Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings however sad it may be. I only hope to represent Tolkien's work with an OC of my own. What you do not recognize from the books or movies or appendices or anything else of Tolkien's belongs to me.

"Not all those who wander are lost." ~J.R.R. Tolkien

2.

Her lips were cracked and dry, though every time she wet them, they would only sting from lack of moisture. It had been weeks since she was first imprisoned on the back of the swaying Mûmakil, and things were still looking bleak. No more ambushes had come from the tree men, and the army's pounding footsteps were growing louder and more resolute each passing day.

On the back of the Mûmakil, hands still bound to one of the many posts holding up the makeshift tent on the animal's back, she was not tortured and questioned so much as neglected and ignored.

It would seem that with her threat of being a spy, the Haradrim would pay more attention to what was said and done around her. The captain and a select few of his men would spend much of their time poring over maps, arguing about which way was which and what paths to take that would lead them to their destination.

From what she could gather, the Haradrim were a very secluded bunch of tribes lying South of Gondor, wherever that may be. They had an ancient and sturdy alliance with the Mordor that was mentioned earlier. Every time that name was mentioned, a chill would creep from the center of her chest into every crevice of her body. Even some of the foot soldiers who were rarely invited up onto the Mûmakil would be visibly disconcerted when it was brought up.

Earlier, the captain had been speaking to some of his scouts, ordering them to leave and watch over the paths to Isengard, for that was where they were headed. As she understood, the Haradrim had been called to Mordor in preparation for a possible battle. They had camped there for many months until they were ordered to Isengard in a mission to try and protect the city from ill will.

"We will travel on the East shore of the Great Anduin River until we come across the Onedló Entwash. That smaller river has more cover and will allow us to move more freely next to it in a North Westerly direction." The captain's dirty finger trailed upward on the map in front of him and a few scouts. "At the tributary of Snowbourn, we will cross the river in the shallows and make a straight bound for Isengard across the West Emnet Plain." The captain looked up expectantly.

"Sir, following that path will lead us less than thirty miles from the city of Minas Tirith; a city of man and possibly with the strongest defenses of any. Would it not be wiser to head straight East and then cross the Ered Nimrais Lamedon Mountains and then head straight North to Isengard?"

The captain looked up at the scout while still leaning against the surface holding the map. "Remember that a straight path from one point to another takes less time and effort than turning corners as you suggest. You forget that the orcs of Mordor left before us by the Anduin River to lay siege against the Minas Tirith's riverside guard post. Gondor no longer has the power to protect against enemies at the river. Of course, according to you we could simply cross the mountains and put us weeks off of our journey. Perhaps you would like to assist in pulling these mighty Mûmakil up the steep and narrow mountain paths yourself."

The scouts all went quiet and agreed that their captain's plan was the bet course of action. The girl sat watching carefully and hoping that they were wrong about Gondor's men being powerless against them. She so wanted out of her binds and back on the sturdy Earth.

"The gap of Rohan has already been taken care of and a path carved for us through the great Fangorn Forest itself." Whispers arose inside the tent and the girl desperately kept herself from banging her head against the pole she was tied to in hopes of breaking it. Looking over the edge she was near of the giant beast, she knew it was a very long way down and would take an enormous amount of luck for her to not plummet to certain death should she fall. For now, it seemed her best bet was to stay silent and calm as long as she could manage that.

The girl counted the moons that rose and fell in order to keep track of the days while they walked steadily onward. She was also interested in how she could seemingly tell just which direction the army was marching at any given time. The first time she realized this, it had excited her to her core. Could I be remembering this place? Have I been here before? But no, the more she looked around the more lost she felt aside from the bearings in her inner compass.

True to the captain's word, they had been following a great rushing river for many days and heading north. The roar of the water gushing over rocks and miniature waterfalls almost balanced out the constant pounding berating her eardrums that was driving her mad with every footstep the Mûmakil was taking. Almost.

