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Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any of the characters or the world of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.
Rodaìn woke up from a blank sleep. She laid tense and alert, with closed eyes, until the other members of the company aroused from their dreams. Always pretending. Why worry about trusting others, it is myself they should truly worry about trusting. What a selfish fool. Rodaìn stiffened even more and exited her deep labyrinthine mind as she heard substantial footsteps aproach her still form.
"Lady Rodaìn," a voice prompted.
Rodaìn's eyes jumped open to view the large and hairy feet of a carrot-haired hobbit. "Good morning Master Took," Rodaìn told the now startled hobbit.
"Good morning, miss. You may call me Pip or Pippin if you would like. Merry and I were about to start on breakfast if you would want to help," Pippin greeted kindly.
Rodaìn smiled at Pippin's invitation. Perhaps it was his seemingly ever-present grin or childishly michevious attitude, but Pippin's character drew Rodaìn in. "I would like that," Rodaìn answered. "I will join you in just a moment, if you would allow me to wash by the river."
"Of course, milady." Pippin turned back to the fire as Rodaìn purposefully made her way to the river. After washing her sparsely freckled face and dampening her frizzled hair, Rodaìn joined him and Merry in the preparation of breakfast.
Following an uneventful breakfast, Rodaìn witnessed Frodo venture into the woods after speaking with Aragorn. She did not know of what he was troubled, but she recognized some of the same tenseness and worried gazes that she often displayed. Aragorn proceeded to train and spar with Merry and Pippin to improve their weaponry skills. Legolas wandered below the towering treetops and Rodaìn ventured back to her isolated area which contained her bedroll and pack.
She continued making new arrows for her shrinking arsenal, carefully sharpening and shaping the tender wood. The flakes of unneeded wood drifted to the ground, sprinkling upon the piles of withering fall leaves on the forest floor.
Over an hour passed, and Rodaìn's fingers were sore from the intricate art of arrow crafting. Aragorn presented Rodaìn with an ample distraction with his concerned realization. "Frodo is not back yet. He should have returned long before now," Aragorn stated, standing from his resting position and capping his water skin.
"Aye, where is Boromir as well?" Merry asked the group.
"Oh no," Aragorn mumbled as he saw Boromir's silver shield gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, alone and abandoned. Aragorn shared a worried look with Legolas.
Rodain slowly walked closer to the gathering as this conversation took place. She had tied her hair back and now carried her ivory-tinted bow on her shoulders. Despite her alterations to her exterior appearance, her interior demeanor displayed itself through her slightly lowered head and unsure yet silent movements forward.
Snapping twigs from the forest distracted the worried company, and they turned to see Boromir emerge from the woods. The branches, painted with leaves of dead goldenrod, vanished behind Boromir's large stature.
"Boromir! Where is Frodo?" Aragorn quickly questioned the newcomer.
With a slightly hesitant voice, Boromir relayed to the group that he had attempted to convince Frodo to take the ring to Minas Tirith. Rodaìn did not particularly understand this information, and looked to the group in question, unsuccessfully seeking to glean explanation from their expressions. Boromir finished his story, stating that him and Frodo then had a quarrel, after which Frodo donned the ring and vanished from sight. This ring, whatever it may be, Rodaìn reasoned, must be highly powerful.
Before any could stop them, the two normally humorous hobbits set off to find their friend Frodo, with grimly concerned expressions. Not wanting the hobbits lost or in danger, Aragorn quickly instructed Boromir to follow the hobbits. Legolas and Gimli swiftly headed off to the eastern section of the forest to search for the hobbit and his valuable possession elsewhere.
Rushed and worried, Aragorn turned to the nearly-ignored Rodaìn and instructed her to stay at the campsite, for the good of her protection. Aragorn proceeded to enter the woods at a sprint in order to recover the lost member of the fellowship.
Rodaìn stood in the clearing in a near daze, but, after hearing the din of a distant battle, disobeyed Aragorn's request. Running through the woods and stumbling over fallen trees and stray stones, Rodaìn easily found her way to the battle scene.
Though she had been forced to take on the occasional orc, Rodaìn was temporarily stunned by the number of orcs engaging in battle with Boromir. She quickly assessed the situation, and brought her bow and a recently made arrow to the crevice of her cheek and shoulder. She was able to fire several shots at the orcs attacking the hobbits. The hobbits, though valiantly fighting and employing skills from their lessons with Aragorn and Boromir, were losing ground and slowly becoming outnumbered. Leaving Boromir to fend for himself, Rodaìn bravely stepped forward to fight for the two hobbits she had felt most comfortable around and welcomed from.
After firing her last few arrows from her limited supply, Rodaìn timidly entered the fray with her dagger. Slashing several wounds on the orcs' molten skin, Rodaìn fought to protect the hobbits, and now herself, as she finally realized the immense danger she had put herself into. Having no armor, she was slashed numerous times by the orcs' crude weapons. The burns of the wounds sharpened Rodaìn's mind and brought her an odd delivery of confidence as she continued to ward off the orcs with the hobbits. No thought of Frodo lingered in Rodaìn's mind any longer. However, she believed the protection of the ringbearer was a sole factor spurring Merry and Pippin's peristent and sharp stabs with their swords.
Despite this effort, the small group proved no match as the orcs crowded their weak targets. Rodaìn noticed with surprise that none of the three fighters, neither she nor the hobbits, had fallen yet. This is not right. It is like they are drawing this out, to torture us. As she blocked an orc's attack to her shoulder, Rodain yelped in sudden surprise as her dagger was knocked out of her white-knuckled grip by a previously unseen orc to the right of her.
With the limited use of her hands, Rodain was quickly overpowered and seized by the wrists as the grubby hands of another orc behind her encaptured her sweating fists. Shocked and panicked, Rodain realized she must have drifted from Merry and Pippin. She gasped in pain as an orc with a disfigured left eye and cheek kicked her in her stomach and thighs with his bulky boot. Still, she turned her head back to look for the hobbits. Her eyes widened in fright and pain as she witnessed Merry and Pippin getting thrown over the backs of orcs, as an orc simultaneously pushed her head into a tree, encompassing her vision in hazy waves of black. Thick and probing fingers fixed on her waist and her breath hitched a final time as she was thrown into unconsciousness after her head smacked on the rigid armor covering an orc's magma-like back. She did not hear Boromir's tortured scream. She did not hear Aragorn's frantic whispers. She did not hear Legolas and Gimli's stunned gasps. She did not hear the pleased chatter of the orcs at their latest capture.