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Sorry that this is a few days late… blackjack does funny things to your mind. Heh. The x-es are spacings.

– Odium –
Chapter Four

The words left a bitter taste in her mouth and refused to go away even as she banished them to the back of her mind. She did not understand what the woman was trying to tell her, but the words 'fair-skinned men' were enough to make her fear the worst.

What good could they do anyway?

She wondered what new terror they were sowing, something that driven the women in that village to scurry to and fro with fear in their eyes, and near-hysterical tears to well up in those fearful orbs. At least they had warning, as compared to what happened those years back. At least they had time to prepare for the inevitable.

Then, she wondered. If she were to find them, or vice versa, would she be able to defeat them? Or would she be taken?

Just like the others unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Even as the words ran through her mind in a whirl, her hand unconsciously touched the hilt of her sword, strapped to her back as always.

Perhaps it would come of use even before she reached Gondor.

xxxxx

A man sat astride his horse, near the borders of Harad. He was dressed in the manner of the Haradrim, but he was far from one. Even from far, his skin –though tanned –gave him away. He lacked the necessary 'aura' to count for a Haradrim, and the unreal darkness of his skin was definitely not inherited in birth… but rather through long hours under the sun. The Harads knew that he was not one of them, and he knew that fact.

And delighted in it.

How often had he and his men walked casually into some random village, on pretense of being weary travellers and fellow kinsmen? The villagers were usually noticed after a while, followed by the usual cry of despair. Sure, he had heard of that shocking massacre those years ago, but sometimes the reaction to them was still surprising.

Of course, nothing a couple of sword moves and threats would not stop.

Compared to what happened the last time, this time they had a better motive for senseless taking: money. The gold that could be earned from the trade was astonishing, and even as the King was trying his best to prevent the healthy black-market of sorts, he still had not hit the epicenter, yet.

Which suited him just fine.

The longer they took to crack down upon the trade, the more money he earned.

All the better for him.

The next raid would probably start soon. And since their cover had been broken, well, they could basically just following the age-old method of raiding: smash, and grab. The need for more children have risen, and the price along with it. Perhaps today would be good for them. But still….

That season was coming soon, but he had not even found one worthy to represent him. He would surely be humiliated all over for that single oversight. But no matter. There was still some time to kill, or rather, four hours to kill before the raid that evening. Perhaps he and his men could scout around and look for someone, anyone. Silently, he tsk-ed to himself, almost giving himself a mental reprimanding.

Was he getting so desperate that he had to merely take anyone? That was but a childish silly old tradition that had went on long before the war of the ring. One that took place in the slums of the city, where hardly anyone who wanted to live ventured in there.

Sure, he was a crook, no doubt about it. But still, would he even want to join in this?

All the same, the answer was 'yes'. A resounding 'yes' that echoed in his mind, over and over, no matter how many times he questioned himself.

Exhaling softly, he made up his mind: he would gather his men and –

"Braegon!"

Irritated, he turned around to find one of his newest 'recruits' looking at him. The poor lad had only wanted to earn some money to care for his parents and had barely come to age. Now, as he stared at the boy, the boy was shaking so hard that a leaf in a strong wind would shake even less, perhaps imagining his death in this remote place.

"Sorry, sir… I mean Captain."

Satisfied with the apology of sorts, he started to question the lad. He could have been saved the trouble though, for the boy immediately blabbered out whatever message that he had been sent to say.

"Oneofthemenhavesightedalonepersoninthedistanceandsuggestedyoucomesee."

The boy stopped, for breath and for the fact that his message was complete. Silently, he waited to be dismissed, but the 'captain' was still trying to figure out what he had just uttered. He hated to be the messenger boy, but had to face it for he was the newest, and youngest. In the past week, he had since gotten used to their way of speaking, and various threats in their voices. As much as they knew how to boast and brag about their riches, they too knew how to make good on their threats. Besides, if he had delivered the wrong message, he would be beaten… all the better to string the words together and let them make their own inferences.