When the captain felt good enough and did not forget about her, he fed and watered the mysterious girl being held prisoner. Never did he speak with her because he gave up on her constant I don't know's and Please's. He still believed her to be a spy in allegiance against Mordor and in turn, the Haraldrim.

After no less than sixty days heading north, the army shifted its bearing more westward. True to his word, the foliage was denser allowing for more cover from the captain's enemies and the army began moving more swiftly without as many interruptions. The Haradrim all seemed to be more comfortable with moving in cover of darkness, even the darkness caused by trees. To their left, the water of the Onedló Entwash sparkled a hundred yards away. To their right, nothing but darkness and endless shrouds of black could be seen.

Finally, in half the time it took the battalion to follow the Anduin River Northward, they abruptly turned to the West, crossing the Snowbourn tributary where it was shallow onto the Western shore. The water was much more peaceful there, and under different circumstances, the girl would've liked to sit in the sun on the shore, listening to the leaves and the birds.

For some reason, she felt in sync with the nature around her. If she focused, she thought that her ears could pick up some distant whispers when she was near to the trees. At first she thought more men were watching them and were going to ambush them, but the whispers continued for quite a long time with nothing happening. The further along they traveled, the harsher and louder the whispers became; though when she tried to concentrate on actually understanding the mutterings, they would slip out of thought and out of mind until everything became deathly silent aside from the army's marching. This alone frustrated her to no end.

When they eventually veered from the trees, the girl started feeling empty and as if all hope was lost. She knew not what she was hoping for, but she came to the reasonable conclusion that she was simply hoping for another ambush. In the open Emnet Plains, she could see for miles and all was still, not one thing was out of place and so she felt emptier than ever.

When she had finally given up hope and lay slumped over the edge of the Mûmakil, a resounded cry caused her to sit erect and look all around the army. One of the scouts had seen something in the distance; a black shadow making haste across the grassy plain. With her sharp eyes, she saw that they were men on horseback. They were not dressed in green cloaks to hide their faces, but were clad in earth-toned battle armor, ready to take on the Haradrim.

The girl smiled, and waited for the Haradrim to see what she already had. To avoid the shadow coming closer, the captain had ordered the army towards the forest that could barely be seen.

"Change bearing West toward the forest cover!" The captain barked out his orders. "Prepare for battle with the Riders of Rohan!"

"You said Rohan was taken care of, sir!" A scout said, pulling on his cloth mask.

"They must be exiles, then!" The captain shouted at the scout and he eagerly flew down a rope to the ground to join the other foot soldiers.

The Mûmakil broke into a run, barely managing not to crush any of its allies. The prisoner bounced roughly trying to find footing so she could steady herself. None of the Haraldrim present seemed to have any problems. Her wrists were only becoming more rubbed and raw as her body pulled against their bindings. She felt as if the jostling of her body would make her pass out, and partially wished that it would.

The trees were looming closer and closer with the Mûmakil's bounds. As they approached tree line, the exiled riders of Rohan had come upon them and were either spearing foot soldiers from the backs of their horses, or shooting arrows up to the riders of the Mûmakil.

"Target the Oliphaunts!" The man in the richest looking armor said upon his great black horse. Oliphaunts? Are they speaking of the Mûmakil? The girl gasped at her realization and tried to flatten herself out as well as she could away from sight. She heard the twang of an arrow flying from one of their stiff bows, and the woosh as it flew closer. Her hearing was pinpointing its exact location and she relaxed; the arrow would not hit near her. It finally stuck with a resolute thump, but there was another sound.

One of the ropes holding the hut steady on the back of the Mûmakil was tearing apart; they must have sliced it with their arrows. Suddenly there were more bumps, more jostling and the cloth ceiling above her started to crumple overhead. Right as they broke through the tree line and into the coverage, the pole holding the Haradrim's prisoner snapped in two. With great joy, she slipped her hands out from behind the shards of wood and rested them behind her. As the jostling continued, however, she realized what a bad idea that was.

