She awoke abruptly, rising suddenly from a murky dream where all Middle Earth seemed empty. Opening her eyes she jumped in horror to find it just as dark in the waking world. Recollections of the previous days events came back to her and she felt drained, all the fight in her taut muscles drained.
For the second time in as many days she had wakened in a strange place, with no idea as to how she had gotten there. In those few moments of confusion that lingered as she came from deep sleep to waking she thought herself back in the cave. That her escape was nothing more than a hopeful dream. But she realized that this felt different. Freshness in the air and the faint whisper of wind in the treetops told her she remained outside. Though no light from the moon filtered down through the thick canopy the darkness was not the inky black of a confined space. She strained her eyes, searching for something that might hint to her whereabouts.
"You're in a small wooded outcrop, some four miles distance from… that… place. We brought you here when you passed out."
She jumped to hear the voice so near when she had thought herself alone. Attempting to sit, she found herself cocooned in rough woolen blankets that smelt earthy and well used. The sharp movement sent splinters of pain through her head, which still ached though less acutely than before. She found that, while she felt a little uncertain and disorientated, she could sense no immediate danger. The disembodied voice that had surprised her had the familiar lilt of native Rohirric. The man sounded soft-spoken, even friendly, if a little concerned.
Wondering how he knew she had wakened, she turned her face towards the sound of his voice.
"You have suffered a few injuries, lady. There is a deep laceration to the scalp at the back of your head, the result of a sharp knock to the head, I should think. Swelling and bruising at your shoulders… your right arm was dislocated when we found you. There are other cuts and scrapes, all relatively minor…"
He seemed to hesitate, unwilling to continue. Unable to stand the silence, she spoke.
"What is it… who are you… where am I?"
The questions poured forth. Her feelings were mixed. Relieved that she was no longer alone, but afraid that she might once again be a prisoner, held against her own will. She considered remaining silent, sneaking away when her unknown captor slept. However, after the past few days, the yearning for some human company took precedence over her need for survival. The warmth of the blankets and relief from pain meant she was more comfortable than she had felt in what seemed like an age.
"Oh… I'm sorry lady, I have been rude… I am Handir, son of Haman, Rider of Rohan. My brother, Nordolo, and I found you yesterday by a great fire on the road. You were injured and in shock… you have slept until now…"
"I don't remember… just the darkness, everywhere, all around me… I couldn't get out…trapped in the darkness…"
She stuttered, suddenly terrified at being unable to recall the previous few days. Tears came again, hot and bitter.
"Why can't I remember?"
There was a sudden rustle as the man rose hastily, coming towards her. A rough hand was placed tenderly on her forehead, gently stroking her in the way she used to calm a spooked horse. He spoke quietly, reassuring her.
"It will come back, lady… you have suffered deeply, you must rest your body and your mind… I can light a small fire if the darkness upsets you."
She shook her head, knowing there was good reason for not having a fire lit already. Realizing he would not see this, she answered him aloud.
"No, I will be alright… I am just confused and a little tired still. Perhaps a little more sleep…" Her words slurred as fatigue overcame her.
As she slipped asleep, she felt comforted that help was close at hand. Lulled by the gentle caress of the stranger's hand and soothing words, she relaxed into a peaceful slumber.
***
His eyes were adapted to seeing in the night. Feeling strangely protective of the battered waif that had come into his care, he remained by her side until he knew she slept deeply. Able to make out the vague outline of her features, he wondered how one so vulnerable had been so strong. When he had treated her wounds earlier had had marveled at her continued survival. Though none of her injuries would have been life threatening alone, the combination would have knocked a strong man off his feet and yet she still fought.
He listened out for his brother, absently stroking the girl's short hair.
***
Wakening again, she was relieved to find that she could see. Warm morning light fell in patches on the leaf-carpeted floor. Somewhere a bird was singing. Wriggling a little to loosen the blanket, she sat and studied the small camp. Behind her a mossy rock face rose, creating a small sheltered hollow. Immense oak trees interspersed with smaller pine served as a screen on the remaining three sides. Scraggly evergreen bushes were dotted amongst the tall trunks, the waxy green leaves and tiny red berries a dash of colour against the gray brown bark. The ground was thick with decaying leaf matter and scattered pinecones. Remains of a fire sat in a specially dug hole in the center of the concealed clearing. Two other bedrolls were spread at the opposite side, some personal effects strewn about them.
