~*~* Author's Note: I've been working on this story for a while now. Tell me what you think! R/R! This takes place BEFORE the events of FOTR, and Aragorn and Legolas are already friends. *~*~
The forest was a million shades of green, for the spring had brought a new life to the land that had been covered in snow just a short time before. Jilikius Blackthorne stood at the edge of a valley, gazing down into the depths of the wood. Brow furrowing, he squinted his eyes, and took a sniff of the air. His daughter, the young and fair Loriana, came behind him, touching her father on the shoulder.
"What is it, father?" she asked, a note of concern playing against her fair face. The aging man turned, and faced his daughter with a smile.
"Nothing, Loriana. We shall reach Bree within the day."
"Already? I thought we had many miles ahead of us." She paused a moment, considering, and then continued, "Since we are so close, may I stray to pick flowers? I wish to make a crown." The young woman smiled up at her father, and he nodded.
"Aye, but wander not far from the path. We are close to Bree indeed, but there are still dangers of the forest."
"Aye," his daughter responded, and danced off toward a patch of yellow and white flowers. She kneeled, her white dress covering her legs and the ground around her. Singing a song she made up just then, Loriana began to pluck flowers from the ground, placing them in a basket she carried.
The song bird's cry,
And the whispering pine,
The clouds in the sky,
And the squirrels so fine.
Green leaves from the trees,
And yellow beams of sun,
Are all that I see,
Are all I dream of.
How I wish I could
Stay in the forest all day,
But from this wood,
I fear, I must stray.
She continued to hum, lost in thought and wonder for the wood. She had picked several white flowers, when a sudden feeling swept over her. She looked up, in the direction her father had stood just moments ago. He was no longer there. She smelled the air, and closed her eyes for a moment. Dread filled her voice.
"Father?" she asked, glancing around again. She heard a scurrying sound in the bush. "Father?" she called again, louder this time. Standing, she dropped the basket. It fell to the ground, the flowers falling out of it and back to the earth.
"Father!" Loriana exclaimed, and began to run in the direction he was last. She heard a growl behind her, and turned. She gasped, backing up a step, then two. Orcs, several of them. At least five or six, surrounded her quickly. "Father!" she called again, and then the orcs began to advance. She continued to back up until she was pressed against the trunk of a tree. The foul orcs continued to surround her.
She looked up. A fairly low tree branch loomed over her. Loriana leapt up, gripping onto the branch and swinging herself onto it. She felt slivers go into her hand, and several arrows followed her into the tree. The orcs began to chop at the tree's trunk with their swords. She felt the tree falter beneath her, and she knew that within moments, it would fall. She glanced about for a means of escape, and that's when she saw her father, laying on the ground motionless, nearly 50 feet from her.
"Father!" she shouted, and the tree began to fall. She ran across the branch, and jumped to the ground, falling to her knees upon the impact. She leapt up again, and ran to her father's side. He clutched his sword, barely conscious. Blood poured from a wound in his abdomen.
"Father," Loriana said softly, and he looked up at her.
"The orcs, Loriana." They were quickly behind her. Jilikius pressed his sword into her hands. She felt it's cool metal, then it began to feel warm, then finally hot. A bright yellow light seemed to form around her hand. She nodded, and turned, facing the orcs with a rage in her eyes that none had ever seen. An orc leapt at her, wielding a sword of it's own. She countered the attack, quickly, the clang of metal on metal filling the spring air. She quickly got the better of the creature, stabbing it once and then kicking it off her sword. She fought the next, and the next, until she faced the last one. She leapt at it, and it responded, slashing at her arm. It caught her flesh, and quickly her white sleeve turned red with blood. She barely noticed, instead, with a fierce cry, she spun her sword, catching the orcs' head and removing it from it's body. She sighed, and then turned back to her father. Falling to her knees, she took his hand in hers'.
"Father?" she asked, her voice catching in her throat. He looked up at her, his skin already pale with death.
"Loriana, my dear Loriana. You seem far to young to -" he cut off, coughing. Loriana's eyes watered, and her father continued. "You are a Blackthorne, Loriana. You know your destiny."
"But father, I am but a girl," she said, doubt in her voice.
