(A/N: Thanks Crazay, because I love you, I will work on the HP fics again and not this. As to Madam or Monsieur Grrrr, I found your review disturbing in many ways. One, this doesn't literally suck because it's not sucking anything such as a lollypop. Two, your review was very crude and unnecessary, whether or not you like it is up to you, obviously, but you didn't need to be so rude. I would have appreciated it had you given advice in a kinder manner, such as "you had spelling errors, you might want to double-check your work or get a beta-reader" not "everything about this sucks because I say so." Takes another deep calming breath I give to you the reward of my third ridiculous flame. That would be an anger management course. To end on a happy note, Crazay has earned many brownie points for being awesome! Je t'aime mademoiselle!)
"Out of the Black Years
Come the words
The Herald of Death
Listen- it speaks to
Those who were not born to die."
In the village of Resnayen was where I most frequently went for sleep. I took money from the orcs I slaughtered. On a few occasions, I pick-pocketed from those who had scorned me. That money kept me fed and rested. The looking-glass on the wall showed a girl with hard hazel eyes, a dark brown braid, two faint scars on her left cheek, and two dark rings underneath her cold eyes. If I met myself, I wouldn't love myself, so I expected no other to do such a thing.
Most of my scars were on my back or legs; two were on my stomach where an orc had sliced my belly. How I survived that was a miracle of magic. It seemed that my mind had picked up a magic trick or two while traveling and I found ways to heal myself, but I suspected that my blood ran dark with dirt. I wasn't a healer at all, but I could fix my major wounds to keep surviving. I knew some other magic, such as blind-sighting an enemy momentarily. I was probably considered a dirty fighter for this, but the orcs, my primary enemies, were no better, so I felt no pang of conscientiousness on their accounts.
I say primary enemies because there were others. Men. I hated men and women alike. Women sat there gossiping about me and encouraging me to leave with cruel looks. Men thought that I was a threat to their masculinity and thought it some huge trial to get me "tamed." Oh, I knew their dirty secrets. They all cast stones at me from their filthy side of the world as though they had no faults of their own. If they wanted to do that, fine, their choice. I didn't need them. I hated all of them.
Resnayen was close to the city of Gondor. It was hardly a day's ride from there, but it was still a smaller village. Once, when I was fourteen, I remember quite vividly Seroe traveling with his army. He was seventeen at the time. He never saw me, but I heard him swearing revenge on the orcs who had killed his parents and sister. He thought me dead, and that was perhaps for the better. That was the same night, I remember, that I saw him get drunk with his companions. Strangely enough, I came up as a conversation topic, not that he knew it was me they were discussing. They said that there was a girl beating everyone to the orc meat. There was some crude and nasty humor to accompany it, but I do remember seeing a frown on my brother's face and I could have sworn he considered me, but it wasn't long before his intoxicated mind moved onto other topics.
Maybe the reason I always went to Resnayen was that I hoped deep down to see my brother again. He was the last of my family. He resembled both parents strongly, as did I, but I hated seeing myself. I hadn't seen him since then, but I had a better chance of meeting him there than anywhere else. I left my room and went into the bar for some ale and food. The woman who served my food gave me a very funny look. I took my food and ate alone staring blindly out the window. I had to leave Resnayen the next day. People started getting bolder around me if I stayed for too long, even though I did carry daggers and swords like extra appendages.
It wasn't enough that all orc-kind was my enemy. No, even mankind had to be a threat. Who did they think I was fighting? All of Middle Earth? The fools. I looked in the window's reflection and noted a table quite near me full of men sipping on ale and muttering behind my back. I sneered, knowing their conversation, almost word for word.
That's the fighter girl, one man would say softly, as though speaking of the walking dead.
Yeah, she doesn't look that tough; one man trying to impress his buddies would lie.
Are you jesting? She's a frightening sight! You ever seen a girl wearing men's clothes and fingering a blade in her boot? The only sane man of the bunch would say.
Eh, well, I could take her, one moron would say boldly, swigging down more alcohol.
