I have been in a bit of a slump when it comes to writing; not so much this chapter but one of the following where I just couldn't progress the way I wanted, and that has delayed the update of chapter 10. I apologize for the wait! Feedback is very much welcome (because aren't all writers to some extent in need of some form of commentary!). I'll take praise, constructive critisicm, weather updates, and questions – one word, or ten, or half an essay are all appreciated in equal measure. They all just make me really happy.
Thanks to those that reviewed, followed and favorited. You guys make my day!
Special thanks to Diarona for another wonderful review, as always it's quite a treat to read your thoughts on the chapter. I enjoy writing the Rohirrim, and I'm glad they come across as I had imagined. We'll see about the Rangers, and whether they have another part to play in this story! But for now we return to Rell's journey through Ithilien.
Little Sparrow
Chapter X: The Greens of Ithilien
Day came pale from the East.
As the light grew it filtered through the leaves of the trees around the low-hidden dell. Pale-blue sky peeped among the moving branches, but the morning was still young and cold when Rell began again. Her back ached, likely from the root that had dug deeply into her hip throughout the night, and her walk was stiff. The Ranger pulled Luin along between the great, gnarled boles and over the slippery mossy ground, returning to the dust-path that still went on through the woods of Ithilien.
It was but an animal trail, trampled by hoofs of some creature over many years of use, and it had been difficult to find. Just as difficult it was to tread. She had left the path the evening before to seek shelter, but it was much easier to follow than to make her own way through the thick undergrowth, and throughout the last couple of days she had cleared quite a distance from the Anduin. Cair Andros – and further behind, Gondor and Rohan – would soon be but a distant, fleeting memory; swallowed in the greens of the forest.
The ground below was smooth and soft, and the thin clear voices of birds in the sky followed her.
While the first day in Ithilien had been accompanied with a heavy rainfall, leaving the forest swathed in fumes and mist obscuring her vision, now warmth encompassed the fair but deserted lands. So fair, Rell had almost forgotten Autumn had passed to Winter around her. For a while she had followed the road from Cair Andros, until discovering it had veered continuously northeast and drawn her further away from the bordering marshlands.
It then took her a while to find a clear path over stony hills, swerving back into the right direction where she now walked.
Throughout the grey morning she continued her lonesome journey, until at length Rell came to a long slope cutting straight west, hard-edged against the sky. It was covered only in few trees of holly and oak. Bare it stood. Day was opening in the sky, and a wide view of the forest became increasingly clear before her as she scaled the tall hill. Rell drew Luin to a halt, perched on top of the mound as she turned in the saddle; looking first back to the south, seeing small, thick-growing woods of fir and cedar, with wide glades among them. But then her gaze turned away and was met with dry winds, warm and harsh against her face.
The fences of Mordor stood as shadowed teeth, black and horrid, in the far horizon beyond leagues of green; still much further off, lost in the distance, but the sight chilled her heart and quickly made her turn away. She was glad the road took her west, away from the land of many evils. The hill receded ahead, gentle slopes running down into dim hazes below, and the wind swerved off; now blowing in from the South. The Ranger was about to return to the cover of woods when it happened.
She paused. Strands of hair whipped about her face, but her nose twitched at a familiar smell carried on the wind. It was faint, masked by herbs and shrubs; the fresh dew of morning clung still to the air, mixing with asphodels and grass, but it was there nonetheless. Clear and deep. Ash.
More keenly this time, Rell looked across the treetops bathed in a pale sun. There was mostly green, interwoven with red and yellow as Autumn faded to Winter's chill, for as far as the eye could see. The early light was clear, sharp until almost blinding, and at first she saw nothing of alarm. Rell was about to guide Luin forward again, thinking it a flicker of her imagination, but then she caught sight of something. A thin spiral of blue-grey smoke, almost plain to see as it caught the sunlight, rising from a thicket below her.
At once her mind snapped into work, heart beating quickly in her chest.
She slipped from the saddle. Moving by instinct rather than thought. Light feet barely touched the mossy rocks before she slid down the slope, feet almost falling over one another, as she headed straight for the fire. Luin stood on the ridge, ears flat against its head, but remained motionless in response to its master's swift departure. The bow was pulled from her back, white-feathered arrow ready, and she went through tall fern and bushes. The bracken grew densely here, making her movement slow and difficult. Branches snatched at her clothes, small thorns prickling her skin until surely blood was drawn, but her attention was fixed on the shadows ahead.
She crept deeper into the fern.
