Wow! Thanks for the encouraging words! I love reviews! There are about seven short chapters - I try to keep my chapters to the length of lunch-break reading, since I know I'm not the only who does that!

Dagnir Sigil Slayer Blade
Chapter 2

Aragorn woke early and roused them before dawn. "Today, we cross the river and enter South Ithilien. It is a race against the raiders who pursue us. In daylight, we'll be an easy target. Go quickly as you can, and raise as little dust as possible."

The thought of pursuit and the cool of the morning seemed to light a fire under them and they made a steady pace. Before noon, they could see the line of trees that marked the river ahead. They slowed slightly as the heat of the day grew, and Aragorn considered calling a halt for rest and water before making the crossing, but horns sounded suddenly behind them. The Harad would try to catch them out before they reached the river!

"Run!" Aragorn shouted, drawing his sword to find Timpson at his side. "Timpson, get them across the river! The rest of you, with me!"

There was a swish as arrows were released, the Gondoran soldiers firing from horseback before drawing their swords.

Timpson had pushed the prisoners into a dead run, staying behind them until they reached the river, then guiding his horse back and forth along the line as they waded into the ford. The water was not deep, but it was swift, and the rocks were slick with moss. The others were midstream when Timpson turned to watch Amali help the boy down the bank and into the water.

"Go!" He ordered, spurring back to them. He rode in close, using his horse to push her into the current. She fell into the water and slid down-stream, struggling to stand against the current. The boy tried to turn back but Timpson yelled at him, urging him across even as he plunged his horse back into the stream to pull the woman to her feet and shove her towards the opposite shore.

A line of Ithilien Rangers had emerged from the wood on the other side, and were helping the prisoners across, taking stands to repel any attempts by the Haradrim to cross over.

There were no Haradrim left to attempt the crossing. There had been only twenty of them on horseback, and the archers had felled several of them in their saddles before they had come into combat distance. Aragorn crossed the river with his men in tact and had added eighteen new horses to the stables of the Ithilien Rangers.

He made his way to Timpson's side. "Get everyone up and moving. As long as there is daylight we're for Minas Tirith."

They started out again. Aragorn noted that although they were wet, spirits were good, with the exception of Amali, who lagged behind, limping. Her clothing was drenched from her fall into the river and it was obvious that she was in pain. Aragorn watched her straighten herself and push off after the others with a note of approval. She would dry soon enough, he thought, and they were all alive. None had taken harm in the skirmish with the raiders and that was well enough, better, in fact, than he'd hoped.

He took them on the lower road through Ithilien. It was lesser traveled and few dwelt along it. Aragorn had been on these errands enough times to know that a string of prisoners could become a parade day for bored vegetable tossing village children. He meant to see that his charges arrived in Minas Tirith unscathed and unashamed by such cruelty.

They pushed on until night was well set. When he called a halt, Timpson took food and water to Amali again, calling on her to distribute it. Aragorn watched as he ordered her to drink before passing the water skin on and insist that she take bread and fruit for herself first.

She took the biscuit and started to turn away down the line. "And the fruit!" He barked at her. She looked at him, then reached into the bag and took some dried apple, tucking it into the waistband of her still damp skirt. When he nodded to her, she continued. Aragorn observed discretely as she distributed the food and returned to her place in the line. She secretively held out her fruit to the women, who accepted it gravely, but wordlessly.

Aragorn frowned. After days of hard marching, she had barely eaten. She would make herself ill. He was concerned but tried to brush it off. If she refused to eat, it was her own business. And she was only a prisoner, after all, having done something to require judgment. If a common criminal would not eat, how was it his problem? Because, the voice in the back of his mind reminded him, he was responsible for the safety and well being of both his men and his prisoners. If she were to fall ill, or even die before reaching the city, it would be upon his head. Thinking such hard thoughts, Aragorn lay down to sleep.

He roused before dawn again, and started the days march, but at a slower pace than the previous day. They were within the safety of Ithilien, out of the disputed borderlands. There were rarely orcs in the wood, and occasionally a brigand or common thief, but nothing that would dare attack an well-armed party in broad daylight. Beneath the flowering trees of Ithilien, the heat was lessened and Aragorn allowed several stops for food and rest. Several times throughout the day, he found himself checking on Amali. Her limp had worsened, betraying her obvious pain. Her pale brown braids hung limply around a face that was nearly as limp. Her green eyes darted often to the treetops, gazing up in wonder at the sunlight drifting through the broad green leaves. Several of the others did this as well, and Aragorn realized that it must seem a strange and beautiful sight indeed to those who had lived their entire lives on the barren plains.