I shook my head and turned back to my bread, tearing it apart with my fingers, imagining it was my own soul, for that was how it felt now, as though it had been shredded by cruel words. I gritted my teeth behind pursed lips and inwardly scolded my own weak thoughts. Popping the remains of the bread into my mouth, I washed the meal down with some ale and left the bar. As I walked by a table, the men fell deadly silent and watched me as one might watch an approaching orc. Looking straight ahead but keeping my peripheral vision locked on them, I continued to the stairs.
I awoke in the dead of night, alarmed by the old nightmares. I had to leave right then, I sensed it. The window was slightly ajar. I pulled it up the rest of the way and slipped into the darkness. I scaled the wall and finally, hung from the roof before dropping soundlessly onto the cobblestone pavement. An owl hooted softly in the distance and a horse nickered from his post. Apparently his master hadn't thought this mare worthy of a stable. I was disgusted by his apathy.
The horse looked as though she had seen her fair share of the whip. She was a gray horse that was about fourteen hands high. Her tail hung limp between her legs and her ears were down. Cautiously, I approached the animal. Her eyes shot open and her ears turned forward.
"Hey, hey girl," I whispered soothingly. I put a gentle hand on her flanks and felt her relax underneath my palm. Slowly, I ran my hand along her side until I reached her reins, which were tied to the thick wooden post. The mare seemed to recognize the seriousness of the moment and held stock-still until her reins were undone. She pawed the ground nervously. I looked around quickly to make sure no one was around and mounted the animal, taking her reins in hand. Gently, I directed her towards the exit and we were off, out of this worthless town.
We rode until the sun rose like a bloody ball of fire in the sky. She raced across the ground and I felt almost as though Jezebel had returned from the dead. The plains around me were devoid of humans or any other sentient creature. This was freedom, feeling the wind on my face and my eyes watering from the breeze. I decided to name her Saoirse, for that meant freedom. (A/N: Saoirse is pronounced SEER-sha.) Saoirse slowed to a trot and finally to a walk at about noon. I directed her into the woods straight ahead to get some water for her. Jumping off, I led her gently to a spring and she drank deeply. In her saddlebags I found money, food and more water. I couldn't believe what idiot had left this here. When Saoirse had had her fill, I mounted again and rode through the forest. My heart called for a place far north of where I was and it would take at least a week to get there on horseback. By the end of the day, Saoirse and I had reached Enedwaith. With Saoirse's old master's money, I bought a stable for the night for us to share and bought some food for the both of us. In Enedwaith, nobody recognized me immediately, for I was known to travel on foot. I went into a bar for the evening, leaving Saoirse to sleep in her stall. I sat and listened for news of any nearby orcs.
"Were you there when they came?" A young man asked another anxiously.
"Yeah… they rode by on their infernal horses. Dressed completely in black, never even slowin' to say hello or goodbye." The other man rocked back and forth as though wishing to rid himself of some unsettled feeling.
"You don't think Sauron might still be alive, do you?" A woman a bit older than I asked nervously.
"Gods save us, I hope not." The rocking man stopped rocking and stared in horror at the woman, as though only just coming to these evil thoughts. "And with the roaming orcs lately… mayhap you be right!"
I listened more fervently, wondering where these orcs might be.
"I hear," a third man said quietly, "that the rogue girl is actually rounding the orcs up to send 'em back to Mordor, that's where they've all been going, you see. She sort of the messenger."
"Then why does she kill 'em?" The woman asked doubtfully.
"Orcs are vicious, so they'd need a vicious message," the third man said sagely.
I snorted at this. I don't think they heard me, so I just walked back out without buying anything. I went back to the stable. Inside it smelled strongly of sweaty horses and hay. In Saoirse's stall, I found her sleeping. I took a pile of hay next to her and curled up, trying to sleep. I must have fallen asleep at some point, for I dreamed of orcs and mysterious black riders. The next day, Saoirse and I continued up north, passing quickly through Dunland, crossing the bridge just before evening and stopping at a nearby inn. Again, we stayed in a stable. I had never stayed at this inn, so none would recognize me. In the bar, I was greeted with surprising warmth. It was after I lowered my hood that everyone began to hush and stare at me in wonder.
