Chapter Eight
"Leave me alone!" screamed Estela, looking over her shoulder and catching a quick glimpse of blood-red eyes under a black hood.
Her eyes were off the path in front of her so she wasn't able to see the large rock jutting out of the middle of the ground.
She tripped and landed hard on her right side just as the Black Rider rushed pass, screaming in rage. A hot searing pain ripped through her right leg and coursed through her side. Another Rider passed.
Estela rolled over on her back and watched them circle back around and stand on her left and right side. They looked down at her, expectantly, their horses switching their tails impatiently.
"I..."
The one on her left moved his hand. A long sword glinted in the moonlight and he raised it high above his head, ready to strike.
"No! I don't have your stupid ring! Get away!"
The Rider paused then lowered his sword, almost confused. Estela used this to her advantage and scrambled to her feet. She backed slowly away from the Riders as they watched her then they turned and rode away.
Estela didn't wait around to think of why they left and started to run again on her original course, but after a few steps her left leg gave way and she fell again. She positioned her leg so she could see the side of it a choked back a cry when she saw that there was a long red line on the side of her left calf.
She gently touched the cut with two fingers then yanked them back as the pain she had felt earlier erupted through her body.
She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming until it bled.
'He cut me!' she thought.
She experimentally moved her leg, immediately regretting it.
Screaming, gripped her leg tightly. The Riders wouldn't come, for her for she didn't carry their ring, Aragorn and the hobbits were probably...she shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the thought. No one would come to kill her. No one would be bothered if she screamed her head off because her leg felt like it was being decapitated.
But then again...what if there were other things besides Riders and hobbits?
Estela took a deep breath and looked at the long bleeding gash in her leg against the pale light of the moon.
After a few moments she tried her best to get up and walk, but fell down again.
She sighed, looking to her left, and spotted a large thick stick laying beside her that was forked at one end. She grabbed it and felt the forked end. "To hard," she murmured. "I could not walk very far with it."
She looked down at the now ruined jeans. Carefully she placed both hands on the rip and pulled. It tore a little more then just stopped. She pulled it a little harder, fully aware of the pain. Her brow furrowed and she yanked the ends apart. There was a loud *rip* and the jeans tore around the leg leaving one leg shorter than the other.
Sighing, she wrapped the material around the forked end, creating a little padding for her arm. She looked at her leg again. "This won't do," she muttered. With nothing covering the wound there was no telling what kind of infection she might get and she had to apply pressure to it to stop the bleeding.
She looked from her leg to the red short-sleeved T-shirt that she wore than back at the jeans. Sighing again, she took her shirt off and made a few measurements. "Here," she said moving her hand to a section of the shirt, "will make it a belly shirt, but any lower won't give me enough protection." She shook her head and then, using the same jagged rock that had gotten uprooted and tossed to the side that she had tripped over earlier, she made a hole in the shirt.
Using the new hole as a starter, she ripped the shirt until she had a long strip of cloth. She wrapped the cloth around her leg and tied it tightly, and put her shirt back on. Not at all pleased with her new look, she took the forked stick and used it to help herself up. Once on her feet, she positioned the stick under her left arm and started to hobble away.
~~~~~~~~~~~
It had been a week since Estela had seen Aragorn or the hobbits and it was a wonder she was still alive.
The days were long and hard, the nights, cold and frightening, but still she trudged on, the ever pressing need to find Rivendell pushing her onward.
The first two days after escaping Weathertop she had found a spring and some berries that resembled blackberries. Two days after that she found some nuts and a small creek bed with muddy water scattered in little puddles. It was horribly gross, but it was either die or live. It was not a hard decision.
She used the remains of her shirt to bring nuts along with her and found a spring the next day. It wasn't clear like the first, but it wasn't muddy either.
So for two days she had been without water and twenty nuts as nourishment.
Her leg felt like it was slowly being torn off every passing day and on that particular day she fell on the ground sometime near two-o'clock and couldn't get up again.