The smell of smoke and ash grew stronger, and as the thicket thinned to reveal a small clearing ahead, Rell crouched to listen. Not long ago a cooking-fire had burned here, that was easy to see, but only scattered ashes and burnt turfs were left behind. The fire had been stamped out. Whoever had camped in the clearing during the night was nowhere to be seen. As her, they had continued with the arrival of morning. Yet they could not have been gone for long, not ventured far. Rell looked carefully to the trees.
Close by, just under the dappling shadow of the dark bay-trees, a shimmer in the grass caught her gaze as she scanned her surroundings. Rell drew back, slipping around while remaining hidden under the canopy of trees, and circled the clearing. Her ears were trained on any sound around her; birds scampered about in the branches, frightened, and there was a buzz of insects in the air. Nothing else caught her ear.
There were signs of boots in the clearing and around it, for the grass was trampled and bent flat, leading in and out between the boles. In a patch of mud Rell found clear indentations, and she crouched to take a closer look. The step had been light. Certainly no orc's foot, she thought, for they were much heavier in their step; her brow furrowed, but then she carried on until she came to the other side. She halted and listened. The tracks were still fresh. With ears strained for any sound, an alertness seeped into every muscle of her body; with undivided, rapt attention on her surroundings, Rell slowly and carefully considered her findings.
Her fingers on the bow tightened.
Whoever had set up camp here could not be far off.
Rell placed the arrow upon the bowstring, keeping her grip slack, before she stepped into the clearing with care. Her eyes ran from one line of trees to the other, and then her gaze settled on the small object that earlier had caught her sight. Nudging it with her foot to turn it over in the grass, she discovered the glimmer to be a broken arrow-head. Discarded. The Ranger leaned in closer and came to a crouch. Its edges were jagged, meant to lodge inside the target so to make it difficult to remove, painful, at least without tearing through tissue; many a time she had seen them before, for it was the favored kind chosen by the orcs of the Grey Mountains. To maim.
Such arrows had killed her father many years ago.
Her brow was deeply set in furrows, but she did not touch the arrowhead. The findings puzzled her.
The softest, faintest, rustle of leaves drew her attention away. Startled. In an instant her mind became aware that she was no longer alone – yet nothing more than a quick curse passed her thoughts. There was no time. Her entire body frozen, immobile, back and shoulders rigid as her breath hitched in her throat. How careless she had been!
A sword hovered mere inches from her neck, drawn by an unseen person behind her. Close enough to carve the thin skin beneath if she dared to move. I did not hear him ... The blade was long and sharp; the shine held her gaze transfixed. Rell let both arrow and bow drop from her grip onto the grass below; her heart thundered in her chest. Clenching her hands, gauging the chances of reaching her own weapons in time, Rell calmed her breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.
Long, deep, and slow were her breaths, just as her mind worked quickly. She knew well her first real sign of movement would urge the other to respond. If it came to a fight, her actions would start it. And so, she did not move. Dared not to. Another exhale.
The moment stretched unending. Time felt as if stilled, the world holding its breath in waiting. Straightening to her full height, slowly, carefully, her right hand flexed and hovered closer to the small knife at her belt. The sword was of no use in close combat; barely drawn from its sheath before a swift death befell her. Cut down where she stood. Her mind was in turmoil, an internal conflict raging between fight or flight. Could she run? Would she even make it if she tried?
Her eyes flickered across the glade. Were there others, hiding between the trees?
A wind blew, dry and hot, and a flutter of green passed her peripheral vision. The quiet ended. "I will separate your head from your shoulders long before you reach your weapon," a voice said behind her; it was low and dark, but to her ears obviously that of a man's. Not an orc, she thought. Rell knew she had been lured into a trap. But who had set it for her? Clearly the man spoke Westron, though beyond that she was certain of nothing more. "Stand still," he warned gruffly, and Rell felt a hand grasp, seizing, her left wrist tightly to pull behind her back. Her shoulders tensed further.
In that very moment a small window of opportunity opened for her. His attention was briefly turned from the weapon; the blade left the thin skin of her neck, pulled away only barely to secure her hands, but it was enough. The threat was lessened. It was an opportunity, and she seized it at once.
Her elbow shot out and connected with the man's face. He yelped in pain as his nose shattered, yet he was quick to regain his footings, and Rell felt, rather than saw, the blade graze her leg. Retaliation came with swiftness. She kicked out and swept him off his legs, and the heavy body fell with a thud to the ground. Rell was upon him immediately.
