Disclaimer: I, most definitely, DO NOT own The Lord of the Rings or any character in that universe. That honor belongs to Tolkien. I merely write this for fun, not profit.

Ok! First LOTR fic, so please bear with me and be gentle with reviews. This is about a Haradrim woman and her experiences working under the evil forces in Middle Earth. There will be some romance (nothing too sweet, I promise) between her and an orc, so if you don't like that, GET OUT NOW!

First chapter is mainly back story for my OC. It might be a bit slow and I apologize for that.

Things you should know:

Filly- young female horse

Gelding-castrated male horse

Stallion- intact male horse

gait-a horse's stride (walk, trot/jog, canter/lope, gallop)

horse length-the length of a horse from nose to rump

colic- an ailment of the intestines. Very dangerous for a horse

I- At First Glance

My people were people on the move. We never once stayed in one place for too long. Our camps were as mobile as we were, easily packed and just as easily pitched. We followed the herds wherever they went and moved between small oases. Travel made us hardy. Travel taught us the way of the horseman. We became well-versed in the craft and our horses became just as close as family to us. We rode them fast and far across the deserts. The rough trails wore down our feet, but never our hearts. Sturdy, we were, and strong and full of loyalty to one another. Such was the way we lived and died.

I had been told this story many times around the fires at night. The elders and priests told us of the strength of our people from the time we were young. They boasted of our skill as archers and of our prowess with horses, putting emphasis on these things as something that all Haradrim should know. I never questioned if all of us from Harad followed this or if it was just my clan. I merely soaked it all in and dreamed of the day when I would become everything that they spoke about.

I learned quickly how to ride a horse, as most other children in my camp did. We rode our first horses when we had seen five summers and received our own horse as a gift from the elders after seven. I was galloping around the camp the moment I was gifted my little filly. She was a spirited thing, with creamy mane and tail and pearly white coat. Her legs were lanky, but her hips were round and she could sprint faster than the wind. I spent many days astride her, learning to ride with and without a saddle and becoming adept at mounting from the ground. Then, there was the archery.

A bow was difficult to handle for me. The string always seemed to cut into my fingers and the arrow took me ages to set. The trainer always grew frustrated with me and he would kneel, showing me how the boys did it.

"See how they set the arrow with one finger while steadying the string with the others? Like that, Birinj." I would nod and try again. Eventually, the string and I no longer fought and my arms grew strong from the constant use. I could fire multiple arrows at once and I could take a melon off a stone from horseback. Most women did not go hunting with the men, though they learned archery as well. I was, however, taken a few hunts by my brother, Sufyan.

My mother and father had been blessed with the birth of their first child, my brother. Born five years before I, my parents rejoiced at the gift of a son. They named him for the tough stones that littered his place of birth. He was a healthy babe, with thick black curls atop his head and a cry as loud as thunder. He grew as most young men did in our camp. He was lean, with sinewy muscle made for lifting and hunting. He was a great rider and his first horse was very much like him: tall, bronze, and fiery.

When I was old enough to handle myself on a hunt, my brother suggested that I ride with his hunting party. I was thrilled and pleaded with my father. He was reluctant to let me leave, believing that I was too small to be of any help. I would only be a hindrance, he said. My mother, however, disagreed, thinking it would good for me.

"Shouldn't all of our people be able to hunt? Surely, we can spare a single woman from the looms and tanning racks to aid the hunters."

At that, my father caved in and gave me his blessing. I was elated. That next day, my brother woke me early. We saddled our horses, he with his stallion and myself with my little filly. We rode out with six others and we traveled into the wilds. Where the lush green of the site we camped in came to an end, the great expanse of dunes began, more like a sea of baked hot gold than wind swept sand.

We picked our way through the desert, our horses dropping their heads every so often to steady themselves in the unsure footing the sand created. One of the seekers, a young lad named Ubayy, spotted our quarry. It was decent sized herd of milk pale deer, snuffling at short prickly grass a few horse lengths from us. My brother hefted his spear in one hand and made a quietening motion with the other. I tightened my reins and, with a nod from Sufyan, we were off. The deer bolted at the sound of our approach and they slid down the dune and off across the flat. We chased them for long minutes, our horses foaming at the mouth and at the flanks. We threw our spears, a few missing, but one caught a velvety buck right between his shoulder blades. He fell, screaming.

The hunters cheered and jumped from their horses. The rush of the hunt left me light-headed. My brother, taller than me, lifted me from the ground and spun me, laughing. I joined in the raucous sound. One of the riders proclaimed who the hunter was who had slain the beast. Sufyan was the best hunter of us this time around. The men all clapped him on the back and we hauled back our kill.

Sufyan was welcomed back by my parents and the camp. He was hailed a mighty hunter. There was a feast. I sat in the back, feeling joy for my brother, but also envy. This marked the day that I would always follow in my brother's shadow.

Years passed, bringing with them many experiences and many woes. I lost my horse, no longer a filly, to a colic that took her in the night. I was devastated. Many of the riders expressed their sympathy. Sufyan stayed with me, sitting with me in silent companionship while I grieved. I felt like I had lost my purpose. Life was meaningless to a rider with no horse.

Then, I was presented the opportunity to find myself once more.

Another rider, young like me, was killed on a hunt a few weeks after. His gelding, a yearling, came back to the camp, his rider dragging behind with his foot caught in the stirrup. The rider was given a hunter's funeral and his horse was led to a corral and left alone. The beast seemed to sulk in the paddock, his head low to the ground and his coat losing its luster. He refused to eat for days and soon, the camp leaders decided they would just let him die.

I heard of the animal and went to him. I spent time with him, trying to coax him to eat anything from apples and tough bread crusts to watered down oatmeal. He would only step away from me and turn his head from the offered food. One day, however, he lifted his head when I approached the paddock. He whinnied at me, softly, and I took it as a positive sign. I spoke to him in low tones, petting his thin neck. He snuffled at my pocket with more energy than he had shown in a long while. I withdrew a small fruit and let him sniff at it. Then, to my joy, he took a bite, then another. After that, he began to eat regularly, even becoming a bit of a pig with his rations. The beast put weight back on and his red coat and black mane became silky once more.

The elders decided that it was Divine word for me to have the horse. There was a small ceremony at which they blessed the animal and myself. After the blessing, I rode him for the first time. Never before had I felt a gait so smooth, nor met a beast so willing. I believed that it was fate that I met this horse. I named him Sorx, for the blood red color of his fur.

I had purpose once more. I hunted with the men and grew into a strong young woman. My skills with the bow only got better, as did my riding skills. Sorx and I grew very close and I taught him to be summoned at a simple whistle. My mother was proud of me and encouraged me. My father told me often that he hadn't expected this of me, but that he was not unhappy.

My brother grew, as well, becoming the best hunter in our camp. They began to call him The Tiger after he slew a great orange tiger by himself. He wore its furs as a coat from then on. He was granted a new horse, a large black beast with a hot temper and solid back. He taught me the sword in his spare time, a weapon which felt foreign in my hands. We became as close as a brother and sister could be. He told me we would never be parted.

That all changed when the summons arrived.

Back story doo-dad done! Sorry if it was hard to get through. I'm not too good at these kinds of things. I might edit it again in the future. This is actually the second time I tried to write this. I like this version better. :) Ok! Review, if you please. I would like to know what y'all think.

Next chapter should be better. It will be more in depth and the plot will be shown.