"Nay, my dear, nay. You are a Blackthorne," he repeated, "Now, listen to me, you must go to -" he coughed," - to Rivendell. Seek Elrond. Take -" he coughed once more, his voice growing fainter and fainter, " - take my sword and shield."
Her eyes glistened with tears, as her father began to falter. "Father?" she asked once more, clutching his hand tightly.
"Avenge me," were his last words, spoken barely in a whisper. Then, his eyes froze, and his heart stopped. Loriana feared that hers would as well. She knelt there for a long time, weeping. She closed her father's eyes, and stood, picking up the sword and his shield. She began to walk.
She walked for a long time, she wasn't sure how long. Days and nights bled together. Finally, she came across a farmer in his field. He looked at her strangely, and she spoke to him.
"Tell me, sir, what place is this?"
"A farm, several mile from Weathertop, miss."
"How far to Rivendell, then?" she asked, stepping up to him. He looked her over, a puzzled expression on his face. Then, he saw her sword.
"The sword of the Blackthorne!" he exclaimed, dropping his shovel. Loriana merely nodded. "You are a Blackthorne?"
"I am the Blackthorne, the only one that remains," she responded. "How far to Rivendell?" she repeated, growing impatient.
"Several days' walk. Please, come inside, you look very hungry." She reluctantly agreed, it had seemed like ages since she ate a true meal; along the way she had but bread and water from the river. The farmer noticed her wound, the cut on her arm that the orc had done. "You're hurt," he remarked, "but I shall help you. I have no dresses, though - for I live alone without a wife or daughter - else I would give you one." Her white dress had become quite soiled, from blood and dirt.
"I thank you," she responded politely, and followed the farmer into his house. He quickly filled the table with vegetables and breads, cheeses and a wine. Loriana eagerly ate and drank, while the farmer fetched a bandage and some water.
"I am Hapartus Windmere," he offered, as he sat next to her. She removed her arm from her sleeve, and the man grimaced. "That is an ugly wound, however did you get it?"
"Orcs," she said between bites, and then added, "and I am Loriana Blackthorne, of the wilderness."
"Aye," he said, "My father knew your grandfather, Pargilius Blackthorne." Loriana nodded, and winced as Hapartus cleaned her cut. "I have prepared a warm bath for you, if you would like," he added, and Loriana nodded with a smile.
"Thank you, Hapartus," she said softly. He finished bandaging her wound, and she stood. "Have you a spare set of clothes?" she requested, "Pants and a shirt would be wonderful," she added.
"Aye!" he exclaimed and stood, going to a chest of drawers. He rummaged through for a bit, and withdrew a pair of dark green pants and a brown shirt. Handing them to her, he looked down. "Hardly suitable for a Blackthorne.."
She smiled kindly at him. "These will be fine. Thank you again."
Loriana relaxed in the bath, closing her eyes. She felt tears begin to come, and she allowed them for a moment, then she wiped them away. Lifting her eyelids, she was shocked to find a man standing by the door, glaring at her. Loriana let out a cry, but the man merely sneered.
"Do not flatter yourself, girl," he mumbled, and threw a towel at her. She covered herself up and stood, glaring up at the dark man.
"Who are you?" she demanded, enraged.
"Anger yourself not," he advised, and threw the pants and shirt at her. "And get dressed, we have a long way to walk tonight."
"Are you going to tell me who you are, or not?" demanded Loriana, walking beside the man. They were already nearly a mile from Hapartus' house, and she still knew nothing of the rather rude stranger.
"Your father was expected in Bree nearly two weeks ago," said the man, stopping and turning to her.
"I'm sure he'd apologize for his tardiness if he were alive," she retorted, turning and walking on. The man reached forth and grabbed her arm. She turned, raising a fist to him. "Do not touch me," she warned, a glimmer of rage in her eye, "or you shall live to regret it."
The man shook his head. "You are indeed a Blackthorne," he muttered. "And I, am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I knew your father quite well. Though, he did not mention you. I can see why."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Don't you imagine your father wanted a son, rather than a daughter? For now, the entire Blackthorne legacy is thrust onto the narrow shoulders of a girl." He looked at her in disgust.
Loriana reached for her sword. Aragorn in turn held his in front of him.