She lay on her back, "crutch" in hand, moaning.
Soon she heard a loud munching noise coming from right above her head. "What in the world..." she whispered bending her head so she could see.
A white horse was munching the green grass, and looked up to stare at her. It walked slowly toward her beaten form and sniffed her, thoughtfully.
"Uh...hi?"
The horse pulled back and hesitated for a moment then walked to the side of her. It sniffed her wounded leg then gently nudge her arm. It nickered softly and nudged her arm again.
Estela cautiously lifted a hand up and rubbed the horse's muzzle. The horse nudged her palm and whinnied. Estela smiled and rubbed her nails back and forth over its muzzle, scratching it. The horse breathed deeply, creating a vacuum-like suction to her palm. It nickered again then stood up straight, staring down at her expectantly.
Estela groaned and tried to sit up. She made it halfway and was about to fall back down when something hard and strong pushed against her back, helping her up the rest of the way.
Now sitting up, she saw that the horse had helped her and was now pacing back and forth on the side of her, never letting its eyes move from the young woman. It whinnied impatiently and nudged the crutch with its nose.
Estela sighed and took the stick in her hand. She miraculously managed to get to a standing position by using the stick to push herself up.
The horse neighed and pranced around, almost gaily. It stopped and moved its left side toward her as if wanting her to ride.
"Oh, no, no, no, no," said Estela shaking a hand. "I can't ride."
The horse neighed, either in protest or in confusion.
"I'm serious! Look at me! How am I even supposed to get on your back? You don't have a saddle, a bridle, nothing! Besides," she added, mumbling, "I can't ride..."
The horse made a sound that resembled laughter and pranced around a little more, its long white mane dancing on the side if its neck. It stopped again in the same position as before, impatiently waiting for her to get on.
"I can't! I'm--oh, look at this! I'm talking to a horse. I'm going to grow up in the woods and become some crazy Wild Man Bob!" she cried.
The horse snorted and looked down at a large rock on the ground beside it.
"Oh. You won't me to use the rock as a stepstool?"
The horse snorted again and looked up at the trees as if he didn't quite understand her.
Estela sighed and, placing her hands on the horse's back, carefully put her good foot on the rock and pushed herself up on it.
The horse nickered softly, watching her out of the corner of its eye.
As fast as her body would allow her, she swung her bad leg over the side of the horse, grunting in pain, and adjusted herself so that she was sitting securely on the horse's back.
The horse, a stallion Estela had realized when she had been getting on it, neighed and tossed its head.
"Do you have a name?"
The horse stamped his foot.
"Right...how about Snowy? Because you're all white... No? Okay, how about Curtis? Nah, that reminds me of cheese. How about...Alassé?"
The horse looked at her, its black eyes staring at her inquisitively.
"That's a yes for me. So, um, can you walk?"
Alassé lowered his neck to munch some grass, ignoring her.
"O-okay...how about giddy up? Yah? Hi-yah? Are lle going a' move?"
Alassé stopped his eating abruptly and started walking.
Estela stared at the horse, dumbfounded. The horse, a stupid beast not capable of understanding little more than "food" and riding commands, knew what she had said.
'Well, Middle-Earth just happens to be a very peculiar place,' she thought, shaking her head.
"Take amin a' Rivendell," commanded Estela. Alassé sped up, Estela grasping tightly to his snow-white mane.
For the first time since she had heard Aragorn's song a hope that she had carried with her since as far back as she could remember, not counting the five years after her parents had died, returned and made her smile.
"Rivendell," she whispered. "Elrond."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Alassé had found a spring and some more berries later that day which Estela had eaten eagerly, then for six days they had seen nothing but another spring and trees.
"Are you bored?" asked Estela. Alassé just grunted and trudged on.
"When will we get there?"
The horse whinnied and sped up a little.
Estela sighed and closed her eyes.
