A/N: Alright, it's been only a day, and here you go with another chapter!
Enjoy! Let me know what you think! I'll try and have another up by tomorrow
or the next day! Thanks!!!
~Rhiana~
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Haldir gazed around him. It had been three days now since he'd arrived back in Middle-earth, at the white Towers, where Cirdan the Shipwright had given him a grave nod before returning to his work. His mount, a stallion of the Mearas and a gift from the Eldar, one that would rival Shadowfax with speed and agility, had carried him further and faster than he imagined, and already he found himself crossing the Greyflood. He remembered Gandalf, riding Shadowfax, having made it to Sarn Ford only five days after setting off from Rohan. Beneath him now, Steelsheen felt like he was flying, and the world went by in a blur at his speed.
His mind raced with all the knowledge he had been given since being incarnated in Middle-earth. The chief concern he had was finding Celeborn. It had been a surprise to know that Celeborn and Thranduil were still in Middle-earth, in Mirkwood. Thranduil had given Celeborn the southern part of Mirkwood, which Celeborn named East Lorien, and Thranduil kept the top. The middle part they gave to the Beornings and the Woodmen. (Appendix B, pg. 1069 ROTK)
He wondered why Celeborn and Thranduil had not gone on to the Havens. It had been nearly two thousand years since the War of the Ring. Surely Celeborn would wish to see his wife, and Thranduil must long to see his only son. But, these things were not for him to know as yet. So he continued on, further and further on toward the Gap of Rohan that would allow him access to Mirkwood. He wondered what had become of Lorien, of his old home. He had no home now, save returning to the Havens. But that would not be until after his task was accomplished. The Lord of the West had told him of a great evil once again stirring in the East, an evil that had grown intelligent and cunning. Even Men did not recognize him for what he was.
They had sent Haldir to kill him.
It was no great task for Haldir. Killing, he was used to. Though he had wondered, in all his long years in the Halls of Mandos, if he would be reborn the same as he had been before death. His outward appearance remained unchanged as far as he could tell, and he felt no different on the inside. Haldir shrugged. The ways of the Valar were not his to question. He had a task to complete before his life was really his own, and he meant to waste no time.
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Nyara didn't know how long she rode. Minutes stretched into long hours, and then even longer. Perhaps it had been days, perhaps a week. She didn't know. Her mind had been clouded with her thoughts and worries. The little food she had brought was long gone, along with the water that she'd shared with her horse. She had given him her apple as well. She kept thinking about Umbrul, the man her mother had arranged her marriage to.
Umbrul was not a regular man, but someone she was certain was not altogether human. His face had been fair, almost otherworldly so. But he had emanated something so cold and dark that she was certain it was pure evil. And that black blood...Blood that color only came from servants of the Dark Lord, or so she had read. He terrified her, and now she was set to be wedded to him. "Over my dead body," she growled to herself. It surprised her to hear her own voice, gone rusty and hoarse from lack of water.
Her mother had given her away; sold her. Her own mother!
She clung to the stallion's neck, fatigue tearing at her limbs, but she refused to stop. Lack of food, water, and sleep were beginning to tear her down, slowly. There were scratches in her arms and across her face from tearing through a grove of trees earlier in the day, and her fine gown was ripped. No doubt, if she were being tracked, the missing pieces would give her trail away.
That made up her mind. Gingerly, she sat up, the muscles in her back and shoulders protesting none too gently. She was a proficient rider, but such long hours in the saddle she was most unused to. The stallion she had chosen, Nightshade, had long since slowed his pace to a walk, not only to accommodate the terrain, but because he was becoming exhausted as well. They both needed a rest. And she needed to change.
She was not far off from the Gap of Rohan now, which seemed as good a place as any to take some rest, though she wished there were a stream or a river nearby to quench her thirst, as well as Nightshade's. At least she knew enough to stop out of sight of the main road, behind a large cluster of rocks. There she staked Nightshade out to graze a bit, and pulled her change of clothes from the large pack. The leather breeches, linen shirt, and leather tunic would keep her warm and protect her skin from any more scratches.
Finally, she allowed herself to sit down. Her eyelids were just beginning to droop when she heard a noise. It sounded like a scuffle, but the voices she heard were harsh and vulgar in tone. A sudden fright gripped her, though she couldn't say why.
