a/n: I'm not an expert about LOTR, so I hope my characters are correct. If not, forgive me, but enjoy the story just the same. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

The Slippery Captive

"Sir?" Eothain asked. Eomer glanced at him as they rode. Eothain ventured a quick look at the woman before turning back to the marshall.

"What is it?" Eomer asked.

"Do you mean to treat her so?" Eothain asked. Immediately his face flushed. He hadn't meant to challenge the marshall, but luckily, Eomer did not take offense.

"She may be a woman," Eomer said, "but she fought . . . beyond the means of any human I have seen."

Eothain frowned. "You think she is an elf?"

Eomer shook his head. "No, she doesn't appear to be one." He motioned at his ears as an example. "I think her far more dangerous than any elf."

"My lord?"

Eomer stared out over the plains, but didn't see them. His mind replayed the skirmish with the orcs, and seeing this strange person dancing among them, somehow slaying some in the process.

"She may be a witch."

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Selanae wasn't sure where they were riding to—the night air was at its coldest now, and she tired of the shivers that plagued her. The speed of the Rohirrim made it that much worse.

But suddenly Eomer, the leader, shouted something she didn't understand, and the soldiers stopped. One of them next to her stopped her horse as well.

"We rest for a few hours!" Eomer commanded. Immediately the soldiers bustled around, organizing the horses and bedrolls into some semblance of order. The soldier next to Selanae dismounted, and she took a moment to look around. Almost everyone had dismounted. She smiled for a second, but quickly hid it as the soldier came to her side, undoubtedly to help her down.

She kicked him in the head and dug her heels into the horse she rode. It neighed furiously but darted off into the night.

She heard the shouts behind her, but it only made her smile. She pulled the gag from her mouth, and then she leaned forward on the horse, pressing her body against his neck. The horse charged ahead, but she heard another set of hooves not far behind.

Someone shouted. What he said, Selanae didn't know, but suddenly her horse slowed down. She scowled at the beast and glanced over her shoulder.
Eomer.

He annoyed her. To make it worse, he wasn't alone. Two other soldiers chased with him.

Selanae slid off the horse as soon as it slowed to a trot. Her body hit the ground, but she rolled the impact off and quickly got to her feet. She ran, darting away from the trotting of hooves around her.

A horse and rider cut her off from the left, and before she could cut right, another herded her. Selanae was about to turn back when Eomer boxed her in.

He muttered a rough command, something foreign she didn't understand, and the two soldiers moved their horses closer, tightening the trap to immobilize her. Selanae tried to step in any direction for more room, for an escape, but she was met on every side with horse flesh. She fought the stifling panic that started to come over her, punishing it with a ferocious howl.

It startled the soldiers, but not the horses, which almost made Selanae laugh. Suddenly, though, the two soldiers each grabbed an arm. Selanae struggled and then let her weight drop. As the soldiers attempted to hoist her up, she swung from their grips and kicked up at their leader.

Eomer grunted as her feet connected with his chest, and he fell off his mighty horse. The horse moved out of position, and it took little after that for Selanae to wriggle free from the soldiers' grasp.

An explosion of pain went through her head and she even could hear a thud as one of the soldiers brought the hilt of his sword down on her. Selanae crumbled, and consciousness began to come and go.

She tried to stay awake and pay attention, but she couldn't very well. The soldiers and Eomer spoke back and forth, but none of it made sense. They dragged her a bit, and suddenly she was flying and then dropped on the back of a horse. She became lost to the world as the horse darted back to the camp.

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"Make sure she doesn't go free," Eothain hissed at three soldiers who had the watch. He shot a suspicious look to the sleeping form of the woman, and then moved to the fire by Eomer.

The marshall tilted his head in greeting, but didn't look away from the woman. A seething look of anger remained on his face. The woman lay awkwardly, almost as if dropped. Well, she had been. Eomer was anything but gentle, especially after the trouble she'd caused. Her hands were bound still, as were her feet now too. The gag was in place as well. Eothain frowned at that, and Eomer knew what he was thinking.

"If she is a witch, I do not want her speaking curses at us," Eomer said. Eothain nodded slowly.

"You still think she is a witch?" he asked. Eomer didn't say anything. "Is it safe to take her with us?"

Eomer sighed, and looked to the fire. The orange glow danced in his dark eyes. His blonde hair slid forward and veiled his face as he leaned towards the flames, his elbows against his knees.

"I know what I saw. Never has a woman, or any human, fought like that."

Eothain started to say something but choked on his words. Eomer raised an eyebrow at him and frowned. His friend and fellow soldier cleared his throat and fought his nerves.

"My lord—"

"We grew up together, Eothain. Forgo the formalities," Eomer chastised.

"Yes, Eomer," the man said with a sigh. "I was going to say . . . if the woman was fighting the orcs, couldn't that mean . . ."

It was Eomer's time to sigh again. "I have thought on that. And since she was too obstinate to tell me her purpose, I have come to decide she must have been in league with them still—an enemy posing as a friend."

That spurred silence and questions but Eothain had the good sense not to push it. Even so, Eomer realized how ridiculous it sounded.

"No matter who she is," he said, "something is not right about her. Perhaps she is from the south, one of the Haradrim, or a Corsair . . ."

Something rustled behind him, and Eomer was on edge enough to reach for the hilt of his sword. But he halted as he saw it was the woman, merely shifting in her unconscious state.

Something about her unsettled him. Threatened him. Maybe threatened everyone. Her demeanor challenged him, and it was her refusal to tell him anything that made him certain she was bad.

But her brown hair and her pale face, even slightly caked with blood from the blow his men dealt her, showed a beauty that he didn't expect in evil. And certainly he didn't expect it in any living thing he found on the battlefield.

He sighed again and moved from the fire without a parting word to Eothain.