A/N: Chapter two, as promised! Enjoy!
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"Where have you been?" her mother, Norenne, demanded as she finally stepped inside the cool interior of her home.
"Riding," she replied coolly, helping herself to an apple as her mother huffed and clucked disapprovingl around the kitchen. "You're dressed very nicely tonight, mother," she said, a question in her tone which her mother huffed a thank-you at and continued on about her business.
Nyara ignored this, as usual, and instead busied herself setting the table for their meal, pouring water into tall glasses, and folding fine cloth napkins. Nyara didn't know where her mother got the money to live the way they did. Her father had died before Nyara was old enough to remember him, and she never asked her mother questions of him, since it seemed to cause her such distress. As such, her mother had told her only that he had been a brave man and that he had loved her very much. Nice sentiments, but it didn't tell Nyara very much about him. She didn't even know what he looked like.
Of course, she assumed that he looked much like she did. Her mother was a rather petite woman with golden wheat hair, whereas Nyara was tall and regal of bearing, with thick black hair and gray eyes. Perhaps her father had been a warrior of some kind, or even a criminal. She shrugged inwardly. It was unlikely that she would ever know, so guessing was a feeble thing that would only frustrate her in the end. Such was life at times, she knew.
"Sit down," her mother said shortly. It seemed she was in quite a huff today, moreso than usual. Nyara raised an eyebrow, but did as she was bade. Her mother brought a steaming platter to the table, followed by a loaf of freshly baked bread, and a heavy cauldron of steaming soup. It smelled of sweet onions, carrots, and other savory vegetables. On the steaming platter were cuts of meat, likely venison.
"Mother, this looks wonderful!" she exclaimed. Norenn ignored this comment and instead hurried about setting two more place settings at the table.
"Are we having guests?" Nyara inquired politely, now truly perplexed at her mother's behavior. "You see, I've already set the table mother."
"I can see that, Nyara. We have guests. Now go upstairs and change for dinner. I want to see you in something feminine in less than five minutes, or you'll wish you'd never been born."
Nyara snorted as she got up from the table and set her napkin down. "Try threatening me with something I don't already do next time," she grumbled under her breath as she ascended a small flight of steps to her own bedroom.
Who the guests they were having could be were anyone's guess. Nyara's mother didn't have any close friends that she was aware of, nor did Nyara. Then a cold dread took her. Marriage. Someone was coming to claim her for marriage. She shivered involuntarily, and fought to push the feeling back down. Nonsense. Her mother wouldn't just marry her off. Would she?
Mechanically, Nyara pulled a dress from her wardrobe. She didn't look at it. Vaguely she registered a flash of deep violet as she pulled the garment over her head. Her fingers slipped on the leather lacings as she tightened the bodice in the back and knotted the set of ties in the front.
Outside, she heard the clatter of hoofbeats and rushed to the window. Two horses had been reigned in and stomped now, impatient. Two men dismounted and came to the front door. One looked handsome from what she could see of him, but there was a cool blandness in his face that unsettled her.
She could see long black hair, much like her own. It was not shorn as most men wore it, but long and almost beautiful. But again, a coldness invaded that thought even as she formed it. His skin was pale, ghostly almost. And there was a glint in his eye of steel. Suddenly he looked straight at her, and she gasped, jumping back into the shadows of her bedchamber. Her heart felt touched with frost, and it fluttered like a hummingbird's. She pressed a hand to her chest, forcing herself to calm.
Quickly she pulled on a high pair of leather boots, lacing them tightly even as a plan formed in her mind. She would not be wed against her will, and certainly not to a man who made her very soul chill by the look of him. She would sit dinner if she had to, but then she would be to the stable and gone at the first opportunity. Her time had finally come. If her mother wished her gone, so be it. She wouldn't disappoint her.
Automatically, she tied a knife sheath to her left boot, and slipped her short knife inside. Then, with lightning speed, she stuffed a leather bag with a change of clothes, an apple and an orange that sat upon her bedstand, a leather water bag, and a hunk of bread and cheese leftover from her lunch. Then she tossed it out the opposite window, near the stables, and started down the stairs. She ran her fingers through her tousled hair and smoothed it over, just to present an image of obedience.
"There you are," her mother called as she stepped into the room, an airy note of forced cheer in her voice. "Sit down, dear."
Nyara settled into her seat, directly opposite the man with the chilling aura. He didn't look so young now. She figured him at about thirty years old. Her spine tingled but she ignored it with a strong will. It was all she could do not to shudder under his intense stare. It was bold and unabashedly greedy. His eyes roamed her face, her neck, her shoulders and lower, and right back up again. This man was uncouth to be certain, she thought. Nonetheless she met his gaze straight on and straight-backed. This seemed to anger him a bit, but he kept any comments to himself.
