(A/N: Dude, I'm interested in getting a beta-reader, yo. For any of my stories. Did you like my craftily-placed ghetto-ese?)
"What drove you leave "Mananelyeetevanne
That which you loved?" Nórieimelanelye?"
It was as though I never sincerely had a night's rest. It was more of a half-asleep act that I had been forced to master long ago. There had been nights when I was twelve and thirteen that other creatures of good intent had snuck up on me. I learned to be vigilant, even when my mind should have been at peace. There is no peace in a bitter mind, they say. They speak correctly.
I curled around my sword as a young child would a rag doll. It was my safety blanket. Having been with only weapons for so long, I had taken to naming them, though I sometimes felt silly doing so. My sword had been with me ever since I was twelve and I had named it Avarielle. A few daggers had once been named, but generally I lost those or replaced them. Only Avarielle had stayed with me for so long. It was by no means a beautiful sword. It wasn't even that sharp. It was still a little too long for me, but it was my sword. A master swordsman would scoff at my weapon and laugh even further at my skills, but they both did what they needed to. I won't deny that I failed to take proper care of my weapons. I didn't have the time, money or energy to do that. Everyday could be my last as far as I knew. Sometimes I thought that I didn't really care whether I lived or not. It was mostly for my parents that I continued at all.
The night was mostly silent around me save for the sounds of hooting owls and chirping insects. A crow spoke in the distance, but I was swimming in and out of sleep. It seemed to my tired mind that my mother was speaking like a bird rather than a human. From my sleep, I heard twigs breaking below, but that could have been my dream. I heard nothing more.
"Is she alive, you think?" A loud whisper sounded.
I sat up quickly, ready to fight. My eyes darted quickly around. I saw a man and four Halflings. They all had swords and a similarly craven look. Only, the human seemed more tired, while the Hobbits looked frightened. I jumped to my feet and brought my sword to the ready.
"Who are you?" I hissed.
"Please, do not be alarmed," the man spoke in a soft voice, leaving his sword where it was. "We simply came to Weathertop for shelter this night."
I paced back, judging this man's integrity from what I could see. Looking around at the frightened faces of the Hobbits, I was convinced of his story. "All right, I can see that tale." I lowered my weapon cautiously to my side.
"Phew, I thought she was going to kill us, Merry." One of the Halflings whispered to the other.
"Shut up, Pip."
A fatter Hobbit watched me with a fixed distrust. The other watched my sword blankly, clearly thinking of other places than here.
"Since it seems we are to be sharing the same place of residence for the night," I spoke, "We should come to some sort of an agreement." I shifted uncomfortably. The man seemed to be trying to read my thoughts with his cool gaze. He was an unshaven and sweaty fellow with lank hair and a shiny forehead. But his eyes were an icy blue with an intelligent gleam to them. He dressed as a Ranger. I was a sort of Ranger myself, just not quite accepted.
"What agreement would you suggest?" The man spoke.
"Everyone stays away from my hole." I indicated the place where I had been sleeping.
"What brings a human girl to Weathertop with little protection save for a sword?" The man asked curiously.
"None of your concerns. I will not ask you of your mission and in turn you shall not ask me. Good night." I said firmly.
"I must know whether or not you are friend or foe," the man spoke after a moment of awkward silence. "My friends and I are on a dangerous quest."
"Is it not clear that I want nothing to do with any of you?" I inquired incredulously.
"'Ang on!" The chubbier Hobbit exclaimed. "I know 'oo you are! You're that fighter girl, aren't you? The one 'oo kills them orcs!" We all stared at him in amazement. "Bilbo a-told me about 'er."
"You're the orc-killer?" The man looked at her with a different kind of curiosity.
"Perhaps that is who I am," I spoke slowly. "But what difference would it make?"
"You are known for your thievery, murdering and apathy," he stared at her, cocking an eyebrow, "that could make a great deal of difference."
I burst into helpless laughter. "Even a Ranger would believe such rumors! Is there no decency left?" Finally, I silenced and shook my head at him. "Guard me all night if it suits you. You shall see that I don't trust either. I demand names."
"They call me Strider," the man bowed his head. I thought he was mocking me. "And these are my Hobbit companions, Merry, Pippin, Sam and Frodo."
"You travel with four Hobbits and scorn me for traveling on my own?" I shook my head in disgust. "Men are so arrogant to think that they are that much better at defending themselves."
"I am traveling to defend them." Strider spoke purposefully. "And they need their rest. You will scout out the area with me. They will take your hole for the night."