"We shall see," she said with a sneer, "who the girl is here."
The two tarried and fought, Loriana first leading and then Aragorn did, his sword clashing with hers. Finally, it was Loriana who ended up on the leaves. Aragorn held his sword to her throat, and then sheathed it, offering a hand to help her up. She refused it, and stood up on her own. Aragorn laughed, and bowed to the Blackthorne.
"There be no girls here," he said with a smirk, "but warriors."
The two walked throughout the night, in a silent agreement not to stop until they reached Rivendell, for it was not far. That morning, Loriana and Aragorn drank from the river and ate whatever bread they carried. They sat for a moment, then they set off again. They were perhaps 10 miles from Rivendell, when Loriana stopped. Aragorn paused a few paces ahead of her, a puzzled expression on his face. She pulled her sword from it's sheath, turning and facing behind them.
"Who is there?" she demanded, holding her sword high, the sunlight glaring off of it. "If you are friend, I will not harm you."
There was a laugh, and their follower stepped from behind a nearby tree. Loriana approached him, holding her sword to his chest. Then Aragorn let out a laugh.
"She's quite good, isn't she, old friend?" he asked, and Loriana grumbled, sheathing the sword.
"I suppose you know him," she said, and stepped back from him.
"Aye, she is quite good," the other finally spoke, his voice like bells, soft and gentle, yet with a harsh jadedness to it. "For I have never known anyone of your race who could detect an elf."
"Even I could not hear you," replied Aragorn, "my friend Legolas, why do you follow us?"
"I was not sure if it was you. And the girl you accompany, she moves silently. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was an elf."
"Quite a compliment," Aragorn replied, and turned back towards Loriana. She, however, was not there; she was, in fact, at least a hundred feet ahead of them, and neither Aragorn nor Legolas had heard her move.
They reached Rivendell as the moon was rising the next night. Aragorn and Legolas greeted Elrond fondly, while Loriana stood in silence.
"So this is the Blackthorne," the elder elf said, raising his eyebrows. "There has nae been a female Blackthorne, not in the history of Middle-Earth."
She bowed her head, closing her eyes. The old elf smiled gently, and touched her fair head.
"Take rest, and clean up, for tonight we shall feast."
The forest was a million shades of green, for the spring had brought a new life to the land that had been covered in snow just a short time before. Jilikius Blackthorne stood at the edge of a valley, gazing down into the depths of the wood. Brow furrowing, he squinted his eyes, and took a sniff of the air. His daughter, the young and fair Loriana, came behind him, touching her father on the shoulder.
"What is it, father?" she asked, a note of concern playing against her fair face. The aging man turned, and faced his daughter with a smile.
"Nothing, Loriana. We shall reach Bree within the day."
"Already? I thought we had many miles ahead of us." She paused a moment, considering, and then continued, "Since we are so close, may I stray to pick flowers? I wish to make a crown." The young woman smiled up at her father, and he nodded.
"Aye, but wander not far from the path. We are close to Bree indeed, but there are still dangers of the forest."
"Aye," his daughter responded, and danced off toward a patch of yellow and white flowers. She kneeled, her white dress covering her legs and the ground around her. Singing a song she made up just then, Loriana began to pluck flowers from the ground, placing them in a basket she carried.
The song bird's cry,
And the whispering pine,
The clouds in the sky,
And the squirrels so fine.
Green leaves from the trees,
And yellow beams of sun,
Are all that I see,
Are all I dream of.
How I wish I could
Stay in the forest all day,
But from this wood,
I fear, I must stray.
She continued to hum, lost in thought and wonder for the wood. She had picked several white flowers, when a sudden feeling swept over her. She looked up, in the direction her father had stood just moments ago. He was no longer there. She smelled the air, and closed her eyes for a moment. Dread filled her voice.
"Father?" she asked, glancing around again. She heard a scurrying sound in the bush. "Father?" she called again, louder this time. Standing, she dropped the basket. It fell to the ground, the flowers falling out of it and back to the earth.
"Father!" Loriana exclaimed, and began to run in the direction he was last. She heard a growl behind her, and turned. She gasped, backing up a step, then two. Orcs, several of them. At least five or six, surrounded her quickly. "Father!" she called again, and then the orcs began to advance. She continued to back up until she was pressed against the trunk of a tree. The foul orcs continued to surround her.
