Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs
to JRR Tolkien.
Author's Note:
Happy New Year!
SET IT OFF!
Her face met the dirt for at least the eleventh time as Naurglahad tripped over her incredulously weary feet, bones on the verge of snapping in two or melting into the earth. She inhaled and exhaled soil for a moment before stooping to her knees, then to her feet before chasing after Legolas again. Her heel failed her again. Still cursing, she got to her feet again and decided to go just a little easier on her own pursuit.
"Get back here with my knife!" she screamed furiously at the Elf.
"Aragorn," Legolas inquired again, "I do not believe this is the best way to get a child to run for a day and a half---"
"By the rate we are going," interrupted Aragorn, "we are going to be running for another day and a half."
"Three days?"
"About, yes. Now, you are the swiftest and longest runner, Legolas. If you hold that knife captive for another day and a half, we can get her to Rohan without having to carry anyone on our backs."
"Ai, but still---"
"It does not matter any longer. If you stop, she will attempt to strangle you anyway!"
Legolas glanced over his shoulder for a brief moment. Naurglahad certainly did not look happy, hair in a tangle and face still spattered lightly with Orc blood. She was still limping slightly; apparently her heel had been bruised. Sweat glazed upon open wounds that were beginning to turn into either scabs or scars, round her arms and legs. However, there was a wide, yet light slash over her left eye; such a cut only made by the brush of an Orc blade. For hours she ranted, as she sprinted, about what a terrible shame it is to be touched by such a---
"Filthy, disgusting, worthless, intolerable, insignificant, unpredictable, atrociously terrible, damned creation that some sick-minded, psychotic, sadistic, morbid, evil-person of a creator created!"
"If you say that again, young lady," grunted Gimli, still panting and huffing as he made his way up a hill, "you will run out of breath!"
"I've died at least a thousand deaths by now!" cried Naurglahad. "And each death is the exact same way! Exhaustion! I want my knife back!"
"Can we find another way to persuade her to keep running?" asked Legolas... for the fifth time.
The Ranger checked over his shoulder again. His gaze was concentrated and observing, but it suddenly widened and flinched.
"Too late, my Elf friend," he said sadly. "You had better run faster."
"No! Where are you going with that?"
"Just let me cleave a head! Please!"
Gimli roared as she shook his head vigorously. "Yer going to smash it!"
Naurglahad quickened her pace as much as she could. "I'll give it back to you when I've got my knife returned!"
Legolas proved indeed to be nimble and swift, easily accelerating his pace and surpassing Aragorn by a yard or two; just to be safe from the furious young lady that was running thickly behind him, wielding Gimli's Dwarvish ax. In her wild frustration, through shouts of anger, and rivers of perspiration, Naurglahad very much resembled a delirious Uruk-hai. She was gaining on him for a few moments, until finally she knew that the weight of it was too heavy for her preference, and she flipped backward onto the grass like a sack of potatoes flung out a window.
"Shkizat, that thing is heavy..." she muttered, shoving the accursed ax to the side, where it rolled down a small knoll and halted at Gimli's feet.
"Don't touch the ax ever again!" he bellowed, prodding her stomach with the handle end.
"...Ow?"
"Oh, no! You aren't going to get smart with me, young lady! Get up!" In her reluctance to move, he waddled around her and pushed her shoulders up until she was sitting up properly. "Now keep moving!" Gimli's face turned slightly red as Naurglahad only mimicked the Dwarf with her eyes crossed. "That's it! I am going to forget you! Good-bye!"
Off he went, jogging hurriedly after Aragorn and Legolas, shaking his head as his breathing increased by harshness again.
~*~
"You what?"
"Left her behind! She was getting annoying and… and… ergh!"
"Does Aragorn know this?"
"…No?"
"Then you might be safe for the time being!"
Legolas looked to the west to see if he could spot their fourth lost companion some far-away behind them. To no avail, Naurglahad was absolutely nowhere to be seen, even for the Elf's keen sight. Gimli's angered face had turned into an expression of guilt as he was told that she was completely lost to them.
"Master Dwarf! Master Elf! Naurglahad!" called Aragorn from far ahead of them. "Hurry on now!"
"Well…" Gimli said without confidence, "I never approved of her being in this Fellowship in the first place! And neither did you!"
"She was never part of our Fellowship," replied Legolas. "She was not assigned at the Council of Elrond, nor did she follow us for the sake of destroying the Ring…" he turned south-east, "which is currently out of our hands until maybe forever. Personally, I believe she's here for more than just a route home… much more."