She pulled the smaller blade from her belt and spun to face her attacker – a man, her mind noted feebly, dressed in the greens of Ithilien – with fearful vehemence, and Rell dove for his head. Yet there was no real true intent behind her blow, for Rell wished not to kill the other. The blow was blocked and redirected, as there was little will to find in the attack.
His foot came out and met her thigh with great strength; his mark had been the fresh injury, and his aim was true. A white-blinding wave of pain carved through her body. Rell fell to her knees in the grass, dirt and stone digging into her skin, numbness spreading through the bone. Survival's fury boiled deep within, nostrils flaring, when she finally twisted the blade in her hand. He scrambled to his feet next to her, attempting to regain his balance and to grasp the sword, fallen previously from his hands. Rell pushed forward. Hurry!
She jumped to her feet.
Heavy footfalls pierced the silence, only broken by short panting gasps from their struggles where all else had fallen deadly still, and fear surged through her once more.
Not alone, her mind warned her, quicker!
A body collided with her own. The massive bulk pulled her out of balance and sent her flying to the ground. Air was knocked from her lungs when a fist connected with her stomach. Rell let out a garbled moan, curling in on herself, but still she clutched the blade in her hand. The fight was not yet lost. Barely able to breathe more than shallow rasps, her trembling hand drew back to attack; she rolled over on the grass to get away. A spike of pain cracked through her head. His hand had smashed into her face, and a taste of metal filled her mouth.
Blood trickled down from her split lip.
The second man placed a leg on either side of her body, straddling her down on the ground, and the weapon was pried from her struggling hands. She kicked and clawed. Her vision whirled in a blur, attempting to regain focus in between ragged breaths. Her head pounded. Then a shadow fell over her; Rell glanced sideways, disorientated, and saw another stoop over her. Arrow nocked to the longbow, pointed at her, and in the light it shimmered. The sun was on his back, masking his features in darkness and the cloak blew about him, but he then spoke with a voice calm – almost soothingly, like one would speak to a startled animal.
Yet the words were without kindness. "Stand down or have your life forfeit, woman."
Rell bared her teeth in an aggrieved snarl, but then she let her head fall back onto the ground in submission. Her eyes closed, heart beating against her chest before slowly she regained a quiet breathing. Her mind swam. It took her several long moments, accompanied by a spinning head and silence, before her trembling ceased. They made quick work of her weapons, meanwhile, taking her sword and bow; the knife, as well as the small blade tucked away in her boot they found with ease. She did not struggle against their exploring touches, but remained silent and calm.
She had lost the fight, and it was now a matter of survival above all else.
They stood her up, ungently tying her hands behind her back with rough ropes, and her gaze flickered over them. All wore they green and brown of varied hues, as if to better walk unseen in the woodlands of Ithilien. Certainly, she had not seen them follow. Their eyes were keen and bright, but their faces were otherwise hooded, masked, with green. They had swords at their sides and great bows on their backs. One let out a short, clear-calling whistle, soon answered from within the forest.
Then it went again from another place.
Clearly Rell had slowly been encircled, the fire and smoke only to lure her out quicker, and the trap had been sprung. Mindlessly she had walked straight into it, blind to her surroundings. But then what? Again she watched them, willing her head to clarity, looking from one to the other. One stood nursing his broken nose, blood pooling between his hands, spilling through his fingers; his face was drawn into a frown, and there was no love in his gaze when their eyes met. Rell turned away. Clad in green stood the Rangers of Ithilien about her.
From different directions came now eight men striding through the fern; wielding spears with bright heads, all armed with bows and large quivers of green-feathered arrows. What she then saw upset her, and made her fight once more against her bindings; twisting her body to pull out of the gripping, clutching, hands. Luin was pulled into the glade, tugging at the reins in hesitation of the unfamiliar one leading her. With ears flicking back and forth in alert – until it smelled and saw Rell. The struggle grew instantly fierce.
Blowing, shying away from the green-clad Ranger that led it forward, the large horse reared up with a long, drawn-out squeal. The hoofs stamped like thunder into the ground. Rell shook and kicked in an attempt to free herself. The ropes gnawed at her skin, cutting deep. Bucking, kicking, tossing its head in increasing terror, Luin attempted to pull free. The others sprang into action, approaching with swift but careful steps towards the enraged animal.
Their weapons seemed to shine in the pale sun. "Wait!" Rell cried out and tried to follow, eyes fixed on her faithful companion. The grip on her shoulders tightened and drew her forcefully back. The wound on her leg burned, and she nearly buckled. She shot a glare back to the one holding her. "Do not hurt her!"