It was after noon and evening was drawing near, but still Alassé ran. Estela could tell that he was getting tired, but even when she commanded that they stop he kept on going, leaving her no choice but to sit and wait.
She rolled her eyes as the horse refused to stop again and began humming to herself. She didn't know what song it was, which irritated her greatly, and tried a few times unsuccessfully to add the words.
Alassé had one ear back, listening. He seemed to like the singing which embarrassed her slightly, but also made her hum with more gusto.
A shrill faraway scream, from in the back of her mind or somewhere behind her she didn't know, made her and Alassé stop in their tracks. Her humming had ceased and thy were now listening, their breaths held.
The scream sounded again and Alassé took off at a speed that Estela had never dreamed possible, almost making her fall off.
The scream came again, this time closer, chilling her bones and making her shiver.
Alassé was breathing heavily, his nostrils flared, allowing more air to fill his lungs. He was running hard, Estela clinging onto his neck, and her legs pressed tightly to his sides.
"It's one of them," whimpered Estela. "Go faster, Alassé, go faster."
The Rider, though they couldn't see him, seemed right beside them. She listened carefully, and heard, through the loud rushing of wind, what sounded like ten pairs of hooves, thudding hard against the ground.
'Ten?'
There was another scream, making her forget about the hoof-beets.
"Noro, noro, Alassé!" she screamed. "Noro lim, noro lim!"
That was all the horse needed. Running as fast as the wind it seemed, feet barely touching the ground, he ran.
Estela, because she had her eyes shut, didn't see the water but felt it as crashed up around her legs, stinging her wounded leg, because of Alassé's heavy steps landing in the water.
There were cries somewhere and screaming, but it faded away. For the first time, but certainly not the last on this journey, Estela fainted.
"Elrond...Aragorn...Dad? Please, help me..." she whispered before her head slumped against Alassé's neck and everything faded into a world of darkness.
Rivendell is in the next chapter!! Yeah!!! Finally! I hope you liked this chapter. Allasé means joy by the way.
Thanks for the reviews, Lúthien.
"Leave me alone!" screamed Estela, looking over her shoulder and catching a quick glimpse of blood-red eyes under a black hood.
Her eyes were off the path in front of her so she wasn't able to see the large rock jutting out of the middle of the ground.
She tripped and landed hard on her right side just as the Black Rider rushed pass, screaming in rage. A hot searing pain ripped through her right leg and coursed through her side. Another Rider passed.
Estela rolled over on her back and watched them circle back around and stand on her left and right side. They looked down at her, expectantly, their horses switching their tails impatiently.
"I..."
The one on her left moved his hand. A long sword glinted in the moonlight and he raised it high above his head, ready to strike.
"No! I don't have your stupid ring! Get away!"
The Rider paused then lowered his sword, almost confused. Estela used this to her advantage and scrambled to her feet. She backed slowly away from the Riders as they watched her then they turned and rode away.
Estela didn't wait around to think of why they left and started to run again on her original course, but after a few steps her left leg gave way and she fell again. She positioned her leg so she could see the side of it a choked back a cry when she saw that there was a long red line on the side of her left calf.
She gently touched the cut with two fingers then yanked them back as the pain she had felt earlier erupted through her body.
She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming until it bled.
'He cut me!' she thought.
She experimentally moved her leg, immediately regretting it.
Screaming, gripped her leg tightly. The Riders wouldn't come, for her for she didn't carry their ring, Aragorn and the hobbits were probably...she shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the thought. No one would come to kill her. No one would be bothered if she screamed her head off because her leg felt like it was being decapitated.
But then again...what if there were other things besides Riders and hobbits?
Estela took a deep breath and looked at the long bleeding gash in her leg against the pale light of the moon.
After a few moments she tried her best to get up and walk, but fell down again.
She sighed, looking to her left, and spotted a large thick stick laying beside her that was forked at one end. She grabbed it and felt the forked end. "To hard," she murmured. "I could not walk very far with it."