Calling the captain by his name was probably the first folly he had made, and he knew there were more to come soon. But he was in a hurry! And the men… they looked so bloodthirsty that he was –seriously speaking –a tad frightened.

"Where?"

What? the boy silently thought to himself. Where what?

Oh, right. The captain wanted to know where the person was. Sincerely, he did not really envy the person, whoever he or she was, more so if it was a she.

"It's over –"

"Bring me there."

Silently, he nodded. No use angering the big boss so early: he still loved his head. He waited for Braegon to get off his horse, and gave a small wince as it whinnied at the sudden movement. He never really liked horses, unlike their Rohirric counterparts. To him, they were just beasts of burden, and he shuddered to actually ride one.

xxxxx

Braegon squinted at the figure in the distance. The person was perhaps a half a league or so from wherever they were, distance that would be eaten up by the horses' hungry hoofs in no time at all. Besides, he –assuming it was a he –seemed to be carrying something on his back. A message? A weapon? Or something else entirely? They would find out soon, that was, if they went. And maybe, he would have finally found someone to 'represent' them.

"Men! Take your horses! We're going to find out what he is doing walking alone."

xxxxx

She actually heard them, or rather, felt them, before they came into view. Who could not? The ground was trembling so hard she could have sworn it was going to split.

Then came the sound of horses' hoofs. She had a phobia of them since that fateful day, and hearing them so loudly and clearly again… She hardly minded one or two horses, but judging from that noise, it was a dozen or more coming her way. The sound was slowly amplified in her ears, growing steadily louder as the same sound from a distant memory joined it. They were merging together as one harmonious deafening sound, pulsating even as she stopped and tried to shut them out. But it was too strong.

Then it stopped.

And silence surrounded her.

It's very unlikely that they would have passed me by, unless…

A harsh laugh broke the deafening silence, even as the dust slowly settled back to the ground, as Kyelia resisted the urge to groan aloud. Whatever happened to stealth? For a single moment, she allowed herself to wonder what would happen to her if she had prevented the memories from engulfing her. Perhaps, she would be 'safe and sound' by then, and gotten past the Gondorians.

Instead, she had to be walking right into their path.

She slowly looked up from her vantage-point of the various horse hoofs –sixty-four altogether –which were almost all the same, though some look like their shoes had not been changed since they were broken in. Squinting into the flaming afternoon sun, she tried to make out the faces of the men upon the horses. Almost all were dark-haired, with perhaps one or two minor exceptions. They were Gondorians, no matter what shade of brown their skin was in, she knew that as well she as knew herself. The Haradrim were not wont to look like them after months, or even years under the desert sun.

The harsh laughter still continued, even as she tried to pinpoint her source. There was not much need though, for in the next few moments, a man from the back started pushing forward to her. His cheeks were ruddy from the heat, and perhaps from the excitement. Jumping to the ground, he sauntered forward with a cocky swagger, ignoring the cautionary look of other man, who looked like the leader. Well, if this man was to get a punishment of some kind from him later, did she have to fear anything?

"Captain," the man started, his breath reeking of cheap wine and his tone laced with minor disrespect and contempt. "Look! We have cornered her, without even using a single arrow! I never knew Harads surrender so freely… but I do not think we have ever met a woman in battle before have we?"

Laughter again. She could feel them laughing all around her, laughing at her, laughing at her people, not to mention having a severe disrespect for women, especially those of the Harad variety.

They wanted a fight did they not? To use their arrows and their swords, and to show off their battle prowess? She would give them something to remember.

By the end of the fight, they would perhaps have more respect for women.

Faster than the eye could follow, she unsheathed her sword and decapitated the man. His head fell with a resounding THUMP! on the thirsty ground, which, after raising a cloud of shallow dust, proceeded to absorb his blood. His body soon followed, falling forward lifelessly, even as the fingers on his hand clenched involuntarily for the last time. There was a cracking sound as the legs hit the ground as awkward angles. Horses nervously took several steps back to avoid stepping on the rapidly flowing bright-red blood, even as their riders tried to calm them down, all the while trying to comprehend the motive for their comrade's death. To them, all he had done was gloat to their not-so-helpless captive.