"Nyara, meet Prince Umbrul. He comes from the East, across the border from Minas Tirith."
Nyara's eyes flew to her mother. Across from Minas Tirith? In Mordor? But that was a place of evil! All the scrolls and parchment she had ever read stated as such. Even now people didn't travel that way. "But--" she started, but was cut off by Umbrul's companion. "Imlath!"
Imlath it was indeed, Rohan's elected official of matters of the Kingdom. She could barely believe her eyes.
"The arrangements are complete," he stated, ignoring her and handing a piece of parchment to Norenn. "All that is needed is your signature to bind the transaction."
"Transaction?" Nyara repeated, her breath coming faster and faster.
Norenn gazed at her daughter with a slight shred of compassion. "The time has come, Nyara. You would have no suitor before. Now you don't have the choice. Prince Umbrul has agreed to pay me a fair sum for your hand in marriage. And, it's time you started a life and family of your own." Then, without any further discussion, Norenn took the proffered quill from Imlath, dipped it into a bit of ink, and scratched her signature into the paper.
"She is yours now, Prince Umbrul," she said, and seated herself at the table. It gave Nyara slight satisfaction that her mother would not look her in the eye.
"Now we will eat and drink to this arrangement."
"Like blazes we will," Nyara snarled. She shoved her chair back and stood, and bolted from the house. There was a shout from Imlath but she paid it no heed. Her heart raced like it had never raced before.
The only time she slowed down on her way to the stables was to snatch up the leather bag and sling it over her shoulder. Then she threw a saddle on the youngest and most feisty stallion in the barn, a black named Nightshade, and laid her heels to his flanks.
As she came round the side of the house, Umbrul stepped out before her. The cold fury and evil in his eyes nearly made her head swim, and her vision blurred before she managed to bring herself under control. Unthinking, she ducked her left hand into her boot sheath, and as she flew past him, lashed out with it. The flash of blood brought her satisfaction, until she recognized the color.
"Black," she whispered, and her eyes widened. Umbrul seemed to grow larger, his rage emanating in waves until she feared she wouldn't escape him. The area all around him dimmed to a thick blackness the seared her mind with pain to look at it. Then she tore her eyes away, desperate to escape this fate laid before her. She made for the Gap of Rohan, and squeezed her eyes shut against the wind, trusting the stallion's common sense not to break his own leg.
And the world swept past her in surges of blue sky and green fields.
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"Where have you been?" her mother, Norenne, demanded as she finally stepped inside the cool interior of her home.
"Riding," she replied coolly, helping herself to an apple as her mother huffed and clucked disapprovingl around the kitchen. "You're dressed very nicely tonight, mother," she said, a question in her tone which her mother huffed a thank-you at and continued on about her business.
Nyara ignored this, as usual, and instead busied herself setting the table for their meal, pouring water into tall glasses, and folding fine cloth napkins. Nyara didn't know where her mother got the money to live the way they did. Her father had died before Nyara was old enough to remember him, and she never asked her mother questions of him, since it seemed to cause her such distress. As such, her mother had told her only that he had been a brave man and that he had loved her very much. Nice sentiments, but it didn't tell Nyara very much about him. She didn't even know what he looked like.
Of course, she assumed that he looked much like she did. Her mother was a rather petite woman with golden wheat hair, whereas Nyara was tall and regal of bearing, with thick black hair and gray eyes. Perhaps her father had been a warrior of some kind, or even a criminal. She shrugged inwardly. It was unlikely that she would ever know, so guessing was a feeble thing that would only frustrate her in the end. Such was life at times, she knew.
"Sit down," her mother said shortly. It seemed she was in quite a huff today, moreso than usual. Nyara raised an eyebrow, but did as she was bade. Her mother brought a steaming platter to the table, followed by a loaf of freshly baked bread, and a heavy cauldron of steaming soup. It smelled of sweet onions, carrots, and other savory vegetables. On the steaming platter were cuts of meat, likely venison.
"Mother, this looks wonderful!" she exclaimed. Norenn ignored this comment and instead hurried about setting two more place settings at the table.
"Are we having guests?" Nyara inquired politely, now truly perplexed at her mother's behavior. "You see, I've already set the table mother."
"I can see that, Nyara. We have guests. Now go upstairs and change for dinner. I want to see you in something feminine in less than five minutes, or you'll wish you'd never been born."
Nyara snorted as she got up from the table and set her napkin down. "Try threatening me with something I don't already do next time," she grumbled under her breath as she ascended a small flight of steps to her own bedroom.
Who the guests they were having could be were anyone's guess. Nyara's mother didn't have any close friends that she was aware of, nor did Nyara. Then a cold dread took her. Marriage. Someone was coming to claim her for marriage. She shivered involuntarily, and fought to push the feeling back down. Nonsense. Her mother wouldn't just marry her off. Would she?