Silently, she crept up the rocks and looked over them. Her breath left her body and her head went light. Orcs! Surely not! They didn't exist; they were only legends, bedtime stories that she'd read about late at night by candlelight. But yet, there they were, no more than hall's length away, a foul and terrible sight to behold. Nyara counted seven of them, some big and swarthy, with sharp pointed teeth and long snarled hair. Some looked a bit different than that, smaller, but they were all equally terrifying. And they were in the sunlight as well...which meant they must be the Uruk-hai, if these were indeed the evil things she'd read about.
There were three of them arguing, but she couldn't understand their language. It was foul and seemed to pummel her ears. Then two of them drew wicked blades and began to lash at each other. The third soon joined the fight, and no more than five minutes later the first two lay dead. Black blood stained the earth around them. The one left alive was much bigger and more menacing than the rest; she assumed he was the leader. His skin was black and his face was hideously warped. He licked the blade of the knife that had slain the other two, and then the rest of the pack jumped upon the bodies, tearing them with their teeth and eating them like a savory meal.
Nyara pressed a hand to her mouth, fighting back the bile that had gathered in the back of her throat.
And the leader looked right directly at her. She jumped, and began to shake. Terror as she had never known gripped her limbs, terror akin to that she'd felt when she'd gazed into Umbrul's cold, evil eyes. The leader barked what sounded strangely like orders to the rest of the Orcs, then kicked the one nearest him. They reluctantly stood, and looked in her direction. She would have sworn their disgusting faces split with disfigured grins.
Then, as one, they began running in her direction.
A terrified scream left her mouth before she could stop it, inciting the Orcs even more. They quickened their pace, and were halfway to her before she could unstake Nightshade, his eyes rolling with fear, and leap onto his back. She set her heels to his flanks and he shot off with amazing speed. Still, he was tired, and so was she. They could not hope to outrun the mighty Uruk-hai.
Nyara didn't dare look back. If she did she knew she would never make it. So she clung to Nightshade's mane, buried her face in his warm neck, and whispered fervent pleas to let her survive.
There was a whizzing sound, a dull thud, and Nightshade screamed in pain. His head tossed back, striking the side of her face. Stars danced before her eyes as pain blossomed like fire in her right cheek. The stallion stumbled and went down, her head struck the earth, and she heard a feminine voice screaming, which she dimly recognized as her own. Then the world went black, and she knew no more.
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or the next day! Thanks!!!
~Rhiana~
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Haldir gazed around him. It had been three days now since he'd arrived back in Middle-earth, at the white Towers, where Cirdan the Shipwright had given him a grave nod before returning to his work. His mount, a stallion of the Mearas and a gift from the Eldar, one that would rival Shadowfax with speed and agility, had carried him further and faster than he imagined, and already he found himself crossing the Greyflood. He remembered Gandalf, riding Shadowfax, having made it to Sarn Ford only five days after setting off from Rohan. Beneath him now, Steelsheen felt like he was flying, and the world went by in a blur at his speed.
His mind raced with all the knowledge he had been given since being incarnated in Middle-earth. The chief concern he had was finding Celeborn. It had been a surprise to know that Celeborn and Thranduil were still in Middle-earth, in Mirkwood. Thranduil had given Celeborn the southern part of Mirkwood, which Celeborn named East Lorien, and Thranduil kept the top. The middle part they gave to the Beornings and the Woodmen. (Appendix B, pg. 1069 ROTK)
He wondered why Celeborn and Thranduil had not gone on to the Havens. It had been nearly two thousand years since the War of the Ring. Surely Celeborn would wish to see his wife, and Thranduil must long to see his only son. But, these things were not for him to know as yet. So he continued on, further and further on toward the Gap of Rohan that would allow him access to Mirkwood. He wondered what had become of Lorien, of his old home. He had no home now, save returning to the Havens. But that would not be until after his task was accomplished. The Lord of the West had told him of a great evil once again stirring in the East, an evil that had grown intelligent and cunning. Even Men did not recognize him for what he was.
They had sent Haldir to kill him.
It was no great task for Haldir. Killing, he was used to. Though he had wondered, in all his long years in the Halls of Mandos, if he would be reborn the same as he had been before death. His outward appearance remained unchanged as far as he could tell, and he felt no different on the inside. Haldir shrugged. The ways of the Valar were not his to question. He had a task to complete before his life was really his own, and he meant to waste no time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Nyara didn't know how long she rode. Minutes stretched into long hours, and then even longer. Perhaps it had been days, perhaps a week. She didn't know. Her mind had been clouded with her thoughts and worries. The little food she had brought was long gone, along with the water that she'd shared with her horse. She had given him her apple as well. She kept thinking about Umbrul, the man her mother had arranged her marriage to.
