My blood is pounding in my ears, keeping rhythm with my feet. The moon is high and full, a beautiful reminder of days past. But its liquid silver light does not reach me, nor illuminate the path ahead. I see only to fiery shadows of their torches. Burning, flaming, destroying, consuming.
Shouts behind me, taunting, hate. One of them releases an arrow, and it lodges in my shoulder. I stumble. Fall. Am unable to rise. This and the burden of older wounds, re-opened by my escape is suffocating, too much for my worn body to bear.
I look, cry out desperately for aid. But the trees withdraw farther into themselves, not wanting to risk their own lives to help me.
Blood blossoms, the petals from the lethal flowers staining my once-magnificent garments crimson. I hear them draw nearer, seal-like cackling harsh in my ears. They surround me, laughing, spitting, kicking, screaming. An armored hand connects with my face, tearing a new gash into my forehead. I try to rise, defend myself, but another kick aimed at my ribs causes me to collapse.
Blood trickles into my eyes, blinding me to the sight of the whip, but not the sound. Over and over it bites into the flesh of my exposed back. I will give them their wish, but they don't ask. I doubt they even realize what I am, or what I am capable of. They see me only as sport. I am at their mercy.The sea is mighty, but there are too many of them. My strength is ebbing, leaving me frail and weak; an empty husk.
No one will help me.
How did it come to this?
"A red sun rises. Blood has been spilled this night." An elf, tall and beautiful, turns to his companions. He has sighted something else on the horizon. Aragorn nods, signaling that he knows of it as well. The thundering of horses draws nearer as the men bearing the crest of Rohan ride past.
"Riders of Rohan, what news from the Mark?" calls Aragorn, signaling them. On a signal from their leader, the Riders turn and surround the hunters, lifting their heavy spears. An armored man rides forward and speaks. "What business does an Elf, a man and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!"
"Give your name, Horse-master, and I shall give you mine" Gimli replied.
"I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground." the man snarled his retort. Aragorn put his hand on Gimli's shoulder, silently telling him to remain silent. But Gimli did not need to defend himself; an arrow was already aimed at the man's heart, notched with fingers faster than the eye could follow. "You would die before your stroke fell" Legolas said, holding his aim even when the soldiers lifted their spears again, ready to defend their master. Tense moments passed, before Aragorn lowered Legolas's bow.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Glóin and Legolas of the Woodland realm. We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden, your king." He said.
"Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe," The master of the riders answered as he removed his helmet, revealing himself to be Éomer, son of king Théoden. "not even his own kin." he gestured for the spears to be withdrawn as he continued, "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and has claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that, we are banished. The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere, his spies slip past our nets." he added, shooting them a suspicious glance.
"We are not spies." Aragorn told him, "We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive."
"The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night." Legolas nodded, recalling the red sunrise he had observed earlier.
"But there were two Hobbits. Did you see two hobbits with them?" cried Gimli. "They would be small, only children to your eyes." said Aragorn. Éomer paused momentarily, choosing his words carefully before he spoke. "We took only one captive. A strange woman was with the Uruk-hai, but claims she was imprisoned by them against her will. We do not doubt her story, as she was bound hand and foot, and her wounds were so great it is a miracle she is still alive. Other than her, we left none alive. We piled their carcasses and burned them." he pointed to a plume of smoke in the distance.
"Dead?' Gimli choked. Before anyone could say anything more, a clear, accented voice spoke from behind the wall of armor."No,they are not dead." A a man riding chestnut horse rode forward. A small figure sat behind him, thin arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Wrapped in a cloak, she was completely hidden from view except for her slender hands. The three companions caught themselves staring at them; the hands gripping the rider were an unmistakable shade of blue.
"I see no way they could have survived." Éomer said. The unseen face dipped in silent response. Éomer looked again at the three companions, then turned and whistled. "Hansufel! Arod!" Two riderless horses trotted forward. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters." he said, handing them to their new masters.
"I will go with you" The cloaked woman said suddenly, looking up. The shadows in the hood still almost completely obscured her face, but her eyes, dark, but shining and almost seeming to glow, studied them.
"It would be a long and perilous journey, not fit for a woman." Aragorn said to her.
"And even if we were to take you along," said Gimli, "we would not be so quick to travel with one whom we have not even seen."
She was silent for a moment, then said, "you may call me Amiryat" as she swung her leg over the horse in an attempt to climb down. Éomer quickly stepped closer and gently helped her to the ground. Despite his carefulness, her breath caught audibly in her throat, and she leaned heavily against him. The strange hands moved, reaching to pull back the hood from her face.
The hunters stared, not even pausing the remember how rude it was. Before them stood a young woman, with deep sapphire blue skin. Black bruises marred her cheeks, and there was a puckered scar on her forehead, but neither of these disfigurements downplayed her savage beauty. Flecks of gold and green hidden were hidden in the deepest depths of her eyes, though only Legolas's eyes were keen enough to observe this; to the rest, her eyes seemed like they held the very ocean in them. Her hair, dark and heavy, hung in crazed ringlets, framing her face, and fine black designs decorated her skin. She was weak, yes, but there was no mistaking the power that radiated from her.
"I am Amiryat," she said again, "and I can help you."
End of chapter one, hope y'all liked it! This is only my second fanfiction, so no flames please, but constructive criticism is welcome. Second chapter will be up soon. :)