Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. That is Tolkien's. I only own the Haradrim OC's that appear in this fic.

AN: I know very little about the Haradrim/Southron people, as is probably obvious. If anyone reading knows more than me, please message me! I would love to talk and learn more. For the names, I have been using Persian words because someone told me that those were the closest to the language Tolkien had in mind.

Anyways... on with this fic! Gee up!

Things you should know:

Colt-young male horse

Bay-all brown with black legs, muzzle, mane and tail (coat colour)

Chestnut- all copper (coat colour)

Blood bay- copper coat with black legs, face, mane and tail (coat colour)

flake- (hay) A piece of hay about 9 inches long and tall and about two inches thick

tack- term for saddle/bridle/blanket (riding equipment)

Names- Sorx (pronounced sor-ehz) and Birnij (pronounced burn-edge)

II-Summons

The morning started like any other. I awoke with the sun, as did a few others. I rose, dressed in my typical red long sleeved tunic and trousers, both made of soft cloth, with black leather boots and gloves. I left my face uncovered, wanting to feel the breeze on my skin before it became too hot to bear. Tying my hair back with a knot, I slipped out of my tent, where my brother and parents still slept, and greeted the morning. The sky was a lovely shade of violet and there was not a cloud to be seen. After a moment of yawning and shaking myself fully awake, I made my way to a small enclosure nearby, stretching my arms as I walked.

The enclosure was a simple thing; just a few lengths of rope tied between several large leafed trees to make a circular pen. There were three tiers, one at human chest height, one at hip, and the last at mid-shin. I made the little thing myself to keep its occupant in. The tall horse stood at one end of the rope corral, munching on the long green grass that grew around his hooves. I whistled, one short quick sound followed by another, a little higher. At that, Sorx's ears perked up, as did his head, and he whinnied, trotting over to where I stood. I reached a hand up, palm facing up and held flat to let him sniff me before I pet his neck.

The gelding stepped back from me and tipped his head down to nuzzle my pocket. I laughed and pushed him away gently.

"No treats today, my sweet." The gelding snorted at me, almost pouting. I fingered one of the tiny braids in his mane before moving away and untying a large woven bag from where it hung on a nearby tree. It was filled with no small amount of soft green-blue grass. Little tufts of it poked out, tickling my wrists as I withdrew a flake and tossed onto the ground by my horse's hooves. "Eat up, now. We are going for a ride early today." I spoke softly. The blood bay snorted again, his muzzle already deep in his breakfast.

My stomach growled, signifying that I should soon be breaking my own fast. I moved back into the tent I shared with my family, leaving my mount to graze. My kept my steps quiet as I snuck into the low light of the tent. Kneeling on my own pallet, I reached under my pillow and withdrew a small tanned leather bag. I knew it to be filled with a few slices of bread, an apple, and a skin of water. I placed the strap over my shoulder and stepped back out into the air.

Once I approached Sorx, I noticed that he had finished eating and now stood anxiously near the edge of his makeshift paddock. His black ears were tilted forward and his nostrils flared as he saw me. A low whickering sound left him as he began pawing at the ground. The horse always grew antsy when it was time for a ride. I pulled my saddle and bridle from beside the tent, where my brother and parents' tack rested as well.

I set my saddle down near the paddock before bending low under the ropes and into the corral. Sorx backed from me, but still he bumped my hip with his nose, whickering again. I grabbed him by the halter and tied an arm's length of rope to it, just below his chin. Holding onto the lead, I untied the ropes from around the trees and let them fall to the ground. I led my steed from his rope paddock, holding him back as he pranced and tossed his head.

"Easy, you devil." I chuckled as he nearly reared next to me, front hooves leaving the ground and a shrill neigh trumpeting forth. After I managed to quiet him, I saddled him quickly, brushing out his coat until it shone before sliding his bridle over his ears and around his long face. He took the metal bit after a slight coaxing and soon he was cinched up and ready to ride. I led him by the other tents and horses, who snorted and called out as we passed, and watched as the sky lightened to a soft pastel blue.

At the edge of our camp, nestled in an oasis, the rocky desert stretched on as far as the eye could see. The slight morning breeze tossed the sand into a stirring dance and left them deposited on the craggy outcroppings that sat sparsely around the oasis. Other than those rocks, the desert was flat all around for close to four miles before it sloped up in a dune-like hill. My camp's placement took advantage of that hill, using it as a shelter from the occasional sandstorm and often placed guards at the top to afford them the ability to see for miles.