She looked down at the now ruined jeans. Carefully she placed both hands on the rip and pulled. It tore a little more then just stopped. She pulled it a little harder, fully aware of the pain. Her brow furrowed and she yanked the ends apart. There was a loud *rip* and the jeans tore around the leg leaving one leg shorter than the other.
Sighing, she wrapped the material around the forked end, creating a little padding for her arm. She looked at her leg again. "This won't do," she muttered. With nothing covering the wound there was no telling what kind of infection she might get and she had to apply pressure to it to stop the bleeding.
She looked from her leg to the red short-sleeved T-shirt that she wore than back at the jeans. Sighing again, she took her shirt off and made a few measurements. "Here," she said moving her hand to a section of the shirt, "will make it a belly shirt, but any lower won't give me enough protection." She shook her head and then, using the same jagged rock that had gotten uprooted and tossed to the side that she had tripped over earlier, she made a hole in the shirt.
Using the new hole as a starter, she ripped the shirt until she had a long strip of cloth. She wrapped the cloth around her leg and tied it tightly, and put her shirt back on. Not at all pleased with her new look, she took the forked stick and used it to help herself up. Once on her feet, she positioned the stick under her left arm and started to hobble away.
~~~~~~~~~~~
It had been a week since Estela had seen Aragorn or the hobbits and it was a wonder she was still alive.
The days were long and hard, the nights, cold and frightening, but still she trudged on, the ever pressing need to find Rivendell pushing her onward.
The first two days after escaping Weathertop she had found a spring and some berries that resembled blackberries. Two days after that she found some nuts and a small creek bed with muddy water scattered in little puddles. It was horribly gross, but it was either die or live. It was not a hard decision.
She used the remains of her shirt to bring nuts along with her and found a spring the next day. It wasn't clear like the first, but it wasn't muddy either.
So for two days she had been without water and twenty nuts as nourishment.
Her leg felt like it was slowly being torn off every passing day and on that particular day she fell on the ground sometime near two-o'clock and couldn't get up again.
She lay on her back, "crutch" in hand, moaning.
Soon she heard a loud munching noise coming from right above her head. "What in the world..." she whispered bending her head so she could see.
A white horse was munching the green grass, and looked up to stare at her. It walked slowly toward her beaten form and sniffed her, thoughtfully.
"Uh...hi?"
The horse pulled back and hesitated for a moment then walked to the side of her. It sniffed her wounded leg then gently nudge her arm. It nickered softly and nudged her arm again.
Estela cautiously lifted a hand up and rubbed the horse's muzzle. The horse nudged her palm and whinnied. Estela smiled and rubbed her nails back and forth over its muzzle, scratching it. The horse breathed deeply, creating a vacuum-like suction to her palm. It nickered again then stood up straight, staring down at her expectantly.
Estela groaned and tried to sit up. She made it halfway and was about to fall back down when something hard and strong pushed against her back, helping her up the rest of the way.
Now sitting up, she saw that the horse had helped her and was now pacing back and forth on the side of her, never letting its eyes move from the young woman. It whinnied impatiently and nudged the crutch with its nose.
Estela sighed and took the stick in her hand. She miraculously managed to get to a standing position by using the stick to push herself up.
The horse neighed and pranced around, almost gaily. It stopped and moved its left side toward her as if wanting her to ride.
"Oh, no, no, no, no," said Estela shaking a hand. "I can't ride."
The horse neighed, either in protest or in confusion.
"I'm serious! Look at me! How am I even supposed to get on your back? You don't have a saddle, a bridle, nothing! Besides," she added, mumbling, "I can't ride..."
The horse made a sound that resembled laughter and pranced around a little more, its long white mane dancing on the side if its neck. It stopped again in the same position as before, impatiently waiting for her to get on.
"I can't! I'm--oh, look at this! I'm talking to a horse. I'm going to grow up in the woods and become some crazy Wild Man Bob!" she cried.
The horse snorted and looked down at a large rock on the ground beside it.