She looked up. A fairly low tree branch loomed over her. Loriana leapt up, gripping onto the branch and swinging herself onto it. She felt slivers go into her hand, and several arrows followed her into the tree. The orcs began to chop at the tree's trunk with their swords. She felt the tree falter beneath her, and she knew that within moments, it would fall. She glanced about for a means of escape, and that's when she saw her father, laying on the ground motionless, nearly 50 feet from her.
"Father!" she shouted, and the tree began to fall. She ran across the branch, and jumped to the ground, falling to her knees upon the impact. She leapt up again, and ran to her father's side. He clutched his sword, barely conscious. Blood poured from a wound in his abdomen.
"Father," Loriana said softly, and he looked up at her.
"The orcs, Loriana." They were quickly behind her. Jilikius pressed his sword into her hands. She felt it's cool metal, then it began to feel warm, then finally hot. A bright yellow light seemed to form around her hand. She nodded, and turned, facing the orcs with a rage in her eyes that none had ever seen. An orc leapt at her, wielding a sword of it's own. She countered the attack, quickly, the clang of metal on metal filling the spring air. She quickly got the better of the creature, stabbing it once and then kicking it off her sword. She fought the next, and the next, until she faced the last one. She leapt at it, and it responded, slashing at her arm. It caught her flesh, and quickly her white sleeve turned red with blood. She barely noticed, instead, with a fierce cry, she spun her sword, catching the orcs' head and removing it from it's body. She sighed, and then turned back to her father. Falling to her knees, she took his hand in hers'.
"Father?" she asked, her voice catching in her throat. He looked up at her, his skin already pale with death.
"Loriana, my dear Loriana. You seem far to young to -" he cut off, coughing. Loriana's eyes watered, and her father continued. "You are a Blackthorne, Loriana. You know your destiny."
"But father, I am but a girl," she said, doubt in her voice.
"Nay, my dear, nay. You are a Blackthorne," he repeated, "Now, listen to me, you must go to -" he coughed," - to Rivendell. Seek Elrond. Take -" he coughed once more, his voice growing fainter and fainter, " - take my sword and shield."
Her eyes glistened with tears, as her father began to falter. "Father?" she asked once more, clutching his hand tightly.
"Avenge me," were his last words, spoken barely in a whisper. Then, his eyes froze, and his heart stopped. Loriana feared that hers would as well. She knelt there for a long time, weeping. She closed her father's eyes, and stood, picking up the sword and his shield. She began to walk.
She walked for a long time, she wasn't sure how long. Days and nights bled together. Finally, she came across a farmer in his field. He looked at her strangely, and she spoke to him.
"Tell me, sir, what place is this?"
"A farm, several mile from Weathertop, miss."
"How far to Rivendell, then?" she asked, stepping up to him. He looked her over, a puzzled expression on his face. Then, he saw her sword.
"The sword of the Blackthorne!" he exclaimed, dropping his shovel. Loriana merely nodded. "You are a Blackthorne?"
"I am the Blackthorne, the only one that remains," she responded. "How far to Rivendell?" she repeated, growing impatient.
"Several days' walk. Please, come inside, you look very hungry." She reluctantly agreed, it had seemed like ages since she ate a true meal; along the way she had but bread and water from the river. The farmer noticed her wound, the cut on her arm that the orc had done. "You're hurt," he remarked, "but I shall help you. I have no dresses, though - for I live alone without a wife or daughter - else I would give you one." Her white dress had become quite soiled, from blood and dirt.
"I thank you," she responded politely, and followed the farmer into his house. He quickly filled the table with vegetables and breads, cheeses and a wine. Loriana eagerly ate and drank, while the farmer fetched a bandage and some water.
"I am Hapartus Windmere," he offered, as he sat next to her. She removed her arm from her sleeve, and the man grimaced. "That is an ugly wound, however did you get it?"
"Orcs," she said between bites, and then added, "and I am Loriana Blackthorne, of the wilderness."
"Aye," he said, "My father knew your grandfather, Pargilius Blackthorne." Loriana nodded, and winced as Hapartus cleaned her cut. "I have prepared a warm bath for you, if you would like," he added, and Loriana nodded with a smile.
