AAAAAAAAAARGH!!! THE GAP ADVERT!!! HE SOLD HIMSELF!!! NOOOOOO!!! *restrains crazy self* Has anyone seen it? I can't believe my orlando would do that to me… kate beckinsale! Grrrr… I will get her one day…
Ahem. Hi everyone… quite literally, every – one of you, just to apologize for not updating for ages… if anyone was actually following the story. We are getting soooo much coursework now… *sob* I hate GCSEs. Just what *is* the point, other than to make our lives as fifteen year-olds hell? One day I may murder my biology or chemistry teacher… Actually no, I'll murder my biology teacher – the class would probably pay me to do it – but I'll be lucky if I can get within a five-metre radius of the chemistry woman and return alive to tell the tale, after that last test… (You can tell how much I love chemistry, eh?)
Anyway, I'm gonna update more often now… for all two? three? …of you reading it… if I've lost you, I may as well give up… *looks at reviews* Ah, Penn – Thanks for that. :) Reviews used to be my life source, but I gave up on that because I wasn't getting any. Oh well.
Ooops, forgot disclaimer. Ahem.
Disclaimer: I don't own… wait, there's nothing in this chapter that I don't own! I shall be rich!!! MWAHAHAHA- Oh, dammit… Druadan… K, I don't own Druadan Forest… or Gondor… or Boromir… so maybe I was wrong, there is quite a lot of stuff I don't own in this chapter. *sniff*… *yells* I NEED TO OWN THINGS!!! I own Isilmë. Yay. I OWN ISILMË AND MÎRLÓMË. Heehee. Lalala. On slight high at moment, but wrote this chapter before, so it should be ok and insanity-free… *goes off singing… "the road goes e-ver on and on, down from the do-or where it be-gan…" Ack. I scare even myself sometimes. ;)
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Chapter 8: Taken in the night
Isilmë sat on the ground at the base of the tree, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, with Mîrlómë standing at her side. The weather had calmed itself now; the wind no longer howled, and the rain was lighter. Yet as it grew later, Isilmë began to feel the cold, and could not stand it any more. With chattering teeth she stood and untied Mîrlómë, deciding to keep moving through the night, as otherwise she would not be able to stand the cold. The trees waved silently above her, tall, dark and menacing, as she rejoined the path. As the moon came out from behind a cloud, she knelt down to examine the wet ground. The hoofprints of the band were clear; they were all on horseback, about fifteen of them. She looked up at the moon thoughtfully. There would be almost no point continuing deeper into the forest, as she had almost certainly missed the road, yet she somehow felt safer amongst the trees. Menacing though they were, they offered at least some protection from the elements; she would be too exposed out on the wide plains. Maybe it would be better to stick to the forest track, and find some other road south – surely there would be some path cutting south through the forest. Sighing, she stood up and took Mîrlómë's reins, leading her slowly off down the muddy track. How had she gotten into this mess? Just a simple three day ride to Gondor, and she was lost by the first night. Maybe she had been too impulsive, leaving alone… she brought her hand up to the pendant hanging round her neck.
"Ai, the lord Boromir would surely have not ever been in a situation such as this," she said out loud, "Nor any other of our house." Shaking her head, Isilmë continued down the path.
Suddenly, she spotted a light, a tiny flicker, ahead of her. She stopped Mîrlómë, frowning. A minute later, she was about to move on again, discarding it as a figment of her imagination – yet suddenly again came the light, a little way ahead and to the left of the path. Taking Mîrlómë some way off the track to the right, she tied her up, just hidden from the path through the trees. She placed a finger to her lips, smoothing the horse's dampened mane gently. Mîrlómë whickered softly. Then Isilme returned to the path, pausing behind a tree as she came to it. Looking out, she saw no movement, save the flight of a hunting owl on silent wings. Slowly, she stepped out into the path. Silence. She crossed it, and passed swiftly and silently into the trees on the other side. Now, she could hear faint voices, and saw that the light was indeed the flicker of firelight upon the trees. Slowly and cautiously, she approached the place where the sound came from. As she grew nearer, they grew ever louder, until she could recognise different voices, evidently discussing a journey. She could not discern exactly what they were saying; even her sharp ears could not catch all their words. Yet she picked up a few words… forest… long road… king… Mirkwood… Mirkwood! She knew of that place. Of old, Greenwood the Great, yet renamed when it was learned that the necromancer of Dol Guldur again inhabited the fortress. Mirkwood… She remembered one who came from there, who had visited Ithilien once… An elf, tall and strong, a friend of the king's. Yes, that was right. He came to Henneth once, with a small band of the fair folk, and the lord of Ithilien had welcomed him with a great feast. Her father said that he was a peerless archer; she remembered shyly telling him of her love of the bow when they had been introduced. He had smiled, and then spoken with her much throughout that meal, promising to give her a lesson one day when he returned to Ithilien. For he stayed but one night, and the six year-old had not seen him again; he and his band had left not long after dawn the next morning. But she had always remembered him, for some reason; maybe it was the fact that he was of Elven kind, for Isilmë had always loved the fair folk, and was ever curious of their ways.
"So, does our path take us straight now?" The voices slowly broke back into her thoughts. Isilmë started; she had all but been lost in her childhood memories. She again strained to hear the men's exact words, to gain just some clue of their identity, but still could not; they spoke too softly. She heard a sound in the trees off to her left, a rustling noise. Moving in its direction, she saw ten or more horses tied up, some dozing, some restlessly shifting their hooves.