My horse lifted his head high and he chomped at his bit, a light foam already at the edges of his mouth. I placed my booted foot into the stirrup, swinging up with one smooth motion and sliding the supple leather reins taut in between my index finger and thumb. The energy that poured off of my horse was contagious and I felt my heart flutter in my chest. I settled my saddle and inhaled deeply before loosening the reins ever so slightly and tapping my heels to his side.

Before I could draw another breath, we were off like a bolt. There was no transition from walk, to trot to canter and then gallop. He simply threw himself into the gait and I grasped at his mane to balance myself. The sound of his hooves thundering on the ground was the first thing I registered when my senses returned to me. His black mane whipped back into my face and I could feel his muscles bunching under me. I leaned forward over his neck, glancing for a second at the ground under us as it rushed by. My horse seemed to fly as we tore across the desert, the movement so practiced for us both that it felt as if we were one creature. I laughed, bumping my boots to his flanks again to ask for more speed.

We galloped straight out, not slowing our pace, until we could see the sun over the dune. I reined in my beast on top of the hill, shaking as much as he was. I looked back to where I knew our camp was and saw the small speck of dark red and green that I knew was the outer most tents and bushes. Sorx heaved one great breath and tossed his head before going stock still under me. I refocused on him, patting his neck.

"Steady, dear heart. What has you spooked?"I asked him, speaking softly. I tried to turn his head towards our camp, pulling the reins against his mouth and neck, but his dark eyes and ears were fixed on a point in the distance. Peering in the same direction, I tried to make out what was so fascinating. I let my gaze settle along the line of the horizon for a long while, straining to see. Then, seemingly out of the roiling heat and jutting rock that came off the ground, some black figures became noticeable.

I stood in my stirrups, shielding my eyes from the sun and squinted. Sure enough, a small group was approaching us, their pace bringing them closer faster than I had expected. I knew not of a hunting party of ours that had been out, so I grew suddenly wary. Unsure of the group's intent, I waited a bit longer so I could make out the appearance of the encroaching persons. For a another minute or so, my horse and I waited, breathing quickly and tension building in our muscles. Once they were close enough, my breath hitched in my throat.

Riding my way, covering ground with a pace that told of urgency or purpose, was a pack of Orcs. Even at the distance they were at, I could not mistake them. Gray and black of skin and astride their monstrous wargs, they wore dark armour and large bows upon their backs. I knew instantly why Sorx was wary of their approach. I had been told of the reaction many animals had to the presence of those creatures of darkness. I wasn't sure where the orc pack was heading, but I didn't want to wait and find out that their destination was my camp. I tightened my leather reins once more and managed to wheel my horse around. I kicked him, hard, urging him into a run, full tilt, back towards camp.

Tears stung my eyes as the wind of our passing burned them. I threw a glance behind me, seeing that the Orcs were, in fact, heading the same direction as me. Worry was starting to turn my stomach sour and I swallowed hard. Once inside the camp, I removed my left foot from my stirrup and dismounted without halting my horse and flew up to the largest tent. It was settled in the very center of our camp and must have been as big as a cottage. I knelt quickly before the beige deerskin tent and called out in a strangled voice.

"Warlord! Please, I request an immediate audience with you. It is urgent!" Others in the camp, both women and men, had come closer at my approach and now stood around, looking on curiously and speaking in hushed tones to one another. The flap of the tent moved to the side suddenly and I dropped my gaze a few beats later.

The man who stood before me was the most intimidating I had seen in my lifetime. He was tall and layered in thick sinews of muscle. His eyes, a dark brown that bordered on black, were set deep in his skull and fiery with focus. His torso and arms were covered in swirling red and brown tattoos, images and markings that symbolized his place as a warlord and leader of our clan. I knew better than to speak again and waited for the large man to address me.

"Birinj." His voice rumbled forth like a distant storm. I held back from flinching. "What is it that has you so troubled?" There was only a slight hint of concern in his voice, one that only rode on the coattails of a more bored tone. Keeping my gaze on the ground, I swallowed and tried to steady my voice.

