Chapter Three: Slow Working Poison
Disclaimer: The character's (except Kit and Free) are not mine!!!! *sobs* The song is again by Loreena Mckennit. No money, please. *bursts into awfully large tears* lol! The song from the last two chapters was by her too (aka: A clouded dream on an earthly night….), I just forgot to add the disclaimer. And Kit lived with a herd of horses before she met Aragorn and was bit by the lead mare, and has the power to turn into a blood red, ice blue winged, golden horned, fanged horse. *wipes sweat off forehead* Whew! lol! She changes back in forth between her true form and her horse form several times.
Have another question: should Boromir die eventually or not? Aragorn does not die.
Account of Aragorn
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While she was gone, a lone orc had come up behind me and shot me in the arm. I had killed the nasty creature by throwing my spare knife at him. It hit him, straight and true, in the heart. He had time enough to live to shoot Free in the hindquarter. The mare started and bucked with a sharp scream, but stood where she was. Kit ran up, two gray hares swinging in her hand. She immediately set them down when she saw myself and her horse. I couldn't blame her for tending to her horse first, for the mare had traveled with her for many more years than I.
She wrenched out the red tipped arrow with a strength I never knew she had. It was poisoned, and she knew. From where I sat, I could see shining tears flow slowly down her pale features. Massaging her horse's flesh almost desperately, and although my vision started to spin, I could see a deep yellow liquid seep from the wound. Kit ripped out a white bandage from one of her four saddle bags and wrapped it tenderly around the wounded flank. The elf then turned to me.
She did the same, after rolling up my ripped sleeve, but slowly worked out the arrow, as if to try not to hurt me. I was beginning to feel dizzy, and had to fight the urge to close my eyes, for fear of never opening them again. But she rubbed a sweet-smelling cream over my wound and wrapped the white cloth about my arm and kissed it in a blessing. Immediately, my sight cleared. She laid her head on my shoulder and began to cry most pitifully. She was frightened for her horse's survival: she loved Free. I hesitated for only a moment before drawing her into a firm embrace, rocking her back and forth. She had never allowed me to do such when either one of us was grieving, but now she seemed grateful for comfort.
I don't know how long we stayed like that, but after a while, Kit stood and went to the hares and set to cooking them. Readying a spit, she set them upon it over the fire, already blazing. Her eyes closed and she lay back upon the soft grass. I unsteadily crawled over on hands and knees and sat by her side. Soon enough, she rolled over onto her belly and fell asleep. She looked so innocent, not the murderess of orcs that I knew during this time of day. I stroked her back and began to sing one of her favorites:
A farmer that lived in the north country,
hey ho, and me bonny o!
He had daughters one, two, three
The swans swim so bonny o.
These daughters, they walked by the river's brim
hey ho, and me bonny o!
The eldest pushed the youngest in
The swans swim so bonny o
Oh sister, oh sister, pray lend me your hand
hey ho, and me bonny o!
And I shall give you house and land
The swans swim so bonny o.
I'll give you neither hand nor glove
hey ho and me bonny o!
Unless you give me your own true love
The swans swim so bonny o…
Kit woke and sat up, wiping away the tears from her eyes. She gingerly touched my arm and drew away when I flinched in pain. It did hurt and quite a good amount at that. She stood and helped me stand. I looked at her in admiration. She was so amazing, so strong of heart and mind. But she shivered, despite the heat of that warm summer day. Wrapping her in a fairly thin blanket and helping her to the shade of a young maple, I sat her down, cradling her with my arms.
Free seemed to be alright, for she trotted briskly over to the shade of an ancient oak and set to grazing. Dear Kit, she resembled Arwen when I went back to wandering: cold and ill. But that wondrous night when I had verbally made love to her…she had wept with pride. But Kit was a friend and I would never think of performing that for her, although I would comfort her as best I could. I murmured soothing words in Quenya into her ear. She relaxed and fell back into my arms.
I felt her brow. It was ridden with sweat, but was of normal temperature. "No…Aragorn…stop…just let me rest…" She tried weakly to push me away, her hand finding my chest, but I held her, as a young girl would hold a favorite toy when frightened. And that I was: I did not wish for my companion to perish. She was too precious to me. We must have sat for hours, for when she finally stood, the sun was sinking in the sky.
"Kit…what happened?" She did not happen. She seemed not to hear me. But after a few moments, she groaned and clutched at her head, sinking to her knees. Tears flowed from her closed eyes as she bent nearly over double, whispering "No…no…it isn't true…no!" As the moon rose and the stars shone brightly, it was then she finally came back to her own senses. Afraid to touch her, I reached out a hand. "Kit…what happened?" She looked at me, her eyes a swirling depth of fuchsia, and voice was a low growl.
"How would you feel if you couldn't hear anything? Do be drowning in your own father's voice?!" Fangs grew from her mouth and slowly dripped poison. But as she drew her rapier, she came back to herself and looked away. She was hiding something…
Before I could ask what it was, she called Free to her and the mare trotted up, her tail lifted and her step jaunty. Kit hurriedly tacked up her mare, yet with expertise. Tightening the strap on the saddle bags with all our things in them, they walked off and I had no choice but to follow. Yes…I would ask her soon…