Mechanically, Nyara pulled a dress from her wardrobe. She didn't look at it. Vaguely she registered a flash of deep violet as she pulled the garment over her head. Her fingers slipped on the leather lacings as she tightened the bodice in the back and knotted the set of ties in the front.
Outside, she heard the clatter of hoofbeats and rushed to the window. Two horses had been reigned in and stomped now, impatient. Two men dismounted and came to the front door. One looked handsome from what she could see of him, but there was a cool blandness in his face that unsettled her.
She could see long black hair, much like her own. It was not shorn as most men wore it, but long and almost beautiful. But again, a coldness invaded that thought even as she formed it. His skin was pale, ghostly almost. And there was a glint in his eye of steel. Suddenly he looked straight at her, and she gasped, jumping back into the shadows of her bedchamber. Her heart felt touched with frost, and it fluttered like a hummingbird's. She pressed a hand to her chest, forcing herself to calm.
Quickly she pulled on a high pair of leather boots, lacing them tightly even as a plan formed in her mind. She would not be wed against her will, and certainly not to a man who made her very soul chill by the look of him. She would sit dinner if she had to, but then she would be to the stable and gone at the first opportunity. Her time had finally come. If her mother wished her gone, so be it. She wouldn't disappoint her.
Automatically, she tied a knife sheath to her left boot, and slipped her short knife inside. Then, with lightning speed, she stuffed a leather bag with a change of clothes, an apple and an orange that sat upon her bedstand, a leather water bag, and a hunk of bread and cheese leftover from her lunch. Then she tossed it out the opposite window, near the stables, and started down the stairs. She ran her fingers through her tousled hair and smoothed it over, just to present an image of obedience.
"There you are," her mother called as she stepped into the room, an airy note of forced cheer in her voice. "Sit down, dear."
Nyara settled into her seat, directly opposite the man with the chilling aura. He didn't look so young now. She figured him at about thirty years old. Her spine tingled but she ignored it with a strong will. It was all she could do not to shudder under his intense stare. It was bold and unabashedly greedy. His eyes roamed her face, her neck, her shoulders and lower, and right back up again. This man was uncouth to be certain, she thought. Nonetheless she met his gaze straight on and straight-backed. This seemed to anger him a bit, but he kept any comments to himself.
"Nyara, meet Prince Umbrul. He comes from the East, across the border from Minas Tirith."
Nyara's eyes flew to her mother. Across from Minas Tirith? In Mordor? But that was a place of evil! All the scrolls and parchment she had ever read stated as such. Even now people didn't travel that way. "But--" she started, but was cut off by Umbrul's companion. "Imlath!"
Imlath it was indeed, Rohan's elected official of matters of the Kingdom. She could barely believe her eyes.
"The arrangements are complete," he stated, ignoring her and handing a piece of parchment to Norenn. "All that is needed is your signature to bind the transaction."
"Transaction?" Nyara repeated, her breath coming faster and faster.
Norenn gazed at her daughter with a slight shred of compassion. "The time has come, Nyara. You would have no suitor before. Now you don't have the choice. Prince Umbrul has agreed to pay me a fair sum for your hand in marriage. And, it's time you started a life and family of your own." Then, without any further discussion, Norenn took the proffered quill from Imlath, dipped it into a bit of ink, and scratched her signature into the paper.
"She is yours now, Prince Umbrul," she said, and seated herself at the table. It gave Nyara slight satisfaction that her mother would not look her in the eye.
"Now we will eat and drink to this arrangement."
"Like blazes we will," Nyara snarled. She shoved her chair back and stood, and bolted from the house. There was a shout from Imlath but she paid it no heed. Her heart raced like it had never raced before.
The only time she slowed down on her way to the stables was to snatch up the leather bag and sling it over her shoulder. Then she threw a saddle on the youngest and most feisty stallion in the barn, a black named Nightshade, and laid her heels to his flanks.
As she came round the side of the house, Umbrul stepped out before her. The cold fury and evil in his eyes nearly made her head swim, and her vision blurred before she managed to bring herself under control. Unthinking, she ducked her left hand into her boot sheath, and as she flew past him, lashed out with it. The flash of blood brought her satisfaction, until she recognized the color.
"Black," she whispered, and her eyes widened. Umbrul seemed to grow larger, his rage emanating in waves until she feared she wouldn't escape him. The area all around him dimmed to a thick blackness the seared her mind with pain to look at it. Then she tore her eyes away, desperate to escape this fate laid before her. She made for the Gap of Rohan, and squeezed her eyes shut against the wind, trusting the stallion's common sense not to break his own leg.
And the world swept past her in surges of blue sky and green fields.
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