"My lord, forgive me. I do not wish to bother you so. Believe me when I say that I would only come to you with a matter of great importance."

"Speak, rider." The rumble rose in volume, almost becoming irritated.

"Orcs, sir." Was all I could manage.

"What?" The word was spoken with both confusion now.

"My apologies, great one. There are Orcs approaching the camp. At least, they appear to be heading here. They must be a mile or so away." At my words, the gathered people gasped and began looking to their leader, wide-eyed. The large man was quiet for a long moment and I let my eyes drift up to meet his. His eyes were clouded with an emotion I could not recognize and they snapped to mine. A sour taste found its way into my mouth as the man beckoned me.

"Come here. I would speak with you." As I stood, the large tattooed man turned to the camp and addressed them. "As for you all, please do not worry. No harm will befall us this day. The Divines re with us!" The surrounding group cheered quietly and drifted away to go about their morning business.

I followed behind the warlord and entered the tent warily. None but the camp leaders and elders were allowed inside and I felt honored to be asked there, but only briefly. The feeling was replaced by fear and anxiety the moment I saw the gathered company. The elders, both men and women, sat around a pile of coals that hissed and smoked. A few nodded at me as I entered, but most looked on with no more emotion than rocks. The warlord bowed before them before taking a seat at the back of the tent. I stood near to the entrance, nervous and trembling.

The assembled people turned to the warlord before a single person spoke.

"What is the meaning of this, Rishod?" The speaker, a gray haired man with golden beads braided into his beard, had a voice like sand being brushed off of paper. The warlord, Rishod, turned to him and waved a hand as if to quiet him.

"I know this is unorthodox and I do ask for forgiveness. This woman, Birinj, daughter of Farasi and Schara, has come to me with grave news." His eyes turned to me and I glanced downwards. "Young one, tell the elders what you told me."

"Yes, my lord." I spoke loud enough to be heard, but my voice was still timid. I knelt on both knees and folded my hands in front of me before continuing.

"I was riding out from the camp, just as the sun was rising. Out on the dunes, I spotted a pack of Orcs riding large wargs heading this direction. I thought not to engage them and rode back here with all haste." The elders were silent and looked thoughtful. Rishod waited a long moment before speaking again. When he did, his voice was soft and his tone grave.

"Now you hear it for yourselves. Orcs, servants of powers to the north, are coming. They are upon us now and we all know the reason they are here." Rishod paused, frowning deeply. The elders were all silent for a long time. I waited, the quiet that filled the tents threatening to pop my ears. Then, another elder stood, this time a woman with ink black hair and gold tattoos on her hands and arms. She spoke, directing her attention to all in attendance.

"The war in the north...a battle between Men and forces of darkness." I stiffened at her words. "Even here in our lands, we hear of such things."

"It is true." Another elder chimed in. "News of these ill tides are not unknown to our ears. Now, the present decision we need to make, a decision that affects all of us, is whether or not to answer the summons and with what answer we do so with." At that point, I had heard more than I believed was ever intended for my ears. I had heard rumors of a battle in the north, but I did not think it my people were involved.

The discussion between the elders continued for quite some time. Opinions were given and arguments validated back and forth. The warlord sat quietly, listening and seemingly deep in thought. I merely sat back on my haunches, trying to soak in what was being said.

"The summons calls for all our able bodied warriors! We cannot risk out own safety of the promise of land and water. A promise given by a man of pure evil, if you can call him a man. He has no reason to keep his word!"

"If we do not give him what he asks for, what makes you think he will not destroy us for disobedience. And our people will continue to suffer for lack of the necessities he promises. Warriors are meant to fight for their people and their sacrifice, if it came to that, would not be in vain."

"Wait!" I couldn't keep my emotions in check and blurted out the word before I could stop myself. All the eyes in the tent turned to me, burning into me with a mix of anger, disbelief and curiosity. Rishod sat higher, dark eyes nearly on fire with his own feelings. I lowered my forehead to the ground, apologizing silently for my outburst before sitting straight once more and addressing the group.

"What I mean, my lords and ladies, is that I am confused as to why this discussion is being entertained. Why are you even considering sending out our only protection to aid in a war that is not our problem and none of our business? We do not need the aid of a foreign lord to sustain our people."

I was cut off by a silencing hand from Rishod. The large man took a long moment, staring hard at me, before he spoke.

