stop for the night. She had seen the shadows around her the night before, and she knew that Orcs had followed her out of the mountain range that cut Desmorad off from the rest of Middle-Earth. And she also knew that they were waiting for a moment when her guard would slip so they could attack. Whether she liked to admit it, her head did have a heavy price on it within the bounds of Mordor, and she knew that they'd take it without a second thought. All she needed to do wait until she reached the Last Homely House to fall into a deep slumber, but for now, the light off and on dozes would have to do.
*****
Incara wasn't
the only one to arrive in Rivendell that day - no, at the same time as
she rode in another group of Humans, a group of Dwarves and a group of
Elves rode in too. She stopped her rather impressive looking warsteed and
dismounted, allowing someone to lead him off. She followed the elf in front
of her as she was led into the quarters that she would have until she left
Rivendell. Once there she dropped her packs onto an empty chair, stripped
out of her armor and collapsed into the bed, sound asleep.
When she awoke
she found that her armor hade been cleaned and that a hot bath waited for
her. She glanced toward the window and noticed that it was almost noon,
so she'd been asleep for almost twenty-four hours then. She stood and streched,
the muscles in her back complaining loudly. Sh walked over to the steaming
basin and washed quickly before dawning black breeches, tall black boots,
a black undertunic and a blackened shirt of ring mail. She belted the shirt
to her frame and attached her left-handed blade to it. She then twisted
her shoulder-blade length hair and held it up with a pair of sticks. She
glanced at herself in the mirror and sighed, today was going to be a long
day.
She spent another
day hidden in the woods around Rivendell before retiring again. When she
awoke the next morning she dawned the same clothes as she had worn the
day before - only now, they were once again clean. She exited her room
and walked down the corridor, following the quartet of human men as they
walked to where the council was to meet.
She was the last
to enter, and she was different from all the others - she seemed more severe
and battle hardened - and she was. Elrond walked forward, "Ah, Desdemona.
I
did not expect your father to send you with your troops inside Mordor."
She grasped his forearm, "Nor would
I have expected such an action. I don't know why he sent me."
Elrond nodded and motioned to her
seat. She took it and Elrond began the meeting.
Most of the words
that were spoken she let slip past her until everything actually began
to get interesing.
"Frodo," Elrond said, gesturing
to the Hobbit beside Gandalf the Grey, "Bring forth the ring."
The Hobbit stood and placed a single
gold band on the empty stone in the center of the half-circle. Her eyes
flamed as the ring shone. She did not like this, Elrond continued, "There
is only one choice, the ring must be destroyed."
"Then what are we waiting for,"
a red haired Dwarf said, and stood, bringing his ax down on the ring. The
well made steel shattered like a stained glass window.
"No weapon forged can destroy this
ring, Gimli son of Gloin" Elrond said, "It must be taken into the very
heart of Mount Doom, and be cast back into the fires from whence it came.
Who would do this?"
Much to her surprise one of the
men stood, "Why destroy this thing? Why not take it and use it against
Sauron?"
"You cannot wield it," the dark
haired man to her left said, rising.
"I wish only for the power to protect
my people!"
"The ring has only one master, and
can only be used by Sauron," the other said.
"Who are you to know of such things
Ranger," the blonde asked.
Much to Incara's surprise, an Elf
came to the other's defense, "This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn son
of Arathorn. Heir of Isildur."
The dark haired man spoke something
in Elvish as the blonde turned to him and opened his mouth to speak.
"Hold."
Her voice rang out clear and the
room fell silent, she stood, straight and glared at the men before her,
"Do you not see why we are here? The ring must be destroyed! You cannot
wield it Man of Gondor - I know this."
"How would you know this," he retorted.
"I have seen the effects of that
thing's power since child-hood. It is the reason I am known throughout
Middle-Earth as Desdemona! Do you know what that name means?"
At his astonished silence she continued,
"It means 'Demon Child'. I am from the land of Desmorad, my people now
fight every day within the borders of Mordor, against armies of Orcs so
large there is no end to them! My people die at the hands of these dark
shadows every moment and you wish to wield the power of the thing that
brought this darkness upon my people?"
The silence continued, "I have seen
much battle, and much suffering at the hands of Sauron, and if I must kill
you to see that the ring is destroyed I will do so."
The man's hand
moved toward the hilt of his sword but Elrond cut in, "Incara, hold. The
ring will be destroyed, who will take it?"
One of the Elves stood and said
something Incara did not hear, for she was still staring into the man's
eyes. A Dwarf said something, and suddenly eveyone was on their feet and
arguing - Even the great Gandalf.
"I will take it!"
Incara's keen
hearing heard the Hobbit's fist shout, and she turned to stare at him.
"I will take it," he yelled, gaining
the attention of everyone there, "Though, I do not know the way...."