Chapter 7

 Mithlach's quick steps did not falter. She knew she was making straight for the camp. It would not be long before she reached it.  

 How alone she had been for so long until she met Lindil. Yet it was not until now, when her companion was no longer with her, that she felt the void created by years of loneliness and isolation.

 But no longer would she be parted from her kin. No longer far from the land she came from and loved. Soon, she would be with her blood, her brother and go home where she belonged, breathing the salt sea air and looking up at the seagulls circling the great Castle of Dol Amroth.

Her heart fluttered within her. Her people would accept her now for certain. Why would they not? She paused. She had heard something. The sound of deep voices in conversation. Her own dear brother?

Her step quickened and she found herself in a clearing where the camp had been. The tents were gone, as were the men and horses. All but two of each remained standing around a fire.

 Melfalas was the first to see her.

 "Ohtarwen," he said and the man he was speaking to turned to look at her, "Here is your brother."

 Mithlach looked at the other man and told him to remove his helm. He did so and looked at her with grey-blue eyes. He was older than her by many a year but her years in the wild made her appear the same age.

 "Ohtar," she said finally.

 "So you recognise me," said the man with a smile.

 "Yes," she said, "But where is my brother?"

 "But this is your brother," said Melfalas with wrinkled brow.

 "Do you believe I do not know my own brother? Perhaps it is the name that fooled you. Ohtar is not my brother. My brother is Himthol."

 "So that is why you uttered that name when you first met me? But I know no Himthol."

 "Of course you don't," said Ohtar, "You cannot expect to know all who serve the Prince. Well 'Ohtarwen' ,if that is what you wish to be called, are you ready for your journey home?"

 "Yes to both your questions. But do not think the name 'Ohtarwen' was chosen with any regard for you," she replied coolly.

 "Always the fiery spirit," laughed Ohtar.

 "Which of these horses is for me?" she asked, disregarding his remark.

 "I'm afraid you shall have to share my steed, if you do not object."

 "I object most strongly. I would rather follow on foot."

 Ohtar turned and gave quick orders to Melfalas to take his horse and make his way to meet the others on their way to Dol Amroth. Melfalas mounted the horse and looked back once before riding away in a hurry.

 "I shall follow on foot," said Mithlach, "Unless you would rather follow on foot and let me ride the horse."

 "Whatever you wish," said Ohtar and took out his bow and arrow.

 Mithlach began to draw her sword but Ohtar laughed again and told her not to be such a fool. He held an arrow in the fire so that the end was aflame and then shot it high into the air.

 "A sign for the others, who were not with the camp when it departed, that you have been found," he explained and swiftly shot another into the dark sky.

 "Like in the rhyme," said Mithlach.

 "Rhyme?"

 "Yes, one I learnt as a child though I cannot remember it well."

 "Come, I shall take the horse and if you still refuse to join me you may walk beside me."

 "How gracious of you."

 "So you do prefer to walk? Hand me your bag at least so that you do not feel the burden of it."

 Mithlach did so but as she handed the bag to him she saw his gaze stray to the ring on her hand. He looked up to see her eyes resting on him, smiled and turned away.

They began slowly and mostly in silence. Ohtar asked Mithlach a few questions but as her answers were blunt he soon gave up starting a conversation. She seemed to be deep in thought, muttering to herself now and again. They had not gone far when she stopped walking.

 "Now I remember," she said.

 "Are you sure you will not take a bite to eat?" asked Ohtar.

 "Though the beginning continues to evade my memory," she continued, ignoring him.

 "Perhaps something to drink," said Ohtar, "You must be thirsty from walking so far."

 Mithlach sang softly under her breath,

"…The old man to the brave knights said

Shoot one fiery arrow if he is found

Two of such if he is found dead. "

 In a flash Mithlach's sword was out but the world suddenly turned black and the sword slipped from her hand. With difficulty Mithlach forced open her eyes and tried to make sense of what had occurred. Ohtar had struck her and she had fallen forward onto the ground. Her sword appeared before her as her vision cleared so she reached a hand towards it, but her hand was crushed under a booted foot.