"Oh. You won't me to use the rock as a stepstool?"
The horse snorted again and looked up at the trees as if he didn't quite understand her.
Estela sighed and, placing her hands on the horse's back, carefully put her good foot on the rock and pushed herself up on it.
The horse nickered softly, watching her out of the corner of its eye.
As fast as her body would allow her, she swung her bad leg over the side of the horse, grunting in pain, and adjusted herself so that she was sitting securely on the horse's back.
The horse, a stallion Estela had realized when she had been getting on it, neighed and tossed its head.
"Do you have a name?"
The horse stamped his foot.
"Right...how about Snowy? Because you're all white... No? Okay, how about Curtis? Nah, that reminds me of cheese. How about...Alassé?"
The horse looked at her, its black eyes staring at her inquisitively.
"That's a yes for me. So, um, can you walk?"
Alassé lowered his neck to munch some grass, ignoring her.
"O-okay...how about giddy up? Yah? Hi-yah? Are lle going a' move?"
Alassé stopped his eating abruptly and started walking.
Estela stared at the horse, dumbfounded. The horse, a stupid beast not capable of understanding little more than "food" and riding commands, knew what she had said.
'Well, Middle-Earth just happens to be a very peculiar place,' she thought, shaking her head.
"Take amin a' Rivendell," commanded Estela. Alassé sped up, Estela grasping tightly to his snow-white mane.
For the first time since she had heard Aragorn's song a hope that she had carried with her since as far back as she could remember, not counting the five years after her parents had died, returned and made her smile.
"Rivendell," she whispered. "Elrond."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Alassé had found a spring and some more berries later that day which Estela had eaten eagerly, then for six days they had seen nothing but another spring and trees.
"Are you bored?" asked Estela. Alassé just grunted and trudged on.
"When will we get there?"
The horse whinnied and sped up a little.
Estela sighed and closed her eyes.
It was after noon and evening was drawing near, but still Alassé ran. Estela could tell that he was getting tired, but even when she commanded that they stop he kept on going, leaving her no choice but to sit and wait.
She rolled her eyes as the horse refused to stop again and began humming to herself. She didn't know what song it was, which irritated her greatly, and tried a few times unsuccessfully to add the words.
Alassé had one ear back, listening. He seemed to like the singing which embarrassed her slightly, but also made her hum with more gusto.
A shrill faraway scream, from in the back of her mind or somewhere behind her she didn't know, made her and Alassé stop in their tracks. Her humming had ceased and thy were now listening, their breaths held.
The scream sounded again and Alassé took off at a speed that Estela had never dreamed possible, almost making her fall off.
The scream came again, this time closer, chilling her bones and making her shiver.
Alassé was breathing heavily, his nostrils flared, allowing more air to fill his lungs. He was running hard, Estela clinging onto his neck, and her legs pressed tightly to his sides.
"It's one of them," whimpered Estela. "Go faster, Alassé, go faster."
The Rider, though they couldn't see him, seemed right beside them. She listened carefully, and heard, through the loud rushing of wind, what sounded like ten pairs of hooves, thudding hard against the ground.
'Ten?'
There was another scream, making her forget about the hoof-beets.
"Noro, noro, Alassé!" she screamed. "Noro lim, noro lim!"
That was all the horse needed. Running as fast as the wind it seemed, feet barely touching the ground, he ran.
Estela, because she had her eyes shut, didn't see the water but felt it as crashed up around her legs, stinging her wounded leg, because of Alassé's heavy steps landing in the water.
There were cries somewhere and screaming, but it faded away. For the first time, but certainly not the last on this journey, Estela fainted.
"Elrond...Aragorn...Dad? Please, help me..." she whispered before her head slumped against Alassé's neck and everything faded into a world of darkness.
Rivendell is in the next chapter!! Yeah!!! Finally! I hope you liked this chapter. Allasé means joy by the way.
Thanks for the reviews, Lúthien.