When he called a halt for the night, Amali sank down instantly, her back to a tree trunk. Timpson approached her with the food and water for the prisoners and she struggled to her feet. Without a word, she took her share of fruit and bread, tucking it into her skirt before starting back down the line. Timpson shot Aragorn a triumphant grin that Aragorn returned with a grim smile before sitting back to observe. As he predicted, Amali returned to the end of the line and handed her fruit to the boy, softly encouraging him to eat before sitting back against her tree and propping her knee upon her bag as she picked at her biscuit.

Aragorn frowned and opened his pack. His healing kit was near the top and he lifted it out. When he was certain the other prisoners slept, he stood and approached Amali. She eyed him warily, her parched lips pouted out in an expression that was unreadable. Her hair had come loose from its braids and frizzed about her face, accenting the starkness of her high cheekbones against pallid cheeks in the low gleam of the waxing moon. Aragorn gestured to the half-eaten biscuit in her hand. His tone was gentle as he asked, "Are you not hungry?"

The eyes narrowed into a glare, but her words were calmly apologetic. "No, Captain Sir, I cannot eat."

"Are you ill?" He asked in concern. "You must eat."

She did not reply, but looked away from his gaze.

He knelt beside her and said in his best firm healer tone, "Let me see your leg."

Amali looked up at him in something near to fear. "It is all right, Captain, Sir."

"I'll be the judge of that." He replied calmly. "Come; let me have a look."

But she pulled her knees to her chest, wincing with the pain of the movement, and tucked her long skirt beneath her feet. "No."

He sighed, frustrated, and ran his hand over his brow. "I'm trying to help you."

"I do not desire your help, Captain of Gondor!" Her voice was a low snarl in the darkness, which Aragorn likened to the snarl of a wounded dog that does not know friend from foe in its pain.

"All the same, you require it." He said in a hard voice that he usually spared for those under his command that disobeyed him. "You are injured and most likely ill from lack of food and drink. We must reach Minas Tirith in three weeks time, and I cannot do it dragging a dying girl behind me!"

Intentionally, he reached for her wounded leg and squeezed it, satisfied with her gasp of pain."Now, let me see your injury."

"I hate you!" She snapped, her teeth flashing white in the darkness.

"I don't require you to like me." And his voice was laden with barely constrained amusement. "I do require you to obey me. You are a prisoner of Gondor. I am your keeper. And keeping you well is my job, whether you like it or not."

She looked away from him, ashamed, a blush darkening her cheeks. Slowly, she pulled up her skirt, exposing her knee. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "It is an old injury. The fall yesterday at the river aggravated it. That is all."

Aragorn looked at the slender leg in the moonlight, marred by ugly scars that tore across the knee. He could see the swelling beneath the ugly knots of scarring, and reached out, running his hand over the scars, finding where the tendons and muscles were swollen and sore. She whimpered in pain, tears starting to her eyes and he drew back.

"I have a salve that will ease the swelling, and I will make you a tea that will cease the pain and allow you to sleep."

She nodded and he stroked the soothing salve over both sides of her knee, expertly seeking out the lines of the scarring. He had never seen a wound quite like it before. He was a man used to weapon wounds and the occasional agricultural accident, but this was no simple accident. "How did this happen?"

"Dog." She said shortly.

He took her abruptness as a sign of her discomfort. and tried to be gentle as he worked the salve against the swollen flesh. The bite scar encompassed her knee, the width of his hands together. Now that he knew the cause, he could imagine where the jaws of the dog must have closed from behind the knee, tearing into the muscle and tendons on the sides. "Must have been a big dog."

She said nothing, looking up at the moon as he finished. He left her and went to the fire to prepare the tea. He brought his own cup to her. "Drink this now, then sleep."

She did, frowning at the taste and nearly choking.

"It's not that bad." He said reasuringly, as he would to a child that didn't want to take their medicine. "Come on. Drink it down."

Somehow she managed it, gagging a bit as she handed him back the empty cup. He had fortified it with rose hips and valerian root to ensure that she both slept and kept her strength up. He could only hope that it was enough as he watched her curl up to sleep.