Now matter how hard she tried to find a grip behind her, she could feel herself slipping from the mighty beast's back. With nothing to brace herself, she fell quite a ways into a tall tree that just happened to pass by. The branches cut at her skin and tore at her clothes, catching her hair in tangled twigs while she kept falling, not as quickly, but the tree did not actually catch her.

She wanted to stop sliding, she hoped for a branch to land on that would steady her so she could relax for a few minutes. Instead, she kept falling, not able to see where the ground was since it was such a huge tree. In some ways, she thought the tree was even trying to help her. More than once she fell into another branch with more force than she thought her body could produce by simply falling into it. Her idea was absurd, but she found some strange comfort in the thought that maybe the tree was actually trying to catch her.

This thought echoed through her mind as she was falling the rest of the way to the ground, until landing quite ungracefully into a pile among the leafy forest floor. She felt no impact, only darkness, and she welcomed the oblivion as a way to ease her pain and discomfort for the time being.

If anything, it was the trees that eventually woke her up. The ground was damp from a recent heavy rain, as were her clothes and during the night she slept through she felt showers of acorns and other seeds fall onto her motionless body while she was sleeping, but finally the stinging of their hard shells pulled her back to consciousness.

The first thing she did was groan from he crumpled position, as many do when waking up in immense pain; though many are not in immense pain because they fell off a frightened Mûmakil in the middle of a forest with helpful trees as she was. With her bound hands, the stranded elf managed to push herself up into a sitting position. With quick, shallow breaths, she pinpointed the location of her worst pain; on her left side under her breast, there were several places that felt as though with each inhale, they threatened to tear out her skin and set her heart on fire.

Leaves and dirt were sticking off places where there were streams of dried blood. A particular gash in her thigh worried her greatly, as it was looking slightly discolored and felt numb. Deciding that her best course of action was to distance herself from the cruelty of the Haradrim, she set off in the direction she guessed was opposite of where the army had run. Little did she know that there was another force at large in her subconscious pushing her in the same direction.

The further she walked, the further she felt that she had covered no ground. She knew somehow that she had kept her bearing straight and had not veered off the path she felt was the right one, but the world still felt as if nothing had changed. The lights were bouncing off the leaves from above in strange ways; every time she blinked it was as if the light was coming from another direction. It is a trick of the forest, she thought, it must be very old to have such huge trees.

She also knew that she was not walking in the Fangorn Forest that had been in the Haradrims' path; which pleased her immensely. Even so, something about the forest seemed stressful and anxious; making her feel much the same. Keeping eyes and ears peeled, she willed herself to not make a sound through the underbrush. Only when she unfortunately tripped ungracefully over a few tree roots could the animals around be alerted of her presence, though the dry twigs underneath her feet and the leaves she pushed through would not make a sound as she passed.

Perhaps that is one of the reasons I feel so uncomfortable, it is so eerily quiet here; so unnatural. Though she didn't remember ever strolling through a forest as she was now, she could still sense the animosity in the air. Once or twice or maybe even three times, the girl was forced to lean against a tree and catch her breath, clutching her ribs and trying to let the many wounds she had accumulated prepare for more walking.

Then her great hearing picked up something far sooner than her eyes. The sound of metal-on-metal, of battle cries for rage and for glory, and of heavy conflict made her ears perk and her approach cautious. She was frightened, though the girl also wanted to leap for joy since there was finally a sign that she had gotten quite a ways in a short amount of time. She finally limped to the edge of the forest line. Before her, beyond the obvious fighting, were the smoking ruins of a great city resting against the mountainside. Debris lay everywhere in a depressing setting of ruin and blood. As she looked upon the scene before her, the stress built up inside of her even more. She could feel that this battle was the reason she had been so frightened in the forest gloom.