The man had mocked her.

Pity though, she will never be able to know his name.

Feeling rather fearless, she held her sword in front of her, slowly surveying the men mirrored on it.

"Who wants to be next?"

xxxxx

It was not really turning out to be one skirmish that she wanted. What she wanted was to be against those Gondorian men who had sacked her village so long ago, or the Guards of the White City. But no, she was now against slave traders who had nothing to lose, and never did play by the book. The only similarity they had were that they were Gondorians, and that was enough reason to kill them.

While obvious that some had military training, the others seemed to reckon that running with their blade in front of them and screaming their lungs out were enough to scare her. Sadly, they did not stay long to play. A small cut to their arm would send them running out of the 'battlefield', clutching the wound as if it was a mortal one, the small trickle of blood turned into a gushing flow in their imagination.

Wonders never cease.

The rest who could fight however, were play dirty, and gang up on her three-on-one. Maybe it was a military tactic, which could explain why they always won: by sharing the work. In short, they were basically incapable of most defence or attack on their own. She was constantly amused by the happy glint in their eyes whenever they managed to outwit her, and the sardonic grin when she had a small cut on her arm, one that they had inflicted. Of course, to her, they were but a trifle; to them, it came with bragging rights.

But something was nagging at her to follow them, and not fight them, which set off a debate in her already overloaded mind..

They are from Gondor, you know.

So?

You want to go to Gondor don't you?

And?

They will be able to get you there. They have to return sometime.

Yeah? How do you know they would not kill me first chance they get?

Didn't you hear that man speak? They obviously set a target: you.

Therefore?

Surrender! Go with them! Get to Gondor! And complete your task!

Easier said than done.

Trust me.

Well, her gut instinct usually proved her right, especially whenever she sparred with Hidaer, and he would pretend to surrender before attacking her again. Perhaps she would heed it again. After all, the men will indeed have to return to some part of Gondor sooner or later.

Swiftly extricating herself from the group of six or more that still remained, she sheathed her sword and held up her hands, the white of her palms clearly showing. They stopped advancing straightaway, and looked uneasily among themselves. Finally, the man she assumed their captain spoke.

"Why are you surrendering now?"

"Because I have no wish to kill anymore of you." Which was obviously a lie, a white lie at that though. Titters were heard around, and a mutter of 'if you could', which were quickly silenced.

"Kneel down, hands on the ground. Now!"

Grimacing, she complied. Who knew that they were so demanding? She heard his footsteps coming closer towards her, and braced herself for the haul and the eventual tie-up. What she did not expect though, was how wrong she was.

"No!"

She whipped her head around, just in time to see the anguished face of one of the men. His blade was held out towards her, the flat of it pointing at her head.

"She does not deserve to live!"

Then the sword hit her head, and she saw the world in a blur of colors. Lurching forward, she fell to the ground, half hearing the clang of steel upon steel, half feeling the cold metal of the Gondorian sword on her hand… and the argument that ensued over her.

Then darkness closed in, and she was sucked into its whirlpool.

Tbc…

Note:

-The fight scene was rather short cause I was sort of rushing this since it was already late, so I did not really describe it that well. Sorry!
-The part where she sees the men mirrored onto the sword… I copied that part from kill bill for a bit… sort of for better imagery and stuff. Yeah.

Please Review! Many Thanks!

Next update would be around next month or so…. Earlier if I can help it.

lindahoyland: thanks for so faithfully reading my stories and reviewing, and for the encouragement! I really appreciate it!

a girl named bob: is it updated soon enough? I hope so. And hopefully this chapter is long enough too… right? grins I had a partial writer's block last chapter… therefore I didn't really write much. My apologies.

mello: hello! Thanks for reviewing, dear. I can't really bear to kill Aragorn, but I have to do what I have to do. That sounds so democratic, urgh. Have fun during lent!

turiel: sorry! Cannot post more than one chappie at a time… you know schoolwork and all right? Anyway… here's the next chapter!