Moving away from the horses, she cautiously crept forward a little more. Looking through a gap in the dense shrubbery, she beheld the scene: a party of fifteen men or more around a large fire, some seated, conversing quietly, some sleeping, weapons sheathed at their sides. They all wore dark cloaks – grey, brown, or green – and sat close to the slowly dying fire. Isilmë shivered. It made her feel colder, as she looked at the glowing fire, as she could feel none of its warmth. Well, there was nothing more she could do – she had probably been right with her original guess; the party appeared to be some outlaw band, passing swiftly through the forest. There was no way she could get nearer to their fire without great risk of discovery; although they were at ease, the men seemed tense, those that spoke speaking in hushed and serious tones.
Sighing, Isilmë turned away from the warmth of the fire. Suddenly, a hand came down over her mouth from behind; a firm grip pinned her arms to her sides.
'Mmmph!' Isilmë tried to cry out unsuccessfully, twisting to face her attacker. The fire cast a flickering light on his hooded face; he looked at her intently as Isilmë tried to discern his features in the shadow of his hood.
'So, we've picked up a spy along the way…' came a low voice. And then, 'An archer, art thou?' He said, as he saw her eyes flick sideways to her bow on her back. After a moment of studying her closely, he took his hand away from her mouth. 'Will you tell me your name, and your business in Druadan Forest at such an hour?' he asked neutrally. It had taken Isilmë but a moment to recover from her shock, which had turned first to fear, then anger. She looked at him with her mouth closed mutinously, and tried to struggle against his arms, but his grip was firm. She had been right to flee the first time she had heard their horn calls; if only she had not come towards the fire! This stranger was almost certainly one of the outlaw band; she saw a pile of firewood he had collected that he had obviously been bringing to the camp, and put down when he saw her. Isilmë thought quickly. If she revealed who she was, or even just that she was a girl, things could get worse. As it was, she would have more chance of escape.
After waiting a moment, without a response, the stranger shrugged his shoulders. 'Then no matter. You shall accompany us tonight.' Taking a length of rope, he proceeded to tie her hands tightly behind her back.
Suddenly, Isilmë kicked out towards him, catching his shin, and springing up, tried to run away. Yet she was not quick enough, for the stranger, after buckling slightly, sprang forward and caught her arm. Isilmë tried in vain to shake him off, then hit out behind her with her free hand, but he caught her wrist easily and held it behind her back. Twisting, Isilmë struggled free of his strong grip and turned to face him, sizing up her opponent in a moment. He was tall and well-built, yet quick on his feet – he had also evidently been well-trained in hand to hand combat. More than a match for her, for though Isilmë was lithe and quick on her feet, it had been long since she had ever faced an opponent such as this. At Henneth Annûn, she had been trained well, beating all but Talor her godfather and teacher. Yet as he grew older and less agile, he could no longer train with her on hand to hand, having to fall back on his skill with the sword. Although he still taught her, there was now no one with whom she could actually practise; the boys who trained left Ithilien early for Gondor to improve their skills and spend a short period as a soldier or guard in Minas Tirith, and the girls were not concerned with such things.
Taking advantage of her distraction, as she was remembering her home, the stranger took the opportunity to attack, trying to catch her other arm. Isilmë hit out at him, and he stepped back. Suddenly, he pretended to lunge forward at her; Isilmë fell for his trick and bent down to duck the blow. In an instant, he had straddled her, pinning her arms to her sides as she lay gasping for breath on the ground. She could see now the benefit of practising with a real opponent – she knew nothing of the tricks and deceptions of unarmed combat, and had been totally unprepared for his feint.
'A fighter, too,' said the stranger in his low voice, still holding her down. Isilmë had no more strength to fight back again with; he was too strong.
'Things will go better if you do not try to escape again,' he said, this time tying her hands together tightly. He took out his dagger and pointed it at her throat, gesturing for her to stand. 'Walk.' Isilmë, wet, cold, bruised and exhausted, slowly stood, wary of the dagger at her throat. He directed her away from the fire, towards the horses. Stopping by a black stallion, he whistled, a piercing note in the night, then spoke again to her, cutting her bonds.
'Up.' Too exhausted to run, Isilmë slowly pulled herself up onto the horse's back. The cloaked stranger went to the tree next to the horse and untied the reins. Men now started appearing through the trees from the direction of the fire. One, cloaked like her captor, came up to him, looking questioningly at Isilmë.
'A traveller whom I caught spying. I believe he may have followed us from the city. He'll say nothing, and he's dangerous. We shall take him with us and question him there.' Isilmë, draped over the horse's neck, smiled weakly. So they still thought she was a man. Better that than they discover her true identity; at least they would not try to ransom her.
'He'll ride with you?' asked the other man.
'Aye, Arvedui can take us both.' The man nodded, then hurried off to find his own horse. Turning back to his horse, the leader of the band swung himself up behind Isilmë with ease. Binding her hands together behind her back again, he called to the men.
'We ride non-stop now 'til Mirkwood's boughs. Keep pace and stay on the track.' Isilmë felt his horse start to move beneath her, the rest of the company following behind, as she slowly drifted into unconsciousness.
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Help, I can't think of decent chapter names…. Hmmm. It's getting there, albeit slowly… Although, that *was* a long chapter. Not very good at writing stuff about physical fighting and stuff, I'm afraid. But hope you like it… next chapter on its way soooon, I promise. Eek, I didn't know it would take so long to move on… o dear. I think I'm only writing to people I know now, because no one else finds this… not that they ever read it, anyway… never mind.