 "You cannot have your sword, I'm afraid. I have heard of your skill from Melfalas," she heard Ohtar's mocking voice say.

 Mithlach managed to snatch back her hand and as soon as it was free she grasped Ohtar's boot and pulled it so that he fell. Before long her sword was back in her hand but Ohtar also had his sword. He lunged it at her but she countered it. The blow was soon followed by another and the clash of steel against steel filled the air.

 "What do you want?" demanded Mithlach as they fought.

 "Only to rid the world of fell creatures like you."

 Mithlach angrily pushed his sword against him with her own so that the blades were at both sides of his face, one blade fair and the other black as night.

 "Kill me then," he said, "It is what I would expect from an evil sorceress such as yourself."

 Mithlach drew away holding her sword out in front of her.

 "I am not what you think me," she said, "How can I prove to you that I am just the same as you?"

 "Do not compare yourself to me. We all know of your spells and the power you evoke from your ring."

 "Spells? Power? What foolishness. My ring has no power."

 "Then remove it from your hand."

 "Will you then believe that I am not evil?"

 "Yes. If you hand it to me."

 "That I shall never do."

 "So, you fear to lose the power your father gave you with it. I would have thought it had lost its power now that he has fallen but your refusal to give it up makes it appear otherwise."

 "My father left it for me, that is true, but it holds no power. What power do you think it possesses?"

 "It is a ring of fire, creating flames and protecting the wearer from fire. Is it not true that you do not burn?"

 Ohtar suddenly came at her striking hard with his sword and she blocked him swiftly but was forced to move backwards.
 All of a sudden she found herself surrounded by dazzling flames. He had forced her into the fire that still burned in the clearing. The shock made her hesitate and Ohtar took the chance to pierce her sword arm and knock the sword from her now slack grip. Mithlach tumbled backwards out of the blaze, sweat was on her brow and her clothes were singed but Ohtar was right, she did not burn.

 A dagger was stabbed into her leg and the pain from pulling it out caused her to collapse. She looked up; ready to aim the dagger at Ohtar, but there was no sign of him among the long shadows of the trees.

 Carefully, she stood and backed into a tree, looking about her. She quietened her own breath and from among the sounds of small animals in the woods she could discern a steady breathing ahead of her in the shadows. Ohtar was not very close. She could sense his hatred in the air. She could also sense his fear. But she knew she was losing blood fast and could not stay standing for much longer. She held the dagger between her teeth to free her hand and tore a piece of her cloak. She used it to bind her leg, staying the flowing blood as she listened for Ohtar. As she had expected, Ohtar came out of hiding seeing her at a disadvantage. She looked up and took the dagger from her teeth to hurl at him but it missed and he continued to advance. As he drew nearer she reached further down her leg to her boot and brought forth her own dagger. Now she stood up straight and glared at him, a faint sneer on her lips, baring her teeth like a vicious warg.

 He paused for a moment, fearful of the fire he saw in her eyes. The blood from her arm was dripping down the blade so she changed the dagger from her right hand to her left.

 Ohtar deemed her to be losing strength, although her eyes remained bright and mocking. He took a step forward and she would have stabbed him but he caught her wrist and twisted it, wresting the dagger from her and letting it fall. Mithlach's right hand made a fist and Ohtar felt the blow of it shatter a few of his teeth but he swiftly returned the blow and she crumpled to the ground.

 When Mithlach next opened her eyes she was sitting with her back against a tree with her hands tied around it. She felt someone trying to take the ring from her finger so she closed her hand into a fist.

 "Open your hand," said Ohtar from behind her, "Give me the ring."

 "No!"

 "Then I shall remove it from your hand along with your fingers."

 He sliced her hand gently, only just breaking the skin.

 "Open your hand and I shall go no further," he said.