Her pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears.
"Sîdh, Luin! Sîdh!" Rell yelled, voice tearing in despair and desperate hope. The mare stomped and danced skittishly across the ground, tail jerking rapidly side to side, but the ears perked up and twitched at her voice. It tugged at the reins, this time with less force. "Good, Luin, sîdh." She repeated the words, lowering her tone gradually. A forceful snort was then followed by Luin standing still, clever eyes turned to the Ranger with expectancy – as if to say what now.
Thank you, Elbereth, her mind prayed when it seemed no harm would come to her companion.
"Do not hurt her," she repeated to her captors as the tension calmed, eyes flickering from one to the next. Their weapons were still too close. "She was only frightened."
One Ranger stepped forward and came to stand before her.
He appeared taller than the others, but likewise clad in green and brown and looked no different; grey eyes roamed her face, attentively lingering on her bleeding lip and injured leg, before their gazes locked. Gloved hands pulled the mask from his face. His stature and bearing were proud and sure, and Rell saw clear that he carried command of the other Rangers. Likewise was his manner of speech when he addressed her. "You speak the language of the Elves," he said. It was not a question. "Yet you are no Elf, and neither are you in the service of the White Tower. Tell me, what thoughts shall I make of you?"
Rell trailed her swelling lip, tasting iron and dirt, tentative to answer. Her eyes sought the ground. "I am a traveler. My business is not here, and neither is it with you – but rather far beyond the forests. What wrong have I committed to be so attacked, when all I did was pass through without trouble?"
"There are no travelers north of the Great River, unless they are servants of the Enemy," he stated with an eerie, deliberate calm. Then he started to step around her; Rell moved nothing but her eyes as he came alongside her and circled behind on her left. She passed a quick glance to the other Rangers. Quietly, they all stood watching. His walk was silent and graceful, light upon the grass, and she met his eyes with a hard expression as he came around. Her teeth clenched in challenge, yet all he did was to step closer.
The man circled in front of her once more until he disappeared from view. Rell thought about moving away but was painfully aware it was not an option. When he did not reappear on her right side, her back let out a twinge and stiffened at the fact that he was now standing behind her. Another Ranger still held the ropes around her wrists firmly, making movement difficult. Anxiously, her eyes flickered from side to side, and she shifted from one foot to the other; a silence followed and the steps faded to nothing. Rell breathed deeply through her nose.
"I was allowed passage at Cair Andros," she warily argued, tongue once more flickering over her dry lips. She swallowed, tasting blood.
"And we have been following you ever since."
Her face burned – angered and ashamed – for she had not seen them. Eyebrows drawn tight, Rell stared down onto the ground; the braid had come loose in the struggle, and long strands covered her features from her captors. She balled her hands into fists, breathed deeply, repeatedly, in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves. To lash out in wrath would do her no good, so she attempted to regain control of her voice before speaking. When words tumbled from her lips, they fell calmly. "What you saw gave you enough reason to trap me? Beat me and tie me up? Tell me, protectors of Ithilien, has the fear of darkness truly made you come to this? For the free peoples to turn against one another; are the walls of your cities so barred that you know not friend from foe!"
To her great chagrin, the Ranger did not immediately reply.
The short hairs on the nape of her neck stood up, for Rell could feel the quiet appraising gaze that was leveled on her.
"You claim to oppose the Enemy. But I cannot help but wonder," he paused. He came then into view again to stand before Rell; his hand rested upon the hilt of his sword, but there was no tension to his walk. Yet his eyes were hard, and they perceived much. "Who do you call enemy? Tell me, stranger in my land, who are you and what shall be your fate?"
Rell looked up and her shoulders straightened. Coming to her full height, albeit no taller than the Ranger of Ithilien before her, she raised her chin to watch him. Legs well apart, she planted herself squarely in front of the man, attempting to disregard the one holding her. "I came into this country on an errand, but do not believe I will so easily reveal my purpose to one unknown to me." Her tone was proud, but clearly it did not appease the Ranger in the slightest. "Declare yourself, and then – maybe – I shall do the same."
"I am Faramir, Captain of Gondor," he said. "Commander of the Rangers of Ithilien."
With a start at his words, Rell looked at him with renewed interest. Before her stood not an enemy, but rather a noble lord of Gondor; though deep in her core a stubbornness had awakened, and the treatment of her had been unjust. Perhaps Ithilien was their ward, that was true, though she had but passed through with no wish for trouble. And none had she caused! And who was she to disclose her – and, with it, her uncle's – errand?