There was no sign of her unknown rescuers. She wondered where they were. Rising, she tested the strength in her legs. Still shaky from her long trek, they buckled at the knees a little as she stood. Careful not to exert herself, she wrapped the rough blanket around her like a cloak to keep out the chill. She walked the perimeter of the camp, familiarizing herself with the layout. At the far corner, an ornate saddle had been laid carefully over a fallen log. She ran her fingers along the supple cantle, admiring the clever way that the craftsman had used the stitching to decorate the deep chestnut brown leather.
She wandered further into the trees, intensely curious about the hidden camp. In all her years traveling the road to Edoras, she had been unaware of the existence of such a place.
She saw a small movement from the corner of her eye. A slight flash of gold. Turning slowly, so as not to frighten the inquisitive horse, she lowered her hands to her sides. The mare danced backwards, tossing her fine head playfully. Deep chocolate eyes regarded her almost solemnly, fringed with long flaxen eyelashes.
Stepping forwards, the horse blew gently in her face, it's muzzle so close she could make out the tiny downy hairs. Mimicking the mare's action, she blew back, knowing it was the horse's way of saying hello and of getting to know her. Reaching up slowly she began running both hands down the arched neck. Feeling the beast lean into her touch, she smiled and moved to scratch her withers.
"Well hello, you beautiful horse. Do you belong to my new friends? Where are they anyway?" She crooned in a singsong way she used on all horses.
The horse whickered gently, as though answering her. It rubbed its face on her arm affectionately, almost knocking her over.
"Careful there pet! I'm not feeling too good right now… be gentle," she chided only half serious.
For as long as she could remember her life had revolved around horses. At two she had been put up on old Bill, her father's favorite mount. She could still feel the childish excitement as she bounced around atop the gentle giant.
Her first horse had been given to her when she was just ten years old. Ciara. There had been complications during her birth and the mother had died, leaving the helpless foal orphaned only a few hours old. Her father had given her responsibility of the tiny filly in the hope of teaching her that caring for horses required commitment and sacrifice. She took to the role of foster mother with great ease, rising before dawn to milk the cows to feed the tiny baby and even sleeping in the stable overnight. The bond between the two had become so strong that Ciara had taken to following her like a faithful dog, jumping high fences just to be close to her.
She smiled fondly. Horses had such a calming effect on her. It was a pity she could not say the same for people.
"I see our guest has risen! Perhaps she would like to partake in a spot of breakfast?"
She jumped, caught unawares by the return of the two men. Conscious that she was staring; she said the first thing that came to her.
"Hmm… let me guess. I know a little elvish… Nardolo is fiery of head, is it not?" She paused looking both men up and down. Gesturing towards the shorter of the two, she laughed.
"Why, how simple! Named for the color of your hair it seems, which makes you Handir." She turned to smile at the taller brother, who grinned openly. "I'm intrigued as to why two men of Rohan have elvish names."
"It's a long story lady. Which I might tell you one day. But I'm afraid you have us at a disadvantage… you know our names and have rightly guessed which belongs to who, but we do not know yours…?"
"I am Rosaleen, daughter of Theodim, horse mistress and trainer for the King. I am very glad to meet you and grateful for your much needed assistance." She executed an awkward curtsey hindered by the blanket.
"Ah Lady Rosaleen, shall we?"
Handir took her arm and escorted her back to the camp. She stole a glance at his profile, eager to drink in the details of these courteous men. He was tall, standing a good foot above her with fine blonde hair crowning his delicate head. Had she been asked, she would not have thought him a Rider of Rohan, for his appearance was deceiving. He looked almost feminine. No beard grew on his fine cheekbones and the willowy body looked more suited to a scholar than a fighter. Only his hands gave him away, the calloused fingers rough on her arm and short nails grimy with dirt.
"Now, my poor little patient, bed rest for you and lots of it. You are in no condition to be wandering, though I am glad you felt up to it."
He grabbed her bedroll, placed it against the trunk of an oak and nodded towards it. Feeling slightly childish, Ros sat with her back to the tree. Handir leaned over her and tucked the blanket around her waist.
"I know you feel better, but that is the effect of the herbs I gave you last night. When they wear off you will feel a little worse." He explained.
"How is it you are so skilled in healing?"
Ros struggled to meet his gaze, discomfited by the deep intensity of his concern. Deeply independent, she found it difficult to express gratitude to this overbearing man without seeming weak.