 "No," she cried, "You cannot have it! It is my only…" she screamed suddenly as he pressed the blade deeper into her hand.

 "It is my only link to my father," she gasped, keeping her fist tight, "You shall not take him from me."

   But as the blade cut even deeper Mithlach felt her hand open of its own accord and Ohtar took the bloody ring from her finger. He came around to face her and she eyed him wearily.

 "Why take the ring first?" she asked bitterly, "Would it not be easier to first take my life?"

 "I must destroy the ring before I destroy you. Or at the very least take it from you so that I can kill you."

 He stood surveying the ring in wonder giving Mithlach a few moments to plan an escape. As soon as he had looked his fill at the ring he would kill her. Even if he spared her life, she deemed that she could not last much longer. Fighting back her tears she reached for the rope binding her hands and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger.

Lindil pondered over all the things Mithlach had ever told him hoping that somehow, put together, they would form a clear picture, but too many pieces were missing. They had to be filled for he was not content with leaving the mystery uncovered. How could he go without learning the whole truth?

 The elf looked back. He had travelled a long way and it felt odd not having Mithlach striding alongside him. Should he turn back, find all the answers he wished for? True, she had made it clear that he would learn no more from her but her brother might yet tell him something.

 Still, he hesitated. Nimril was waiting for him, as were his brothers. They were waiting for him but they did not need him. Did Mithlach? Did she need anyone? Lindil was torn.

 "You cannot have it! It is my only…" the words seemed to echo in his memory, "You shall not take him from me." Whether Mithlach needed him or not, he needed answers and would not leave middle-earth without them.  Pleased with this perspective, Lindil strode swiftly southeast, as quick and silent as a deer. As he drew nearer the camp he saw a glint in the darkness. The glint of a sword in firelight. He sped towards it but it had been far off. Gradually the trees began to clear and he saw a flame flickering weakly on a rope around a tree trunk. On either side of the burning rope was a bloodstained shaking hand. Lindil recognised the intricate designs on the gauntlets and though the absence of the ring puzzled him he knew it was Mithlach. Someone held her captive but he could not see who for the trees barred his view. He saw the hands start to struggle and so he quickly aimed an arrow at the rope binding them.

 Mithlach pulled her hands away from each other, praying that the flame had burnt the rope attaching them, enough for it to break, but to no avail. She could not even reach the axe that was still at her side, hidden under her cloak. The rope cut into her wrists so she stopped struggling and had resigned herself to her fate when suddenly she felt a thud ripple through the tree behind her. Her hands fell loose.

 A shining blade came for her neck but she blocked it with her axe and pushed it away sharply. Ohtar looked at her, shocked. Mithlach struggled to her feet with axe in hand, ready for revenge.

 "How…?" began Ohtar.

 Then he saw the charred rope around her wrists. He looked at the ring he held and then at Mithlach. Her eyes burned into his and he took an involuntary step back.

 "Return the ring to me," said Mithlach slowly, "And I may yet let you live."

 But Ohtar only closed his hand around it and ran for his horse. Mithlach tried to follow him forgetting the pain in her leg but she could not take more than a step and he was too fast for her. She watched him mount the horse and then threw her axe at him. It caught him between the shoulder blades and ripped from him a cry of agony but he grabbed the reigns and fled into the darkness crying, "The child of Sauron lives!".

 Exhausted and frustrated Mithlach fell to her knees. She found her dagger and began to strip a piece of her cloak for bandages with it. As she did so, she watched in bewilderment as the world darkened around her. The fire still burned for she felt the heat from it but she could no longer see it. She tried to raise her hand to rub her eyes but it would not rise. The spirit within her made ready to take flight. "No more pain," it begged as it fluttered to be free. Mithlach closed her eyes.

 But a bright voice called out to her and she opened them again. She saw the concerned face of a fair elf before her.

 "Lindil?" she said weakly.

 "Yes," he said, "I have returned."