Umbrul was not a regular man, but someone she was certain was not altogether human. His face had been fair, almost otherworldly so. But he had emanated something so cold and dark that she was certain it was pure evil. And that black blood...Blood that color only came from servants of the Dark Lord, or so she had read. He terrified her, and now she was set to be wedded to him. "Over my dead body," she growled to herself. It surprised her to hear her own voice, gone rusty and hoarse from lack of water.
Her mother had given her away; sold her. Her own mother!
She clung to the stallion's neck, fatigue tearing at her limbs, but she refused to stop. Lack of food, water, and sleep were beginning to tear her down, slowly. There were scratches in her arms and across her face from tearing through a grove of trees earlier in the day, and her fine gown was ripped. No doubt, if she were being tracked, the missing pieces would give her trail away.
That made up her mind. Gingerly, she sat up, the muscles in her back and shoulders protesting none too gently. She was a proficient rider, but such long hours in the saddle she was most unused to. The stallion she had chosen, Nightshade, had long since slowed his pace to a walk, not only to accommodate the terrain, but because he was becoming exhausted as well. They both needed a rest. And she needed to change.
She was not far off from the Gap of Rohan now, which seemed as good a place as any to take some rest, though she wished there were a stream or a river nearby to quench her thirst, as well as Nightshade's. At least she knew enough to stop out of sight of the main road, behind a large cluster of rocks. There she staked Nightshade out to graze a bit, and pulled her change of clothes from the large pack. The leather breeches, linen shirt, and leather tunic would keep her warm and protect her skin from any more scratches.
Finally, she allowed herself to sit down. Her eyelids were just beginning to droop when she heard a noise. It sounded like a scuffle, but the voices she heard were harsh and vulgar in tone. A sudden fright gripped her, though she couldn't say why.
Silently, she crept up the rocks and looked over them. Her breath left her body and her head went light. Orcs! Surely not! They didn't exist; they were only legends, bedtime stories that she'd read about late at night by candlelight. But yet, there they were, no more than hall's length away, a foul and terrible sight to behold. Nyara counted seven of them, some big and swarthy, with sharp pointed teeth and long snarled hair. Some looked a bit different than that, smaller, but they were all equally terrifying. And they were in the sunlight as well...which meant they must be the Uruk-hai, if these were indeed the evil things she'd read about.
There were three of them arguing, but she couldn't understand their language. It was foul and seemed to pummel her ears. Then two of them drew wicked blades and began to lash at each other. The third soon joined the fight, and no more than five minutes later the first two lay dead. Black blood stained the earth around them. The one left alive was much bigger and more menacing than the rest; she assumed he was the leader. His skin was black and his face was hideously warped. He licked the blade of the knife that had slain the other two, and then the rest of the pack jumped upon the bodies, tearing them with their teeth and eating them like a savory meal.
Nyara pressed a hand to her mouth, fighting back the bile that had gathered in the back of her throat.
And the leader looked right directly at her. She jumped, and began to shake. Terror as she had never known gripped her limbs, terror akin to that she'd felt when she'd gazed into Umbrul's cold, evil eyes. The leader barked what sounded strangely like orders to the rest of the Orcs, then kicked the one nearest him. They reluctantly stood, and looked in her direction. She would have sworn their disgusting faces split with disfigured grins.
Then, as one, they began running in her direction.
A terrified scream left her mouth before she could stop it, inciting the Orcs even more. They quickened their pace, and were halfway to her before she could unstake Nightshade, his eyes rolling with fear, and leap onto his back. She set her heels to his flanks and he shot off with amazing speed. Still, he was tired, and so was she. They could not hope to outrun the mighty Uruk-hai.
Nyara didn't dare look back. If she did she knew she would never make it. So she clung to Nightshade's mane, buried her face in his warm neck, and whispered fervent pleas to let her survive.
There was a whizzing sound, a dull thud, and Nightshade screamed in pain. His head tossed back, striking the side of her face. Stars danced before her eyes as pain blossomed like fire in her right cheek. The stallion stumbled and went down, her head struck the earth, and she heard a feminine voice screaming, which she dimly recognized as her own. Then the world went black, and she knew no more.
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