While her clothes were dirtied with mud, her cloak frayed, and, as best as she could, had moved in secret; they could not believe her a spy of the Enemy, surely. She had asked no questions at the ford, sought no news of Gondor or its armies, and traveled in solitude far from the patrols of Mordor. She squared her shoulders and infused her voice with confidence. "From beyond many great leagues and long ways I have come. I am Rell, Ranger of the North. The blood of the Númenor courses through my veins as they do yours."
His astonishment was clear on his face at the widening of his eyes, yet he showed no other reaction.
Whether he believed her words or not, Rell was uncertain, and she spoke again. Hopeful she could persuade him without revealing her own purpose. "On my breast I carry the star of my people – look for yourself and see!"
"I know well the Dúnedain of Arnor, and seldom they have dealings here so far East. For many years our paths have not crossed, and long they have been believed to be but a dwindled and wandering people," he said thoughtfully; stepping forward the Ranger drew forth the six-pointed star clasped to her cloak. He turned it over between his gloved fingers, carefully and keenly, and it shimmered in the sun. "A broken people." Rell held her breath at their closeness, gaze flickering from his attentive face to the brooch, and she hoped her words rang true in his thoughts. Then he withdrew and allowed the star to fall from his grasp. "It would be little effort for the Enemy to contrive such a trinket."
Rell bristled, about to argue, when the captain gave orders of departure. "Wait a mo–!"
When they had drawn closer she knew not, but suddenly a gag was pulled tight across her mouth. She was unable to speak except garbled mumbles and mutterings of protest. Eyes flashing, she struggled against the grip, yet with unthrowable strength she was led forward despite her best efforts. Her heels dug into the ground, however she only buckled and fell to her knees with a yelp. Blood had soaked through her trousers, a red flower blooming from the previous injury, and her vision whitened to a blur. Then she was roughly pulled up again.
Harsh hands pushed her on until they came beneath the dappling shadow of dark trees.
Around her the Rangers fanned out through the bracken, green cloaks blending with the colours of Ithilien, but straight ahead of her their captain walked. Leading them with surety. Her eyes, still swimming in her head, slowly grew accustomed to the sudden dimness and she searched for Luin. To her relief the horse was led with gentleness, ears perked ahead with interest and tail flicking, yet the mare was otherwise no longer startled. At least it had not been harmed, and was now following along with some reluctant curiosity.
The undergrowth grew densely with bush, herb, and tree, giving the place an air of secrecy; hidden from the rest of the world, though it seemed the Rangers followed a hidden but well-known path. Like ghosts they crept through the forest. At times they passed open glades or crested hills, and here scouts led them with strange bird-like whistles. Sharp and clear-cutting through the woodlands, from one place and another; far away and then suddenly close, as if they were but another animal between the leaves. Mostly they kept to the shade of grove or thicket, hardly visible in their brown and green garments. They moved with haste. Brushing through bush and herb, sweet smells were around them, while brambles and roots crawled across the ground.
Rell sagged in her steps, the wound on her leg pulsing and bleeding. When jolts of pain journeyed through her body and she stopped for a respite, she was pulled up; pushed forward on stumbling feet. While her body was slowly, but surely, losing a battle against exhaustion, her mind was clear. Thoughts spun through her head. There had to be a way to escape – an opening at some point, when their guard grew lax or when nighttime fell over the lands. All she had to do was wait. Wait, and watch.
The day passed uneasily and there was little change in the slow hours.
Pale light shone between the leaves and branches. Day-heat grew and was accompanied by a myriad of insects buzzing all about them. The Rangers of Ithilien walked in silence, still and watchful of their surroundings, for they walked in the shadow of darkness. Some came and others went, but throughout the day their numbers had grown to the double.
Only when the sun began its descent and the skies were coloured red did they finally halt. In the deep heathers they found safety, dark-green shadows that worked quickly and efficiently. Scouts were sent in all directions while the rest settled for the reaching night. Rell was shoved to the ground and tied against an ancient bay-tree. There was little love in their hands.
The bark was rough against her bruised skin, but the rest that came with it was most welcome. She found it difficult to do more than doze; the pain urged her to sleep but watchful mistrust kept her awake. Stretching her legs it became clear to see the injury, a patch of red turning darker, and a frown marred her features. Rell wiggled her toes. It had to be cleaned and dressed, or it would fester, but whether her captors would go out of their way to do so she knew not. Worry filled her and again she looked up, hoping to get a better understanding of her present company. Doubt gnawed at her; torn between the truth and secrecy.