 He removed the remaining cords from her wrists and then wiped the blood from her face. She watched him do so indifferently.

 "My brother did not come, Lindil," she said hollowly, "I feel as though I have no brother."

 "I shall be as your brother," said Lindil, "From this day forth."

 "You?" said Mithlach, rubbing her wrists where the rope had left red bruises, "A brother who does not trust me?"

 Lindil took something out of the bag at his waist, secured to his belt. When he opened his hand he was holding a small delicate leaf twisted at the top to make it a pouch. Inside was an unusual sweet smelling paste. He took Mithlach's wrist and rubbed some of it on.

 "You have never trusted me," she continued, unaware that her fleeting strength was returning, "At times you were close to it but always you had those suspicions in your mind, hidden under your quest for the whole truth. Perhaps your instinct was right."

 She waited for him to answer but he continued with the balm on her other wrist and then her jaw. Mithlach looked in wonder at her wrist as the redness slowly but definitely faded. Lindil went on to her arm, washing away the blood with water from his flask and applying the paste.

 "It is difficult," he said finally, "To trust one who does not reveal anything about herself or her past."

 "What is it you wish to know?" she asked.

 "Who is your father?"

 "Did you not hear that…scum?"

 "He believes Sauron to have been your father, but I do not deem that it is so. Do you?"

 "At times," she replied,  "I do not know who he is. Only that he wed my mother in Dol Amroth but when she died…when I was born…he suddenly disappeared. Nobody knew much about him. Few saw him. I have only discovered that he met her in the misty mountains where she had escaped from orcs and brought her safely home."

 "Why then he cannot be your father," said Lindil, "For why would the Dark Lord rescue a mortal maiden from his own fell servants?"

 "But then who could he be?"

 "What else do you know of him?"

 "That is all, except for the legend of the Red Chamber. My grandparents told us, my brother and me, about it when we were children. My father left us nothing but that and…" she stopped and held up her hand where only a slim white line remained around her finger where her ring used to be, "and only that gem which Merin bound into a ring for me. Now I do not have even that."

 "Then let us retrieve it," said Lindil decisively.

 "It is of no use," she replied dejectedly, shaking her head so that her curls tumbled about her face, obscuring it from Lindil's bright eyes.

 "I have not known you long, yet those words seem strange coming from your lips and in such a manner. Come."

 Mithlach sat very still and hid her face in her hands.

 "Come," ordered Lindil and stood up, "I shall not let you be like this. Stand like the strong and proud person I know you to be."

 "How can you know who I am when I do not know myself?" came the dismal reply.

 "Whoever you are, you are not evil. There is good in you that cannot be denied."

 She looked up finally but only to lean her head against the tree behind her and close her eyes.

 "The way you are sitting crouched down like that, anyone would mistake you for a hobbit," said Lindil in an altogether different tone of voice.

  Mithlach felt her lips curve into a weak, reluctant smile and a wave of relief swept over Lindil. She looked up at him with some of the spark back in her grey eyes.

 "Well we can't let that happen, can we?" she said.

 She stood up and suddenly realised how much her body ached. She closed her eyes in pain and felt a liquid forced onto her lips. She drank it gladly. Water it tasted like yet sweeter and more wholesome. Richer somehow though she could not explain how. Not only did her body feel refreshed but her spirits rose also and she was able to smile without effort. 

 "Do you feel better?" asked Lindil putting away his flask.

 "Yes. A great deal."

 She felt at her waist and clutched only at air. Looking down she realised her sword was missing and remembered that Ohtar had taken it with him. A fury arose within her. She felt so vulnerable without her sword but she would not let that make her any weaker. She'd kill him with her bare hands if she had to. Looking up she saw Lindil handing her his own sword.

 "Keep this for now if you wish, but I do not desire to see anyone killed."

 "Yes. His men are all innocent, only following orders and believing what he has told them. We must separate him from them somehow."

 "The only thing we shall be separating from that group is your sword and your ring."