"As a child I had a great passion for reading. Healing is always useful when a great portion of ones life is spent fighting for survival."
Ros had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at his next action. Comically he slapped his forehead with the flat of his hand.
"Some healer! So skilled that I forgot to gather more herbs for the relief of your pain…"
Shaking his head sorrowfully her moved off muttering curses and berating himself humorously. Turning as he reached the trees, he bowed low.
"My Lady, forgive my absent mind. I shall return only when I have enough herb to heal an army, thus ensuring your continuing comfort."
She watched his departing figure until the dense foliage surrounding the clearing obscured him. His brother remained behind quietly skinning and gutting the hare destined for breakfast. Shifting uncomfortably, she glanced up to find him regarding her with an indefinable look.
***
Listening to his brother talk to the woman, Nardolo felt his heart sink. In his thirty-four years on Middle Earth he had come to recognize that tone in his brothers voice. Others might mistake is as friendly chat or even admiration, but he knew better. For though his twin was gifted with a great intelligence, he was prone to sudden infatuation. It had caused trouble in the past and, Nardolo sensed, it would cause trouble now.
Concentrating for a moment, he opened the young hares belly in one deft movement. Working the blunt edge of his knife between the outer skin and tender muscle, he removed the fur in one piece and set it aside. The soft pelt made an excellent lining for his moccasin like shoes, especially useful when the cold winter snows came to the plains of Rohan. He scraped the innards into a crude wooden bowl and set it next to the reserved fur. Leaning forward he took a handful of ashes from the unlit fireplace and began working them into the surface of the meat.
He studied her face as he worked, seeing her properly for the first time. She was not exceptionally young or beautiful, her features looked careworn as though her life had not been easy. Deep lines settled about her eyes and mouth as she laughed at something Nardolo missed. Her full cheeks were ruddy, the result of working in the harsh summer sun and winter storms. There was something about her, though he could not say what it was, that silenced him and left him uncomfortable.
Yesterday, as his brother carried her to the camp, he had winced upon seeing her injuries. When his brother removed her clothing to gain access to a particularly nasty gash he had almost turned away, believing she would not recover. Yet today she had wakened almost well. It was obvious the wounds pained her still, as she sat stiffly upright and held her bad arm at her side, but he felt that, if the need came, she could move swiftly. He marveled at the deep strength she possessed when it was clear she had been through a harrowing ordeal not a few days ago. She had kept him awake the previous night, tossing and turning uneasily as she slept, screaming something about the darkness in a way that pierced his heart. She seemed so strong and yet Nardolo felt the need to protect her from whatever had left her so afraid. Angered by her condition, he had stalked away into the darkness and spent most of the night thinking up cruel tortures for whomever had left her in such a state.
Wishing he had the words to express his troubled thoughts, he cursed himself inwardly. Adding some small branches to a the pile of dried grasses before him, he arranged them into a conical mound. He lit the fire with a well practiced hand and skewered the meat. Setting it between two forked branches set into the soil, he left it to cook.
His eyes were drawn to her face once more, and he watched her as Handir strode off.
***
She held his gaze until it seemed she would drown in his murky brown depths. A deep sadness rested in his eyes, echoed by his downcast features. His long hair hung straight down his shoulders, interwoven with skillfully placed braids that left his fiery locks free to blow in the wind, but left his face clear. It was a shade of deeply burnished copper, darker in some places than others. He had no beard, though his face was covered in light stubble. She wondered about his age, finding it difficult to discern with such contradicting signals. His eyes showed a great age, but his body seemed young. His limbs were long and well muscled, clothed in a leather tunic over heavy woolen trousers. Over his forearms and lower legs, thicker leather guards embossed with golden shapes which she could not make out at distance.
"You will need clothing!" His simple statement softly halted her roaming eyes until they once again fixed upon his careworn face.
She nodded, unable to speak. The man before her had such presence, even whilst he sat motionless, that she felt struck dumb. Her stomach rolled pleasantly as he cast a glance over her partially covered body. A warm flush tingled through her limbs.
"I have something that will suffice…" he paused, searching for the words, "…until you find garments more… suited."
Finally finding her voice she answered, keen to hear more of his deep, melodious voice.
"Thank you. That is very kind of you. Hopefully one day I will repay you and your brother for everything you have done."