I couldn't believe his gall. Furthermore, I was slightly intimidated by the tone of his voice. Not for many years had I felt inferior to someone, but he had an aura about him that I couldn't describe. The only thing I could compare it to was the first time I met the son of Gondor's Attendant, Boromir. He and his brother Faramir both had made me feel silent when I was younger. But this man, Strider, had more power than they. I could not believe that he was a mere Ranger.
The Hobbits glanced warily at the other and stared back at me.
"All right, Mr. Strider. I will allow your Hobbits rest in my little hole." I bowed to them. "But know this: I am subordinate only to the laws of nature. You are just another human to me." I grabbed my pack from behind me and stomped out furiously. I had come to Weathertop to rest and escape human company, but it had found me relentless. The Hobbits scrambled into the safety of the gap and spread out their packs. Strider caught up to me in no time at all.
"What is your name?" It didn't sound like a question, more like a demand.
"Selïsyan." I responded automatically. The name struck my tongue in a funny way. It had been so long since I had heard it from anywhere but my dreams. "And your true name is certainly not Strider, is it? Just as mine isn't orc-killer."
"I have many names," he said distantly, looking into another hole in the wall.
"Birth name, then," I cleared up. "There's no one here. I checked earlier for intruders."
Strider blinked at me. "While you were sleeping, perhaps some passed you by."
I opened my mouth to spit out a retort.
"My name is Aragorn," he cut off my words. "I won't deny that we could use help. And Selïsyan," he nodded to me, "your enemies seem to be the same as my own."
"So you don't believe in the rumors?" I asked, glancing in between a row of stone statues to the side.
"Orc-killer I'll buy, but I doubt you would slaughter humans without good reason."
I frowned. "What gave you that impression?"
"If that were the case, the Rangers would have been set a task for your hide long ago," he smiled at me. "No, the people just prefer their rumors."
We hunted in silence. "Thank you," I said finally.
"You're welcome."
Then there was a scream.
"HELP!" Cried one of the Hobbits.
Without thinking, I ran in their direction, Aragorn at my side. It didn't take us long to find the Hobbits cornered by seven creatures clad entirely in black. Aragorn waved his torch at them. They screeched in a way that made my brain feel close to bleeding. The Hobbits were shaking, tiny swords at the ready. I let out a cry of fury and unleashed myself upon them. Unlike the orcs, however, they fought back with skill.
Aragorn did not fight them with steel, I could not help but notice. Rather, he chased them off with flame, setting their long, dark robes alight.
"Move!" He roared. I fell to the side, realizing that these creatures were somehow more dangerous than orcs. When the last of them had fallen from Weathertop, I saw the sweaty faces of the terrified Hobbits. There were only three of them.
"Where is Frodo?" Aragorn asked hastily. There was a moaning and fast breathing. Suddenly, the fourth appeared on the ground. I leapt back.
What sort of magic is this? I marveled inwardly.
"He's hurt!" The fat one cried, falling to Frodo's side.
"We must make haste to Rivendell," Aragorn commanded. "He has been poisoned." He looked at me darkly.
There are really no words for what happened next. There was a strong nexus formed between us, the group and I, that is. I became one of them, as we raced down from Weathertop. Aragorn bore Frodo in his arms and I held the hands of two of the others, dragging them along to encourage their hasty footsteps.
In the forest we ran, but finally stopped when Frodo cried out yet again. His face had taken on a deathly pallor. He was muttering strange words under his breath and his eyes rolled deliriously in their sockets.
"Stay with him while I find something to slow the poison," Aragorn commanded. "Sam, you are a gardener, are you not?"
They wandered off quickly together.
"Can't you do anything?" One of the two healthy Hobbits asked me.
"No," I said bluntly, fingertips shaking as I held the wound shut. Blood spilled up over my skin. The blood of an innocent. The Halflings stood by my side watching with wide blue eyes. Frodo was breathing spastically, unable to hold onto air for very long. I brought my free hand to his forehead and stroked it awkwardly. He was warm as flame.
Moments passed in fear.
"I will take Frodo safely to Rivendell," a musical voice reached my ears. I turned and saw a beautiful, golden-haired elf looking down upon us. He looked with concern upon the small Halfling. "And you shall find us there, Strider."
"Thanks be to you, Glorfindel." Aragorn bowed his head reverently.
The elf lifted Frodo gently into his arms and called to his white horse. They rode off quickly. The horse and elf rode with more speed than I had thought possible in the mortal realms. The five of us watched them disappear into the night. The smallest Hobbit grabbed onto my hand and held it. I frowned down at him, but he didn't notice.
"Will 'e be okay?" The fat Hobbit Sam asked.
"May the gods be with him this night," Aragorn closed his eyes.