Daughter of Númenor
Synopsis: A ranger seeks her destiny as the rising dark of Mordor threatens her world, and those she cares for. Set During FOTR/TTT. Movie/Book/AU.
A/N: Thank you for reading my little story! Please review at the bottom! All reviews are welcome.
Disclaimer: Still own nothing, all the creation of the god-amongst-writers, the one and only JRR Tolkein.
Reviews: Thank you Opera14 for reviewing.
Chapter 1: Warden of the Golden Wood
The Captain of Lorien stood upon the branch of a young mellorn tree, gazing through the forest towards the borders of the realm of Lórien, where the golden trees of Lothlórien grew slimmer than in the deeper woods, and where for some time now dark creatures had dared to come, creeping into the woods under the cover of darkness. But at that moment Haldir's eyes did not scour the shadows for creeping orcs, rather he was listening, his head tilted to the side, and his sharp eyes almost lidded in the dark.
He could hear a horse's hoof beats echoing through the pre-dawn gloom. Haldir cocked his head; he could hear fatigue, and possibly an injury to the animal in the uneven rhythm of the horses gait. The heavy thump of the hooves told him its burden was heavy, perhaps more than one rider, and behind he heard other sounds. He opened his eyes, he could not yet see them but he heard them. Orcs were coming, and these ones did not creep in the shadows. They raced through the forest openly.
Then it came, a guttural scream, soon followed by several more. An Orc pack was hunting in the forest of Lórien.
Haldir burst into swift action, moving quickly down the mellorn's branch he leapt down on to the branch of neighbouring tree, moving through the larger branches he moved towards the approaching riders until the trees were too slim and young to be moved amongst. He swung himself carefully to the floor of the forest, around him he glimpsed the slight movements of grey shadows that indicated his wardens were moving into place with him.
It was not the sound of the horse's hooves that made the elves finger their bows and draw arrows from his quiver. Yet another guttural cry pierced the otherwise quiet air of the wood. An answering screech responded to the first. Haldir turned his head, it came from a little distance to the right of the first. They were spreading out to either side, and racing ahead to cut the rider off from all escape. The Orcs did not yet know how close they came to the waiting Elves. The breeze was with them, bringing the Orc stench to the Elves, rather than betraying their presence to the foul creatures.
Haldir raised his hand, signalling his wardens. He could hear the horse stumbling now, its rider's voice urging it onwards in words just beyond his hearing. He raised his hands, motioning more orders to his wardens. He needed no response to know that closest archers would have seen the signal and would relay it to the others who now spread out to meet the enemy further out. The horse was close now, less than a hundred metres, ahead a small clearing had formed in the forest, with a small rocky creek running through it. He moved forwards, he could hear the animal's steps being guided in the direction of the clearing.
Haldir paused suddenly. He realised with a moments trepidation that since having heard the horses hooves the first time it had moved unerringly to follow his own movements towards it as he darted through the wood in a less than direct route. He sensed more than saw his warden's pause with him. He shrugged off the oddity with a flick of his head and continued forwards.
He took up his position behind a young mellorn tree, relying on his Elven made clothing and the pre-dawn gloom's dark shadows to hide him from whomever approached – at least until he choose to reveal himself. He could hear the orcs drawing closer, they were gaining on the horse, the animal barely even cantering, he could hear its harsh breathing, the sounds of an animal in extreme distress.
He saw the horse and riders come into view following the path of the small rocky stream. At any moment he sensed the horse could misstep on the uneven bank and plunge the riders to the ground. But the streams path also lead almost straight to the clearing ahead, where his wardens were awaiting the Orcs in ambush. The Orcs had breached Lothlóriens borders when they had began down the streams path.
The horse stumbled but somehow kept its feet as the Orcs let out a great series of screeches. They were almost there, just a few more moments and they would be in the clearing. Haldir took a brief moment to appraise the horse and riders in the light of the moon as it filtered down through the trees. Humans both, dark haired and clothed in grey, dark greens and browns, and their horse was almost gone, white foam flecked and exhausted from its flight. Something about the riders made Haldir think back to two days before, to the departure of the Fellowship of the Ring from Calas Galadhorn. But he had no time to ponder the path of his thoughts as he drew back his own bow he could see the Orcs now, they were running through the woods at quite a pace, some almost upright, others almost gambolling on all fours.
Anária could feel the Orcs presence behind her, for three days the creatures had tracked them up the Anduin. The two rangers had continued through both day and night, Anária walking as much as possible to spare their one remaining horse. The other had been lost when an advance party of a score of Orcs had ambushed them at dusk two nights earlier. Anária knew instinctively that the clearing was her destination, she had no map as that had been lost during the attack, as had her bow. But yet she knew something was ahead, something peaceful, comforting. It was what drove her onwards now, even at the edge of exhaustion.