"Thank you, Hapartus," she said softly. He finished bandaging her wound, and she stood. "Have you a spare set of clothes?" she requested, "Pants and a shirt would be wonderful," she added.
"Aye!" he exclaimed and stood, going to a chest of drawers. He rummaged through for a bit, and withdrew a pair of dark green pants and a brown shirt. Handing them to her, he looked down. "Hardly suitable for a Blackthorne.."
She smiled kindly at him. "These will be fine. Thank you again."
Loriana relaxed in the bath, closing her eyes. She felt tears begin to come, and she allowed them for a moment, then she wiped them away. Lifting her eyelids, she was shocked to find a man standing by the door, glaring at her. Loriana let out a cry, but the man merely sneered.
"Do not flatter yourself, girl," he mumbled, and threw a towel at her. She covered herself up and stood, glaring up at the dark man.
"Who are you?" she demanded, enraged.
"Anger yourself not," he advised, and threw the pants and shirt at her. "And get dressed, we have a long way to walk tonight."
"Are you going to tell me who you are, or not?" demanded Loriana, walking beside the man. They were already nearly a mile from Hapartus' house, and she still knew nothing of the rather rude stranger.
"Your father was expected in Bree nearly two weeks ago," said the man, stopping and turning to her.
"I'm sure he'd apologize for his tardiness if he were alive," she retorted, turning and walking on. The man reached forth and grabbed her arm. She turned, raising a fist to him. "Do not touch me," she warned, a glimmer of rage in her eye, "or you shall live to regret it."
The man shook his head. "You are indeed a Blackthorne," he muttered. "And I, am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I knew your father quite well. Though, he did not mention you. I can see why."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Don't you imagine your father wanted a son, rather than a daughter? For now, the entire Blackthorne legacy is thrust onto the narrow shoulders of a girl." He looked at her in disgust.
Loriana reached for her sword. Aragorn in turn held his in front of him.
"We shall see," she said with a sneer, "who the girl is here."
The two tarried and fought, Loriana first leading and then Aragorn did, his sword clashing with hers. Finally, it was Loriana who ended up on the leaves. Aragorn held his sword to her throat, and then sheathed it, offering a hand to help her up. She refused it, and stood up on her own. Aragorn laughed, and bowed to the Blackthorne.
"There be no girls here," he said with a smirk, "but warriors."
The two walked throughout the night, in a silent agreement not to stop until they reached Rivendell, for it was not far. That morning, Loriana and Aragorn drank from the river and ate whatever bread they carried. They sat for a moment, then they set off again. They were perhaps 10 miles from Rivendell, when Loriana stopped. Aragorn paused a few paces ahead of her, a puzzled expression on his face. She pulled her sword from it's sheath, turning and facing behind them.
"Who is there?" she demanded, holding her sword high, the sunlight glaring off of it. "If you are friend, I will not harm you."
There was a laugh, and their follower stepped from behind a nearby tree. Loriana approached him, holding her sword to his chest. Then Aragorn let out a laugh.
"She's quite good, isn't she, old friend?" he asked, and Loriana grumbled, sheathing the sword.
"I suppose you know him," she said, and stepped back from him.
"Aye, she is quite good," the other finally spoke, his voice like bells, soft and gentle, yet with a harsh jadedness to it. "For I have never known anyone of your race who could detect an elf."
"Even I could not hear you," replied Aragorn, "my friend Legolas, why do you follow us?"
"I was not sure if it was you. And the girl you accompany, she moves silently. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was an elf."
"Quite a compliment," Aragorn replied, and turned back towards Loriana. She, however, was not there; she was, in fact, at least a hundred feet ahead of them, and neither Aragorn nor Legolas had heard her move.
They reached Rivendell as the moon was rising the next night. Aragorn and Legolas greeted Elrond fondly, while Loriana stood in silence.
"So this is the Blackthorne," the elder elf said, raising his eyebrows. "There has nae been a female Blackthorne, not in the history of Middle-Earth."
She bowed her head, closing her eyes. The old elf smiled gently, and touched her fair head.
"Take rest, and clean up, for tonight we shall feast."