He fell silent then, pondering to himself at what treachery Naurglahad could really be up to. Gimli stood beside him and watched the Elf think.
"Maybe leaving her behind was a wise choice after all," sighed Legolas finally.
Then he turned around and began sprinting off after Aragorn. Gimli took once last glance towards the south-east. It could have been the Dwarf's imagination, but he could hear the screams in the Black Tongue, giving out orders to soldiers of the Dark Realm. The peak in fire, Mount Doom, was waiting. Pillars of smoke rose from the ground, and gave a misty cover to the thousands of Orcs marching through the Black Gates, shrieking in their own tongue, "To war! To war!"
"Perhaps… yes," whispered Gimli to himself. "Perhaps… not."
~*~
"You lost her?"
Gimli did not reply to the Ranger's stressed and outraged bellow.
"Do you have any idea what that might do to her? To us?"
"Us?" said Gimli. "What does her loss have to do with us?" He regained his usual stubborn courage. "It is good riddance, I say! She's better off on her own! We don't need an extra person to be taking care of!"
"She could give away our position to spies of the Dark Ones!" shouted Aragorn. "She's going to kill us! If we are not reached by the hands of the Orcs, then we may be attacked by even wickeder forces! Wargs! Crebain! Any—"
He stopped mid-sentence. He stood in the wind, and listened closely for what was coming.
"Hide."
One by one, they took a dive behind a nearby rock. Soon after Gimli had snuck into shelter, a thunder of horse hooves came pounding into sound. Aragorn watched carefully as they passed by. When the last of them came riding over the hill, the Ranger stood from their eluded position and called, "Riders of Rohan! What news from the Riddermark?"
To all three hunter's dismay, the Riders did not reply. Instead, as they ran down the hill, they were surrounded and threatened with long spears, wielded by the Men in silver armor, mounted on their also armored horses.
"What business," said the Rider who appeared to be the leader, "does a Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?"
"Give me your name, horsemaster," grunted Gimli before Aragorn could speak," and I shall give you mine."
The Rider dismounted from his horse and replied, "I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood just a little higher from the ground."
Legolas prepared to string an arrow into his bow, until, "Do I know you three?" interrupted him.
Of all the people that could have been riding with the Rohirrim, it was not Merry, not Pippin, not Frodo, and not Sam. In fact, it was not Naurglahad either.
Author's Note:
Happy New Year!
SET IT OFF!
Her face met the dirt for at least the eleventh time as Naurglahad tripped over her incredulously weary feet, bones on the verge of snapping in two or melting into the earth. She inhaled and exhaled soil for a moment before stooping to her knees, then to her feet before chasing after Legolas again. Her heel failed her again. Still cursing, she got to her feet again and decided to go just a little easier on her own pursuit.
"Get back here with my knife!" she screamed furiously at the Elf.
"Aragorn," Legolas inquired again, "I do not believe this is the best way to get a child to run for a day and a half---"
"By the rate we are going," interrupted Aragorn, "we are going to be running for another day and a half."
"Three days?"
"About, yes. Now, you are the swiftest and longest runner, Legolas. If you hold that knife captive for another day and a half, we can get her to Rohan without having to carry anyone on our backs."
"Ai, but still---"
"It does not matter any longer. If you stop, she will attempt to strangle you anyway!"
Legolas glanced over his shoulder for a brief moment. Naurglahad certainly did not look happy, hair in a tangle and face still spattered lightly with Orc blood. She was still limping slightly; apparently her heel had been bruised. Sweat glazed upon open wounds that were beginning to turn into either scabs or scars, round her arms and legs. However, there was a wide, yet light slash over her left eye; such a cut only made by the brush of an Orc blade. For hours she ranted, as she sprinted, about what a terrible shame it is to be touched by such a---
"Filthy, disgusting, worthless, intolerable, insignificant, unpredictable, atrociously terrible, damned creation that some sick-minded, psychotic, sadistic, morbid, evil-person of a creator created!"
"If you say that again, young lady," grunted Gimli, still panting and huffing as he made his way up a hill, "you will run out of breath!"
"I've died at least a thousand deaths by now!" cried Naurglahad. "And each death is the exact same way! Exhaustion! I want my knife back!"
"Can we find another way to persuade her to keep running?" asked Legolas... for the fifth time.
The Ranger checked over his shoulder again. His gaze was concentrated and observing, but it suddenly widened and flinched.
"Too late, my Elf friend," he said sadly. "You had better run faster."
"No! Where are you going with that?"
"Just let me cleave a head! Please!"
Gimli roared as she shook his head vigorously. "Yer going to smash it!"