The worst of the attack however had been the terrible wounds her brother Anádor had received in the ambush. A terrible blow to his side and an arrow to the leg meant he had to remain on the horse most of the way, she had managed to quickly cauterise and bandage both wounds before the chase began, but a terrible dread grew within her each passing hour, that he was fading too quickly and their journey was too slow. Even with his wounds he had managed to walk part of the distance each of the first two days. It had weakened him terribly but it had been necessary, the horse would have been finished at dusk the night before without those hours of rest.
Even now Anária could feel the horse failing, its steps uncertain, any minute it might stumble and fall. She felt deep regret for the animal beneath her; she doubted her faithful horse Bregod would ever again be as fleet of foot as he had been when he was named. She loosened one hand off her grip on the reins to check the short length of strap she had used to bind her brother's hands together around her waist so that he would not slip in his illness.
Anária was peering into the shadows ahead as each one could hide another ambush, and so she never saw nor heard the arrow that whistled through the darkness behind her until it struck her brother, she felt the jolt forwards, as did the horse, which stumbled again, and this time did not regain its feet. Anária felt the world spin as the horse fell; a terrible crack of breaking bone shuddered through the animal as it cried out, a terrible scream of fear and pain which was answered by the victorious shrieks of the orc pack. Anária released the reins completely, and kicked her feet back to release them from the stirrups. Gripping her brother's arms she attempted to roll from the falling horse's back onto the forest floor before she could be flung, possibly into the rocky creek bed by the horse's feet. For one long moment the world tipped upside down and then the forest floor came up to meet her and for a long moment the world turned to darkness.
Haldir had seen the arrow, and as it was released he shot his own, the arrow landing exactly where he had aimed it, into the neck of the bow wielding orc. Suddenly the forest around him was alive with the sound of bow fire, and soon with the sound of clashing swords and shields. He saw the two humans tumble from the horse, but he had no time to spare for them or their animal. His men were rushing forwards from the tree line. As he steadied his aim on another orc, he saw the smaller human manage to come to their feet.
He noted detachedly that the rider was a woman, if he was any judge of the human figure. Another orc leapt forwards and another of his arrows found its mark in the vile creatures skull. And more than that he noted absently, she had managed to pull two short blades from their scabbards and was positioning herself over her fallen comrade. Haldir moved quickly from the line of the trees, but the Orcs were everywhere, battle raged through the clearing and beyond, an orc reared into his field of vision. Smoothly he released the arrow almost point blank into its face. Swiftly he moved forwards into the clearing, dodging between his wardens and the orcs who were throwing themselves at them.
He did not see the second black fletched arrow that came out of the darkness, this one struck the woman in the shoulder, but he heard no cry from her lips, only the sound of breath leaving her body in sudden shock and pain. Haldir turned his head, in time to see her stagger, her left hand dropping the short blade as she fell to her knees. He took a step to one side, absentmindedly he lashed out with the arrow in his right hand, slicing open the neck of an orc who had stepped too close as he moved towards the young woman. An orc leapt forwards, its eyes glittering as it moved to take advantage of her wound and fatigue. Smoothly Haldir shot it through the eye with the same arrow that had slit the other's throat.
With not a little astonishment he saw the rider rear up yet again and step forwards with a limp to guard her fallen companion again as another orc moved forwards, Haldir momentarily lost sight of the figure as he was confronted with two more orcs leaping over an injured or dead warden. He slipped his bow back onto his back and drew his sword in one smooth motion, leaping forwards to meet his attackers rather than wait for them to come to him. Two parries, a thrust and swing latter the two orcs were dead.
He twisted back towards the riders, he was only a dozen paces away as the woman viciously cut into an orc with her one short blade. The other had been dropped, in the gloom his Elven sight easily picked out the arrow which pierced her left shoulder, he could see a little blood, but from the way she moved he suspected it was a flesh wound, and not as serious as he had first feared. He was able to close the gap to where she stood without further incident, returning his sword to its scabbard he freed his bow and picked off two more orcs as they left the tree line.
As he drew level with the female he paused a brief moment to look at her, she flicked her eyes towards him, her face was pale and clenched with pain. He nodded briefly to her and moved to stand before her. His men had gained the upper hand in the battle, the tide had been turned and the orcs were now fleeing, their terrible screeches and cries echoing through the forest as they beat a hasty retreat from the oncoming wardens.
Haldir shot one final arrow, hitting a running orc in the back. He saw it trip and stumble, and then lie still. He turned back just as the woman knelt, her hand still clasped her short sword, the other bloodied arm rested across her thigh as she knelt. Most of his wardens had moved forwards, ensuring that the orcs were in full retreat, and that none would be left within the shelter of Lothlórien come dawn.
