Edit:
We finally reach some action! I really like writing fight scenes it turns out.
Annamir had seen too many travesties in her short life. She had been at the fall of Osgiliath, when the forces of Mordor had decimated the forces of Gondor and destroyed the last bridge across the Anduin. She had seen the land of the Beornings aflame, watched the thick black clouds rise over the Ford of Carrock and smelt the acrid stench of burning flesh. She had held her father's hand as he lay in the shadow of Emyn Arnen, gasping for breath through bloody lips, just another dying ranger with an orcish blade buried in his sternum.
Standing with the dead in the mud at her feet, Anna felt neither sadness nor anger, just wearied resignation. She noticed the stricken look on Nelwen's face and supposed that she had seen little of death while safely ensconced in Rivendell.
While the rest of the fellowship stood silently at the edge of the devastation, Anna picked her way through the wreckage of lost lives. A jaunty glint of gold caught her attention and Anna knelt down, picked up a broken belt buckle from the muddy ground, and turned it between her fingertips to watch the midday sun dance across the raised surface. Mesmerised by the light skipping across the carved metal, Anna didn't notice the elf crouching by her side until Nelwen interrupted her quiet contemplation by asking, "who are these people?"
"How should I know?" Anna snapped, inexplicably annoyed by Nelwen's interruption.
Anna's tone was a warning to leave her alone but Nelwen was angry and tired and bit back, "I thought Rangers knew these things."
"What do you want from me, elf?! Rangers read the land; they're not omniscient!"
"These are Northmen from the Dales," interrupted Aragorn, now himself crouching in the mud next to one of the dead.
Annamir glared daggers at the back of Aragorn's head, trying to ignore Nel's look of smug condescension. How the hell did he know that? "How can you possibly know that?" asked Anna.
"Their weapons are dwarven-made; they bear the mark of Erebor. The men of the Dales have a close relationship with the Kingdom in the Mountain."
"What are they doing here? We are far from the Dales," asked Nel.
"The Easterlings assault the Wilderlands without pause," explained Aragorn as he gingerly closed the eyes of a vacantly staring child. "These families were probably trying to reach their distant kin in Rohan. They were clearly… intercepted."
"By whom?" asked Nel, her voice slightly wavering.
Aragorn pulled an arrow from one of the bodies, closely inspected its fletching and head. "Orcs."
That orcs were responsible for the carnage before them had been obvious to Annamir the moment they had stumbled upon the camp. The broad gashes in the bodies were distinct, made by the unevenly serrated blades favoured by the orcs of Dol Guldur. And the footprints in the marshland suggested a chaotic attack from all sides, matching the orcs' preferred tactic of overwhelming force over tactical assault. See! Annamir's ranger skills were perfectly fine!
Whether it was the sight of senseless death, or Aragorn's irritatingly superior knowledge of Rhovanion, or the elf's smug face that did it, but something inside Anna suddenly snapped and she found herself spoiling for a fight. "Great – orcs. Of course we were going to encounter orcs this close to Dol Guldur. Whose stupid idea was it to come this way?" she turned on the elf, "oh that's right - yours."
Nel looked briefly taken aback by the accusation but soon rallied herself to face down Anna's rage. "Well it's not like we had a plethora of better options. What would you have done? Between the trolls of Ettenmoore, the demon in Moria, Saruman in the South and orcs in Anduin, I'm going to go with Orcs! At least we're in the green, pleasant lands of Anduin, not trying to pick our way across treacherous mountaintops or through the impenetrable darkness of unending mines."
"Ah yes - because there's nothing I like more than admiring a picturesque vista while being bludgeoned by orcs."
"As a ranger, surely you yourself are talented at bludgeoning. I'm beginning to wonder what ranger talents you do possess. Or perhaps you simply call yourself a ranger to excuse your sartorial choices and lack of apparent personal grooming."
"I don't bludgeon... I stab... with finesse!"
Annamir was expecting another retort but the elf instead fell silent, standing stock-still, her head slightly cocked to the side. From the edge of the camp, Gandalf looked concerned by Nel's sudden silence and stepped towards her.
"Someone is coming," Nel finally announced, her nose scrunched in consternation, as if annoyed that someone had had the audacity to interrupt her while she was opinionating.
"Who?" asked Gandalf with evident concern.
"I don't know," she snapped, "their footfalls are loud and clumsy; they are not elves."
"Orcs or men?!" Anna demanded, her own concern growing
"You're the ranger! You tell me!"
Anna's patience was gone, "from which direction do they approach?!"
Nel indicated to the north, the rage draining from her face to make way for her growing fear. Annamir and Aragorn stepped forward to face whatever was advancing, drawing their swords. Behind the two rangers, Gandalf readied his staff and Nelwen notched an arrow to her bow. Anna could see the arrow shake in the elf's hands – shit.
The rumble came quietly at first then crescendoed into a mighty crash as the orcs burst through the reeds and rushes.
Metal clashed with metal as Annamir and Aragorn surged forward to face the enemy. From her safe distance, Nel sent arrows methodically flying towards the orcs as they emerged from their obscurity among the reeds. Gandalf chanted low and steady, using magic to slow the orcs' onslaught and prevent them from overpowering the meager fellowship. Aragorn, tall and steady, stood his ground while bringing his great-sword down in straight, solid hits. Conversely, Anna never stood still, weaving through the wave of attackers, the narrow point of her long-sword penetrating plate and chainmail alike. She struck with precision, taking advantage of weak spots and constantly moving out of striking range to make up for her small stature.
Annamir felt good. For too long had she been merely travelling: walking to Rivendell, dredging through the snow up Caradhras, marching through the Gladden Pass, picking her way through the muddy waterways of the Gladden Fields. Her limbs had become stiff, her fingers twitchy. Now, finally, finally, she was moving, lithe and alert and deadly. She was almost enjoying herself. Almost. Then Nelwen shouted out a warning about a troll and Annamir found herself lurching unexpectedly to the left as a club hit her soundly in the stomach. Fuck – that hurt.
Smeared into the muddy ground, Anna ignored the empty faces of those already slain, staring at her expectedly. She would not be joining them, not today. As she pushed her bruised body from the waterlogged ground, she tried to take stock of their predicament. Aragorn was facing down the troll, which meant that Anna's stomach was mercifully spared a second assault for now. Meanwhile Gandalf was holding back the tide of orcs with wide sweeps of his staff and white arches of magic that made Anna's teeth tingle whenever they made contact. At the rear of the group, Nelwen was urgently backing up while firing arrow after arrow. Her rate of fire had slowed and the trembling in her hands was beginning to affect her aim. Anna gave her body another push; she had to get to her soon before the stupid, argumentative, conceited elf got herself killed. Not that she didn't deserve it; but the quest to destroy the Ring wasn't going to end now because the Ring Bearer got herself hacked to death by marauding orcs.
Anna had just managed to stumble upright when Nelwen stopped firing and returned her bow to her back. What the hell was she doing?! Nel ducked and darted forward, barely missing numerous orc blades as she sped across the clearing. She approached Bill the horse, bucking in circles and whinnying in distress at the edge of the battle, and swiftly mounted him before riding off into the tall rushes.
The coward! She's bloody scarpered!
Anna twisted the pommel of her blade in her hand, testing the weight of the long-sword and steeling herself before returning to the fray. Annamir was no sheltered elf; she had orcs to eviscerate.