"I received his first summons close to a year ago. He called us to war. It might as well be a death warrant, but it is a chance that I am willing to take in order to protect our people. The other warlords have all answered the call. Now, we are going to do the same."

"No!" I screamed, standing quickly. "You can't think that this will end well!"

"Birinj, that is enough."

"No! I will not back down from this. This is wrong! You are sending them to their deaths! And for what?"

"Be still, damn you!" The voice, I realized then, came from behind me. I half-turned to see my brother enter the tent, the large tiger cloak resting over his shoulders. Feeling sheepish, I bowed at the waist and backed towards the tent's opening. Sufyan knelt and touched his own forehead to the floor in front of the elders. His did not lift himself from this position even as he spoke.

"Please forgive my sister, Birinj. She is upset and afraid and unsure of what she is saying." Indignantly, I almost kicked him, but remembered my place and remained still. The elders nodded in response to his request and Rishod asked him to rise. Once my brother stood before the gathered council, the warlord dismissed me with a wave of his hand. I turned on my heel, angry and worried.

Storming out of the tent, I emerged back into the light of the day. I noticed that the people had gathered once more outside the tent but this time, their frightened and fretful faces were turned towards the outer edge of camp. Lifting my own eyes to follow their gazes, I froze.

Riding at an almost leisurely pace through our camp, frightening and impressive, was the Orc pack. At this close range, I couldn't stop myself from taking in their appearances. The leader, or at least I assumed his was from his posture and decorated armor, had flesh that was a sickly pale green and was mottled with black scars that crossed over his nose and left eye. His hair, thin and red, swayed with the movement of his warg. His pack were all similar to him, skin tones ranging from almost silver to dark brown. Some had scars or pock marks and still others had rings in their noses and brows, but all were ugly and terrifying to see. The wargs they rode were nearly as hard to look upon as their masters. Massive and brown, the wolf-like beasts had short muzzles with lips pulled back to show their yellowed fangs. The fur was mangy and greasy looking in the light and their stench alone made one's eyes water.

My knees almost gave under me as fear took hold. The riders pulled their wolves to a halt only two horse lengths from me. I choked back vomit as the smell hit me and I nearly gasped, but forced myself to remain as stoic as possible. The lead Orc, noting my discomfort at their presence, grinned toothily at me. His teeth, closer to the canines of a mongrel dog, were uneven and razor sharp. Then, much to my horror, he spoke to me.

"We are here to call upon the Southrons for our Lord. We wish to speak with your master, wench." His voice curdled my blood as he spoke a perverted sounding Common. My knowledge of the language was limited, so I merely bowed, losing my tongue and ability to move, out of terror. Just then, my rescue came at my back in the form of my brother and Rishod. They left the tent together and now both stood behind me. Sufyan land a hand on my back and his eyes were soft as he looked at me.

"Are you well, sister?" He asked me, concern in his tone. I nodded, not yet finding my voice. "Go to our tent. We are going to handle this. Do not come out until I say so." The last part was spoken in a whisper as our warlord leader began to speak to the Orcs in Common. I caught the words 'welcome' and 'enter' as he spoke. Rishod outstretched his hands to the warg riders and they dismounted their great beasts, the movement as fluid as any of my people would have exhibited with their own mounts.

I began walking away from the elders' tent, trying to appear as small as possible by ducking my head and averting my eyes. As I passed the first Orc, who stood hunched over from the waist, I heard his growling laughter which made me walk just a bit faster. The large mounts barely paid me any mind as I walked by them, some flicking ears or sniffing at me, and I ventured a glance at them. I had never seen anything so strange and so intimidating in my life. Being so close, I now noticed the brindled pattern and small spots that the wargs' fur carried under the grime. I imagined that their fur would be almost pretty if cared for properly. I began to drop my gaze back to the ground, but it was caught by the eyes of one of the riders.

And, oh, was he fearsome to gaze upon! His face was sharp and severe. A single white scar ran from his cheekbone to his throat and it was a stark contrast to his skin, which was a mottled gray like storm clouds. He sported a pair of silver earrings in his right ear that jingled when he turned to meet my gaze and one ring in the bridge of his nose , directly between his dark red eyes. His hair, shoulder length and black as pitch, was tied back at the base of his neck. His jagged armor, leather gloves, and boots were the same shade as his locks and crude of make. An oddly curved sword sat on his hip and a bow rested on his back. He stood as the rest of the Orcs did, slightly hunched over as if curling in on himself from the waist.