The fighting was obviously drawing to a close. Nasty looking creatures ran from the battle only to be chased and slain by the exiled Riders of Rohan! The girl perked excitedly; anyone who was an enemy of the Haradrim and these deformed creatures in front of her could most definitely help her. She waited for a while, watching the rest of the terrible creatures be hacked to pieces or shot by arrows. She found a strange pleasure well up inside of her whenever another fountain of thick black blood spurted from the monsters, as if she knew they were evil.

In fact, she did know they were evil.

She just didn't know how.

A wave of pain and exhaustion overtook her. She managed to curl up into a ball and stay still. Nausea was evident within her, and she pressed tightly on her stomach with her knees as if to sooth it, but it was not working. She stayed curled up until she heard a rustling in the bush right next to her feet. Her body pressed itself into a tighter ball, willing not to be seen. Her eyes were clamped shut and it took a lot of her strength not to scream or moan in agony.

She heard more rustling and then a tug on her ankle. One eye shot open and peeked over her legs, but what she saw startled her to the point that her mouth hung slack in horror.

One of the creatures was dragging itself up to her. Its legs hung limp behind it and there was an ax stuck right in its lower back. Its teeth were yellow and dripping in black blood. Its skin was unhealthily grey and covered in mud and blood, though its head was covered with greasy hair. She could smell its foul breath as it crept closer, laughing, coughing, and spitting over her all at once.

The nightmarish monster snarled at her with a voice tearing its way through her ears and made her jerk back, finally reacting. Behind her, her arms felt around for anything she could use for aid, though she truly wished they were unbound so she could simply crawl away.

As she watched, the monster before her reached down and removed a dagger so scratched and serrated, just looking at it hurt more than her wounds combined. Perhaps she should have screamed to let one of the riders know she needed help, but she couldn't make a sound at all. She let her eyes close and she prayed to whom ever people prayed to in the land that she was in.

Please let it be quick. Please, please, please.

She flinched at the thump of an a blade hitting flesh somewhere nearby and opened one eye barely to see more blood draining from the monster's mouth than before. A thick sword tip shone through its neck and it fell forward, sprawled over her body as if asleep. She could not move, being pinned under an armor clad monster more muscled than any man she had come across in the past months. All she could do was whimper under its weight, barely being able to breathe and barely able to believe how close to death she was.

Then she remembered the sword and looked up and over the monster's body. A man stood wiping the blade in one hand with a cloth in the other. As she looked up and her dark hair parted to show the points in her ears, the man stood taller, and instantly a look of concerned was exposed on his features. He sheathed his sword and lunged forward, heaving the monster off of her and looked her up and down.

"Im Aragorn. Odulen an dhen eithad." My name is Aragorn. I'm here to aid you. He spoke quietly, putting a filthy hand on her forehead. She could not concentrate on his words but his tone felt friendly, and something was urging her to trust this man so she allowed her eyes to close and to relax as he looked over her and at many of her wounds.

Aragorn reached for a small knife to cut her bonds, and hissed when he peeled the rope from her blistering skin. She was gently shaken when he realized that her eyes were closed.

"Dar echui. Man agorer anden?" Stay awake. What happened to you? He asked her. The elf regrettably opened her eyes to the man above her and looked at him in an expression somewhere between pain and confusion when she realized Aragorn was asking her questions.

"Man de?" Who are you? Aragorn asked a different question this time. Then he cautiously gathered her up in his arms.

She groaned. "Ú-istonl." I don't know. She stated for perhaps the thousandth time she could remember. This really got him going, he picked up his pace and ran into the now peaceful battlefield, sidestepping the monsters and leaping over fallen horses. The elf in his arms felt his footfalls on the grass, and the swaying of his body whenever he took a new step.

She forced herself to try and stay awake and to listen to the one thing he had told her to do, but she felt as if she was losing a battle inside of her. Her eyes shut once more as Aragorn ran into the city calling in Westron.