Some sat around in small groups, talking, while others looked out into the dimming forest. Their weapons lay close at hand.
No fire was lit, and instead they ate dried meats and bread. Their masks and hoods were removed, and their faces now became revealed to Rell. Pale-skinned and dark of hair, with grey eyes and proud faces; men of the line of Lords of Westernesse, in ages long passed and forgotten to those that lived. They spoke together in soft voices, hard for her ears to discern at first, and she became aware that it was the Elven-tongue. It was a little different from what she knew and had learned, a language of their own, and in a manner of older days when both Elves and Men walked the glades of Ithilien.
Much to her disdain, Rell found the captain by her horse; Luin watched with clever, alert, eyes, but allowed the man to stroke through its grey mane. The great nostrils blew air into his face. He was speaking calmly, yet his mind appeared to be elsewhere and far away. Her glare worsened when he went through her belongings; it was only provisions and weapons, flint and steel, her whetstone, and some spare clothes; but anger stirred nonetheless. Rell did not draw her gaze away until he finally stepped back and returned to his company.
A formless grey settled over the forest; night came under star and round moon.
Silver-white light fell on the treetops.
There was not much for her to do except sleep. The ropes were thick and strong, unbreakable without a weapon, and even if she succeeded there was no clear path away from the Rangers. This was their land, and with ease they could once more track her down. Hunger came to her. She drew her legs close, despite the painful protest of her injury, and her head came to rest on her knees. It was cold. Fretful slumber claimed her, and the night was passed between waking and sleep; startling awake whenever a scout returned or guards changed. The long calls of an owl echoed in the silence.
In the morning she was shook roughly awake.
She drew back with a wrench and a startled, muffled cry; groggy eyes saw a Ranger crouch before her, hood and mask in place, but grey eyes vigilant over its brim. Slowly, cautiously, he drew the gag from her mouth and Rell remained silent. Curious to his purpose. From his side he drew forth a waterskin and held it to her lips; at first Rell took only little water, but soon thirst won her over and she drank greedily. Droplets ran down her chin and fell into her clothes. Next he took a clean cloth and wetted it with water. The touch was cool and raw against the cut on her lip, but much welcomed, and the taste of blood and dirt disappeared.
His eyes were set on his task, not once meeting hers, while Rell watched him in return. Streaks of grey was in his dark hair; both signs of age and scars were many on his face. With his attention now settling on her leg, he shifted and came to sit on the ground; he did not ask, but took her ankle in his hand and stretched her leg. The gesture was not unkindly, rather careful and slow so that Rell had a chance to adjust, before he pried the fabric up her shin and thigh. His touch was detached. Rell winced for the blood had dried overnight.
The pain in her wound grew again. It was with practiced ease that the Ranger washed the gash for scabs and dirt, leaving a deep but clean cut. From a pouch in his belt he drew out long, yellow-striped leaves of an unknown plant; crumbling the leaves between his fingers, he then pressed them against her wound for many long moments. It stung horribly, and smelled just as bad, but Rell assumed he knew what he was doing. A bandage was drawn around the wound, tightly, and the leg of her trousers was pulled back in place. His hand reached for the loosened gag.
"Thank you," Rell said quickly, before her voice was taken from her once more.
The man stood abruptly and turned.
She watched him leave and approach their leader, where they then spoke quietly together with heads bowed. Rell noticed the captain's gaze lingering on her from under the brim of his hood. His grey eyes were dark and unreadable, but she looked back at him with squared resentment despite the healer's treatment. A small kindness could not undo a greater evil. He soon looked away once more.
Again they marched throughout the day, finding hidden paths and roads between ridges and stones; over chuckling streams that came winding through the forest, and always did the Rangers steer South. Further and further from her destination, and Rell often glanced to the sky with despondency. Her thoughts called her uncle to mind, and her stomach curled at the ever-pressing need that had driven her to leave the Angle.
She tried to keep track of their road, counting her steps and the hours passing, but they walked many hidden paths; back and forth, circling rocky formations and hills, and soon Rell had lost all track of time and place. At times she was blindfolded and led around roughly, when they stepped through secret ravines or winding streams, forbidden to her eyes.
She no longer knew where she was.