I found I couldn't look away from him. His gaze was not openly aggressive, from what I could tell. It was more curious or wary, much like my own. He did not growl or taunt me as I expected him to do. He merely left a hand on his warg's shoulder and kept his crimson eyes locked on mine until he and the other Orcs were led into the tent. I realized, once he walked away, that I had ceased movement. Resuming my pace, I hurried to my parents' tent, back at the edge of the camp. Once there, I noticed Sorx standing near his enclosure, reins tied haphazardly to a tree. At my footsteps, my horse turned his head and whinnied quietly. I patted his rump with one hand to reassure him before moving to enter my tent. Just before I could do so, the flap was thrown aside and I started.

My mother grabbed me in an embrace so fierce that I nearly fell under her. Almost immediately I registered her crying, her thin shoulders shaking. Wrapping my own arms around her, I squeezed her back and asked her why she wept. Through her tears, she explained.

"I was worried, my child! I heard someone saying that you left the camp, then that you rode back as if your hair was on fire. Something about goblins or what have you. Divines, I was so afraid for you!" I smiled sadly at her and tried to comfort her. I steered her back to our tent and we both slid inside. Once there, my eyes adjusted and found my father, sitting with legs crossed on his pallet. He smiled at me but the emotion didn't reach his eyes. I settled beside my mother, holding her hand in between both of my own.

A moment ticked by, then another, no words uttered by any of us. I sat in silence with my parents, thoughts racing, for what must have been hours. For a moment, I considered going and finding my brother. I was leaning towards the tent opening when I was stopped by the presence of someone entering.

It was Sufyan. My older sibling looked solemn and he cast a glance at my father, one that was full of meaning. Our mother, worry creasing her forehead, frowned and laid a hand on Sufyan's arm.

"Son, what is it? What has happened?" Her voice was wavering slightly. Our father leaned in, as well, to listen to what my brother had to say.

"Mother, father." Sufyan spoke softly, "the leaders have received a summons."

"A summons? For what, Sufyan?" My mother asked, sounding confused. I glanced at my father and his face told that he knew of what my brother spoke. Sufyan continued, now grasping our mother's hand in his own.

"From the north, mother. It's a summons...for war."

"What?" My mother sounded scared now. At this point, I was becoming angry again. I couldn't believe that the leaders had actually agreed to send our warriors to aid the northerners. As I fumed, Suyfan explained what had been discussed among the elders. My parents simultaneously gasped when he mentioned the Orcs now currently present in our camp.

"The elders are letting the Orcs stay here? Why did they let them into the camp?" My mother began questioning, her fear turning to frustration. Her husband stayed silent, staring hard at his knees. I decided to answer her before Sufyan had a chance to respond.

"They didn't know they were coming. They hadn't a clue until I rode back and told them. That's why I was riding into camp the way that I did. I spotted them first."

"You did, Birnij? My child, they could have killed you!"

"I know..." I trailed off, feeling another wave of fright take over. Sufyan tossed me a sympathetic look before speaking to our father.

"The warlord is rallying all warriors to him. All able men are to pack themselves and be ready by the next full moon. For protection, we are leaving the youths and elder hunters so you will not be left alone."

"Is father going...?" I wondered out loud. Sufyan shook his head, his long braid sliding over his shoulder.

"No. Actually, he is to act as one of the seconds' while the warlord is away." Our mother hugged herself at that.

"Your father...? Leading the camp?"

"Yes." Our father replied. At the answer, our mother turned to him sharply. An incredulous look passed over her tired features, but she did not question it. Instead, she turned back to us.

"So, Sufyan. This means...that you are leaving?" I was worried she was going to ask. I too feared the answer.

"I am. Actually, I'm to lead a vanguard unit ahead of the others to establish our place before we head into the war. My force will number twenty and five, plus myself. We leave within the day."

And, that's the end of the first real chapter. Hope that ending didn't suck too badly. I rewrote this a few times and I still feel like it isn't too great. Well, let me know what you think! If...anyone is still...reading. *clears throat* So, yeah. See y'all next time.