Naurglahad quickened her pace as much as she could. "I'll give it back to you when I've got my knife returned!"
Legolas proved indeed to be nimble and swift, easily accelerating his pace and surpassing Aragorn by a yard or two; just to be safe from the furious young lady that was running thickly behind him, wielding Gimli's Dwarvish ax. In her wild frustration, through shouts of anger, and rivers of perspiration, Naurglahad very much resembled a delirious Uruk-hai. She was gaining on him for a few moments, until finally she knew that the weight of it was too heavy for her preference, and she flipped backward onto the grass like a sack of potatoes flung out a window.
"Shkizat, that thing is heavy..." she muttered, shoving the accursed ax to the side, where it rolled down a small knoll and halted at Gimli's feet.
"Don't touch the ax ever again!" he bellowed, prodding her stomach with the handle end.
"...Ow?"
"Oh, no! You aren't going to get smart with me, young lady! Get up!" In her reluctance to move, he waddled around her and pushed her shoulders up until she was sitting up properly. "Now keep moving!" Gimli's face turned slightly red as Naurglahad only mimicked the Dwarf with her eyes crossed. "That's it! I am going to forget you! Good-bye!"
Off he went, jogging hurriedly after Aragorn and Legolas, shaking his head as his breathing increased by harshness again.
~*~
"You what?"
"Left her behind! She was getting annoying and… and… ergh!"
"Does Aragorn know this?"
"…No?"
"Then you might be safe for the time being!"
Legolas looked to the west to see if he could spot their fourth lost companion some far-away behind them. To no avail, Naurglahad was absolutely nowhere to be seen, even for the Elf's keen sight. Gimli's angered face had turned into an expression of guilt as he was told that she was completely lost to them.
"Master Dwarf! Master Elf! Naurglahad!" called Aragorn from far ahead of them. "Hurry on now!"
"Well…" Gimli said without confidence, "I never approved of her being in this Fellowship in the first place! And neither did you!"
"She was never part of our Fellowship," replied Legolas. "She was not assigned at the Council of Elrond, nor did she follow us for the sake of destroying the Ring…" he turned south-east, "which is currently out of our hands until maybe forever. Personally, I believe she's here for more than just a route home… much more."
He fell silent then, pondering to himself at what treachery Naurglahad could really be up to. Gimli stood beside him and watched the Elf think.
"Maybe leaving her behind was a wise choice after all," sighed Legolas finally.
Then he turned around and began sprinting off after Aragorn. Gimli took once last glance towards the south-east. It could have been the Dwarf's imagination, but he could hear the screams in the Black Tongue, giving out orders to soldiers of the Dark Realm. The peak in fire, Mount Doom, was waiting. Pillars of smoke rose from the ground, and gave a misty cover to the thousands of Orcs marching through the Black Gates, shrieking in their own tongue, "To war! To war!"
"Perhaps… yes," whispered Gimli to himself. "Perhaps… not."
~*~
"You lost her?"
Gimli did not reply to the Ranger's stressed and outraged bellow.
"Do you have any idea what that might do to her? To us?"
"Us?" said Gimli. "What does her loss have to do with us?" He regained his usual stubborn courage. "It is good riddance, I say! She's better off on her own! We don't need an extra person to be taking care of!"
"She could give away our position to spies of the Dark Ones!" shouted Aragorn. "She's going to kill us! If we are not reached by the hands of the Orcs, then we may be attacked by even wickeder forces! Wargs! Crebain! Any—"
He stopped mid-sentence. He stood in the wind, and listened closely for what was coming.
"Hide."
One by one, they took a dive behind a nearby rock. Soon after Gimli had snuck into shelter, a thunder of horse hooves came pounding into sound. Aragorn watched carefully as they passed by. When the last of them came riding over the hill, the Ranger stood from their eluded position and called, "Riders of Rohan! What news from the Riddermark?"
To all three hunter's dismay, the Riders did not reply. Instead, as they ran down the hill, they were surrounded and threatened with long spears, wielded by the Men in silver armor, mounted on their also armored horses.
"What business," said the Rider who appeared to be the leader, "does a Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?"
"Give me your name, horsemaster," grunted Gimli before Aragorn could speak," and I shall give you mine."
The Rider dismounted from his horse and replied, "I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood just a little higher from the ground."
Legolas prepared to string an arrow into his bow, until, "Do I know you three?" interrupted him.
Of all the people that could have been riding with the Rohirrim, it was not Merry, not Pippin, not Frodo, and not Sam. In fact, it was not Naurglahad either.