"Who be you, traveling woman?" An old man wheezed.
"No one of great renown." I said.
"Where from come you?" He asked.
"Further south," I explained.
"So you know of the black riders?" A younger man asked eagerly.
"Nay, I was not there when they emerged," I found I was out of practice with words, but found everyone hanging onto every word I spoke. When I offered nothing else, another question was asked of me as I took my seat in the unobtrusive corner. It seemed no one was ready to let me be.
"Does that girl who fights orcs have anything to do with it?"
"No," I spoke more quickly than I had meant to. "Stupid rumors, you see."
"Oh," everyone became hushed and moved away from me, realizing I wasn't up to the task of storytelling. They spoke of other things, not giving me another look, to my great relief. After a quick supper, I left the bar and went to sleep with my horse again. It was another day traveling by horseback that brought me face to face with my first orcs in weeks.
I was in the field when Saoirse started acting bizarrely.
"Orcs," I said confidently, dismounting quickly. I didn't know how to tell Saoirse to hold still. How does one speak to a horse? I readied my weapons and waited for their foul stench to invade my nostrils. No longer than ten seconds passed before I was on top of the demons with sword and dagger, fighting like a whirlwind of death. There were seven of them and it was no easy battle. The element of surprise was half my fight; otherwise I would have been knocked silly and killed. I took four of them down quickly before they could react; the last three drew their weapons and fought me. I blind-sighted them after one had hit my arm. I shouted to confuse them further and shoved my sword into one's wretched stomach, causing him to fall down before I spilled his heart's contents. The other two were absently crashing around. I kicked them down, sliced one across the neck and stabbed him for good measure. Black blood oozed out onto my weapon. The last jump to its feet, apparently free of the blind-sighting. I hated one-to-one combat; it was completely different from multiple-person fighting. He blocked my first shots skillfully. He shoved me back.
"Orc-killer! The stories are true!" He growled.
"Only the ones that explain me as a killer of orcs and nothing more." I swung at him. Again, he parried the blow. I muttered a spell under my breath, hoping that it would work. I had never succeeded with it before.
Saoirse whinnied from her hiding place. Not quite what I was trying to do, but the distraction was all I needed. The orc looked away for long enough that I could get him. His eyes became wide in his ugly face and they were marvelously blank. He fell to the ground with a thud. I spat on his lifeless form and wiped my sword on the grass. Saoirse whinnied again. I frowned. The spell hadn't worked after all if she was whinnying on her own. Damn!
I ran over to her to see what was bothering her. She was pawing nervously at a snake at her hooves. It was curled up and watching her with a fixed curiosity.
"Come on, girl, let's get going." I pulled on her reins and directed her back out to the open. I checked her for bite wounds and was glad to see that she had none. "It was just a snake," I scolded her. Perhaps I was scolding myself. That stupid spell never worked; it was supposed to get the earth to shift and rumble. I thought that maybe Saoirse had been whinnying for fear of the shaking ground, but no. I remounted and we rode off into the distance.
It was three days after that when I finally arrived at Weathertop. It was a beautiful old watchtower where I felt miraculously safe. No one would be there to judge me. The day before I had gotten there, I had sold Saoirse to an old man who loved horses. He gave me enough money to survive on for a month. I was kind of sad to see Saoirse go, but I couldn't take proper care of her. Someone else would kill her if I kept her around.
I climbed the crumbling stairs to the top of the tower. Nature sang around me and the old souls of this building hummed in my blood. They swore to keep me safe, I knew. I found a cranny in which to make my bed for the night. I put the blanket I had pilfered from the last hotel on the ground and curled up into a contented ball. I watched the night sky until my eyes finally drooped to a close and my mind wandered to another world.