Now, I would like to say some stuff, which the majority of you probably won't find at all interesting. Majority? Heh. Anyway. I've been an idiot recently. I've done nothing with my life. In particular, I've done nothing literary... apart from that exam a couple of weeks ago. What was it again? O yeah, the English Language GCSE. Quite exciting, that was. ^_~ Anyway. I reason that I do homework, and I hate it - but even though I enjoy this kind of writing, I don't do it. Why??(Nobody mention that homework is compulsory. I know. I've been there and back. Wait, that was wrong. I've been there and I'm STILL there. Dammit. Anyway, I merely neglect to point that out for the sake of this argument, which is, in effect, going nowhere. Shoot the fool now.)
I'm going to get back to this, and write more. Dammit, I will! This intro's starting to sound a LOT like the past one. Willpower? I've searched, but I cannae seem to find any within myself. So... I'll just have to work harder at it.
If that didn't make sense, don't worry. I'm sorry to waste your time. It just helps me to get my thoughts out in writing, sometimes. And make excuses for myself. Bad habit of mine, I'm afraid. My head's a bit addled at the moment... What with... the TWO TOWERS PREMIERE SO SOON!!!
Woo. So, I am very happy. And now I shall write. ^.^
Sorry, need a postscript here - forgot summat. Just to apologise... The cut-off for the last chapter was a really, really bad point to do so at. Wasn't meant to be a cliffhanger... Sorry.
Chapter 10: Riding on
At least ten men lay dead on the ground, some with arrows protruding from their bodies, some with dark blood oozing from wounds. Another five or more were injured, being tended to by their comrades and a few Elves. So they had been fighting on the side of her captors. It seemed it had been a lucky thing for them, that the Elves had appeared when they did. Isilme felt sick, staggering backwards a little as her mind took in its first real experience of death. Never had it been so near to her. And so many, in such a short time. The man who had brought her into the clearing ignored the stricken girl as she took in the bloody scene.
It was hard to tell from which side the fallen were, as they all wore dark, travelworn garb, but Isilme could see that the group of her attacker was quite strongly diminished. He himself stood talking to who appeared to be the leader of the Elven band, his muddied face showing his fatigue, yet still stern and grim. A few of the new arrivals stood by their leader, and the rest either tended to the injured or scouted the ground for their lost arrows, bows in hands and faces calm and unreadable. The man who had brought Isilme over stood behind the Elven leader, waiting for them to finish speaking with his master, but he spotted them, and nodded, excusing himself.
'To the horses, Alkir. We were just finishing.' He turned to the rest of his men, raising his voice. 'You know we did not slay them all. They may return. We will leave immediately. Some of Galdor's men will remain to bury the dead. Pack up and help those who are injured to the horses. Be wary. We ride to the Elvencity!'
The men rose, some with an air of sadness, leaving their fallen comrades with soft words of passing. The others were grim. The Elves whistled to their steeds who appeared quickly and quietly through the trees, fair beasts, both saddle and bitless, and mounted swiftly. The group moved off slowly through the trees.
~*~*~*~*~
Isilme sighed. Again she was bound, and on horseback . Her whole body ached from the bumpy rhythm of the animal below her, whose uneven movement was far removed from the smooth gait of the powerful beast from days before. Her right arm was ice cold to the touch, and going numb as she lay across it; at least it was no longer painful. She had by now given up trying to understand what was happening - Elves aiding humans? She knew their tendency was to leave mortals to fight their own battles. She could not think straight. It was all too confusing.
The journey was tedious - she could neither sleep nor even close her eyes for fear she would fall off, for her still-tied hands were clutching the saddle tightly, almost the only thing keeping her on. Every so often she would raise her head slightly to see some of the Elves riding with the group regarding her with curious expressions. She ignored them - in truth, had she not been a prisoner, she would have been doing likewise. As it was, her position was rather too awkward for her to be worrying about the fact that the sharp crystal eyes of the inhabitants of Mirkwood were upon her.
They had been riding through the woods for a while now, and their surroundings had changed dramatically since the start of the journey. Now in the place of the light ash and oak were great tall trees, stretching up to the sky and blotting out most of the sunlight to create a dark, foreboding atmosphere. Yet this did not seem to worry the comapny's leader and his men, nor the Elves who presumably were used to the dark of the forest. They talked more now, their voices becoming cheerful. They must have been nearing their goal.
Where exactly they were bound, Isilme did not know - she remembered that Northern Mirkwood was home to a great number of Elves, but nothing more. Wishing that she had questioned her parents further on the exact whereabouts of the city, her thoughts fell to Henneth, and fair Ithilien. More than anything she wished now to see the green boughs of her homeland; the White City was but a far-off dream. To sit on the banks of a silver stream glistening in the sunlight, to gallop, laughing with pleasure along the long forest tracks... What of Mirlome? She would probably have found her way out onto the plains now. At least the horse was free...
Tired, uncomfortable, and more or less resigned to her captivity - at least for now - Isilme lay still, gripping the saddle tightly, and waited for the journey to end.