No words were spoken to her. If they wanted her to walk one way or another, to creep through thick-growing bushes or clamber unsteadily over rocks, she was pushed and shoved in the right direction; perhaps accompanied with a low grunt or a huff. Her leg still pulsed and ached, though it appeared as if the medicine helped. She no longer felt tendrils of pain shoot through her bones with every step. But Rell plodded along silently and with a heavy heart, unable to care greatly about her own captivity, for her concern drew her mind away. Her head was bowed and her eyes unseeing.
Often she stumbled over roots or stones, but just as quickly she was dragged back onto her feet. Pushed forward.
The next day spent in their company was much the same as the last, and the one before. They fed her a little, checked her wounds, but not a word was spoken to her. The wind was colder, and the clouds closer and greyer; there had been little sunshine on the company, but as the fourth day broke, bleak and windy, the sun broke through cracks and fissures in the cover. Long yellow beams lit the forest floor. The night before they y had made camp in an open dell, one side flanked by steep rock walls, and with trees encircling all around.
It was then that the captain approached her.
Rell watched him draw near; noted how his boots were silent on the grass and his strides long, purposeful. Noble and wise he seemed, reminding her of her uncle, and he appeared so much more than just a warrior. Again, she concidered honesty. He came to a halt before her, the rising sun on his back so that he was but a darkened shadow in her eyes. Large. Daunting, as if wishing to intimidate her. Her lips pursed. For a while longer he stood there, silent, as he regarded her, until she glanced away. The light was harsh in her eyes. "Very strange you are," he finally said. "Who are you, child?" To her ears it sounded like a thoughtful statement more than a question, yet her brow furrowed.
The Ranger crouched down by her side, hooded features coming into view as he shifted away from the sunlight. Rell turned her face to look at him. She could not read his eyes, masked except for a brief flicker of interest, and she felt curious suspense rather than fear in her own mind. His hand moved out towards her, and Rell sat still, stiff in anticipation; yet all he did was draw the cloth from her mouth. Her split lip was dry, chapped, as she tentatively ran her tongue over the cut. Rusty iron filled her mouth.
"I have told you who I am," she stated.
A flicker, half-humorous, came into his eyes. Then they seemed to grow smaller and almost sharp. "Indeed you did, Wanderer from the North, and be it truth or lie I cannot tell. Yet also I know, that none may pass through Ithilien without word from the Steward. Word, that you do not carry. But tell me then, what news can you share – for I do like news." Rell shuffled, vexing arms pulling at the ropes, before she quietly mulled over his request. All around them the other Rangers had disappeared into the forest, leaving the captain and his captive alone; their withdrawal unsettled her.
"Many things, great and small, are happening in the world," she said, "Certainly it would take a long time to tell you about them all."
Clearly her answer was less than welcome, and with swiftness he dismissed it with a long, drawn-out sigh. "Very well." The gag was drawn across her mouth once more and he stood to leave. "We shall talk again at a later time. Perhaps then you have come to realize what is important enough to tell."
Rell watched him stride away in silence and soon the hidden Rangers returned from the green shadows. To her it felt like she had won; perhaps a small and insignificant battle, but nonetheless it was a victory against her captor. Certainly she would not make it easy on them, even if they were fighting the same enemy, for they had yet to believe the truth in her previous words.
Stretching as much as she could against her bindings, she ignored the small voice in the back of her mind; the one that urged her to be honest, for surely the Rangers had reason enough to mistrust her. Instead, she waited for them to pack up camp in the following hour. The grey morning was about them, turning golden and warm, and birds milled about in the trees around them. Her brow was wet from the sudden heat, and her hair clung to her skin. With some amusement – and a grumbling stomach – Rell noted that they did not bring food nor drink to her.
When they came for her, it was with little care that they pulled her to her feet.
Rell stepped from one foot to the other, attempting to get the blood to flow once more, and she wriggled her toes. She worked her muscles as best she could; eyebrow raised at the man by her side. With a grunt he shoved her forward, further into the clearing towards the gathered Rangers. Departure was at hand.
But something was off. Wrong. Suddenly they were aware that everything was very quiet; the whole forest waiting in listening silence. The Rangers stood tense, looking about them as weapons were drawn, for they, too, could sense it. The trees quivered as if a gust of wind had struck them, then there was another pause. Rell tugged and pulled at her bindings while all stood poised for action; something was near and coming closer. A whistle was borne upon the wind, shrill and hasty, and quickly the men moved into a half-circle, faces outward to the trees and with the rocks at their backs, in unwavering unison.