A second group of elves were now moving into the surrounding woodlands, they moved amongst the dead and dying. Quickly and mercifully ending the lives of any orcs not yet dead and checking over their wounded and fallen comrades. As the sounds of battle faded Haldir allowed a brief to twist his lips. The orcs were routed this night, but this had not been a true invasion of the Golden Wood. This had been a party chasing down two fugitives who had happened to flee into his forest.
One day soon Galadriel said a true force would assault Lothlórien, just as a force would soon move against the last holdouts of men in Rohan and Gondor, the woods of the woodland elves, and against all free peoples. It was a dark thought, and after all the ages of waiting for the shadow to return, Haldir felt it as an oncoming storm which pressed all about his sheltered home. But it was not this day, not yet.
Assured that the battle had moved on he forced himself to return to the present, as a soft whimpering made him turn his regard to the cause of the orcish intrusion. The woman was moving, crawling on one hand and both knees the short distance to her companion, who lay where he had been thrown from the horse. Two of his wardens had quieted the beast and he could hear their low discussion as to the best course in dealing with the animal.
He looked up as one of the healers paused in his approach to the two humans. Haldir nodded briefly, giving permission for the healer to examine the male human. Haldir moved quickly forwards. He doubted the fighting would return to the clearing as dawn was not far off and the orcs would wish to shelter in the foothills than be within the woods come daylight – though few of them would make it to that safety now. He moved forwards and knelt next to the woman. She stopped moving, and shoved herself to one side to look up at him, she propped herself on her good arm, her hand still fisted around the grip of her short blade.
He reached for her, kneeling he gripped her arm, seeking to take the blade, but she shook her head, attempting to free the arm. He looked at her eyes, in the darkness he could see the pain and fear in them. She was wounded, and it went deeper than her shoulder, this was a wound in her mind. She was not rational, she was looking at him but he sensed she did not truly see him.
"Be calmed," he said quietly in Westron. She tilted her head slightly, frowning at his words. "You are in Lothlórien, no harm shall come to you here, daughter of men."
She swallowed and nodded slightly, seemingly attempting to hold back the pain which must be washing over her. He could see the tracks tears of pain had made on her face. Gently he eased her blade from her fingers, carefully taking some of her weight.
"My brother..." She said, her voice barely a whisper, her head motioning to the other human. Two of the healers were at that moment gently examining the unconscious human. He glanced past her. One of the wardens gave a brief signal. The wounds were bad, and the healer was not hopeful, but it was not certain either. Haldir kept his features expressionless as he met the young woman eyes again.
Her eyes looked into his, an unspoken question to which he felt she already knew the answer as one of the healers moved around behind the young woman.
"He is being cared for, but now we must look to your wounds." he told her gently, she closed her eyes in acknowledgement. He moved his hands, helping the healer move her to lying on the other side from her wounded shoulder. As gentle as they were he heard her hiss in pain. The healer held a small potion bottle to her lips. She looked from the healer to Haldir, who nodded a little. She took a mall sip of the golden fluid. Within just moments Haldir felt her muscles relax. Her eyes fluttered closed.
The Captain took a deep breath as he stood, placing the human in the care of the healer who used a small knife to clear the green fabric of her robe, and the grey shirt beneath from around her wounded shoulder. Carefully he applied an ointment to the wound around the shaft, and then took a second smaller knife. The arrow had struck slightly upwards from the front.
Haldir had seen such wounds before. As long as they avoided the joint they were rarely of lasting damage. The healer rolled her onto her back. His hands fluttering from pulse to check for any other wounds, he moved over her form pausing only briefly on one of her legs. Haldir looked down as the first light of dawn illuminated the fair features of the young woman. Dark brows arched over her closed eyes, her nose was straight, a full mouth with a firm jaw line completed a face that suddenly to his eyes did not look quite as most humans did.
He glanced at her short blade which he had placed on the ground, taking in the shape of the weapon. He frowned, he had seen a blade like that somewhere recently. He leaned down, lifting the blade from the earth he moved away, fingering the fine edge. It was of Elven make! He had seen another blade of this kind recently, the Dúnedain Aragorn had carried a similar style of short blade, thogh this was longer, more akin to a knives cared by the northern Elves of the woodland realm. But this was no northern blade, it was made by Elvenkind over the mountains, from the realm of Imladris if he was not mistaken. He looked back down at her, in the morning light he could see the green thread on green stitched in ancient patterns on her robes.
Now he knew why that face looked so familiar, he recognised a small star had been stitched into the fabric above her heart. Partially obscured by blood, it was still recognisable. He had seen its like before, many years before. An eight-pointed star, and below another design he knew not had also been stitched, it seemed to him a sun, sinking below the horizon, but he did not know it, nor had he seen its like before.
But the star he knew. Seven Stars and Seven stones, and one white tree.
She was not just a daughter of men, she was one of the Dúnedain, of the line of Elendil, and a daughter of Númenor.