With a great crash came a vast shape through the trees. A ferocious snarl ripped from the orc's mouth and on he came, straight towards the Rangers. But quick they were to swerve into work. Black blood coated the grass. Rell stepped further into the middle of the clearing, cursing the ropes with all her might as the one, who had previously led her, left her on her own. She could hear plainly the harsh screeches between the trees; first distant but growing ever closer and louder. For a moment she caught a glimpse of dark figures, moving within the shadows.
They found themselves in the middle of an orc raid!
It seemed now as sudden as the bursting of a flood that had long been held back by a dike, and with one great cry orcs spilled from every direction about them. They charged the Rangers with crazed bloodlust, but the very first wave was met with a wall of arrows that sang through the air. With hollow thuds they pierced armor and flesh, certain in their aim sprung from great bows. Though it was not enough, and new enemies jumped over the fallen with little regard. The ringing grate of steel on steel, the dull beat of a blade meeting a shield, erupted in the clearing and throughout the forest for many miles around them.
Drums rolled in the hills. A harsh horn-cry made the orcs screech. Hoarse laughter came from all around, weaving between the boles; heavy mail-clad feet thundered through the ground. The Rangers sprang forward, cutting and stabbing, with spears and swords blazing in the clear sun. There were so many orcs Rell lost count, and she stumbled away to avoid the battle. Weaving between the green-cloaked men away from the fray.
Huge creatures wearing black mail-shirts, armed with axes and spiked clubs, came from all sides. Someone slammed into her, sending her tumbling to the ground; with arms tied to her back, she hit the grass hard. Rell curled in on herself, dodging trambling feet, frantic eyes whirling across the battleground. Her gaze searched for Luin, until finally finding the horse tied to the rock-wall; stricken with terror and madly pulling at the ropes. A black-feathered arrow whizzed by her ear, lodging into the ground mere inches from her face.
Rell bolted across the grass and stopped by Luin's side, attempting to sound reassurances through the gag over her mouth. Steady, Luin, I am here! Nostrils flaring, eyes wide and fearful, the horse stilled by her side. She pressed her shoulder against the warm flank, felt the rapid heartbeat beneath, and hummed. They had to get away. Her attention came to the jagged rocks; there was nothing she could do without her hands free.
She pressed her back against the sharpest rocks, fumbling until the ropes latched onto an edge. As she worked, she looked up. Many orcs lay dead in the grass and dark blood soaked the earth, but still they came. Unrelenting, unending. A clear voice called in the din over the fighting. "Gondor! Gondor!" It sounded far away, drowned by the screeches and cries that came in a foul, loathsome language of Mordor. The rock cut into her palm, again and again, but however much she struggled the ties did not break. A cry of frustration was swallowed by the gag, and to her horror she felt frustrated tears rise to her eyes. Hope dwindled in her chest.
Rell pressed off the wall, desperately searching across the dead bodies for a weapon. Men and Orcs were all about, caught in battle, and so she slipped carefully between whirring blades and arrows; light and quick on her feet. She came first upon a large two-handed axe and, dropping to the ground in an attempt to position the blade against her hands, she worked in a frenzy. Quickly!
A large body crumbled to the ground beside her, mouth open to reveal rotten and blackened teeth; blood foamed, fingers grasping at the spear that had punctured the orc's ribcage. Then it lay deadly still. She stared at it, almost petrified, frozen mid-work. Then, suddenly she was grabbed from behind. Rough hands seized and yanked her to her feet. No! Rell screamed, but no real sound came out, and her arms were pulled back harshly. Panicking, she struggled wildly, despite the cuts hurting more with every twist her body made. No, no, no!
The cords slipped off her wrists.
Her hands came free and she was released. Rell stumbled forward, confused, and looked back over her shoulder. The captain stood there, another man at his back; a gash was on his forehead, dripping blood into his eye; his cloak was torn and painted red, and his knife was dripping. Then he tossed a sheathed blade to her. Rell caught it, yet before she could voice her wonder he jumped into the fray. An orc fell with a slash across the throat long before it could even raise its axe. The weight in her hands was familiar, welcomed beyond all else, and she turned it over between her fingers. Her sword.
She threw aside the gag with resentment. Glittering steel was raised and Rell ran to Luin with haste, quickly through the fray.
Cutting the bindings, the Ranger drew a bloodied hand across the horse's coat, and then sent it tearing through the trees. Away from the fight. No orc could catch a horse of the Elves, be it on open plains or in the forest, and she knew Luin would be safe. Rell turned to face the shrieking and the cries, grip tightened and eyes flashing.
The Rangers of Ithilien would not fight alone.