Hello, thanks for clicking on my story, I hope you will give it a chance. Although I have dabbled with fancfiction before in the secret vaults of my computer's file folder, I have never had the courage to actually publish a story. This particular story, however, has gone further than any other save one, and it has a special place in my heart, as Lord of the Rings is quite possibly my favorite movie series. This story takes place during the time of Aragorn's childhood and will eventually lead to a love story between Ciara and Legolas- though it may take a while to get there. Hopefully the story will improve as I move deeper into it, but I would love to hear some actual feed back, rather than just my own thoughts. I would appreciate it if you didn't just say it sucks and then move on, constructive feedback would be appreciated. This story will not always be true to the very deep lore and history of Middle Earth, as this is my own creation set in the world of Tolkien and I have taken several creative liberties.
PROLOGUE
Ciara crept quietly through the dark, frost covered woods, edging closer to the merry light of a small fire. The trees were thick here, providing her with plenty of cover to observe the group unseen. Astoldoer, her faithful elven stallion, wickered quietly, anxious that his mistress was leaving him behind. He was a Tinuroch, a Star Horse, and had bonded with her after she had first been made a warrior. The Tinuroch had once been bred by her people, though she had not seen one other than Astoldoer in many, many years.
The Tinuroch were far more intelligent than their mortal horse counterparts, and their life span matched that of the elves. Astoldoer's coat was coal black, with sparks of silver that dusted his back. His mane and tail were a shimmering silver. He had been with her through all her lonely travels and was the one thing that had kept her from simply giving up and letting her mind fade away.
Astoldoer did not like his mistress leaving him behind, as they were rarely separated. He did not like being unable to protect her, should she need it, but she knew that he would be noticed where she would not be.
Despite common sense screaming at her to turn around and get as far away from other living beings as possible, she found that she could not turn back. How long had it been since she had last heard voices other than her own? It had been at least a year, maybe more, since she had wandered into a human village to trade for supplies in the fall. And many, many years since she had last dared to linger in a settlement long enough to stop at an inn and listen as folks told stories late into the night.
She had had many names throughout her years of wandering- The Shadow, the Hunter, Nightwatcher, the Silver Eyed Bandit. Few remained on Middle Earth that could recall her true name, and none of those that did welcomed her. She was never seen her without a dark hood and scarf hiding her features, and even her hands were covered by dark gloves.
Her dark, mysterious look, as well as the many weapons she wore, inspired fear in most of those she met in her travels, though not as much as her true appearance would have inspired. While her disguise and isolation kept her safe, she found herself growing more weary and lonely with each passing season. Often, she felt as though she were fading from existence, nothing more than a ghost floating through an empty world.
When her sensitive ears had picked up the sound of men speaking ahead of her, she was surprised. They were far from any known civilization, and she had not expected to encounter another being. Suddenly in that moment, she needed the sound of conversation like she needed water or air. I will stay out of site, just close enough to listen without them seeing me, she thought to herself.
Her footsteps made no sound as she drew closer, and the men were oblivious to her presence. Once she was just outside the light of the fire, she nimbly climbed a tree, settling herself on a comfortable branch that gave her a clear view of the fire and those around it. To her surprise, she realized that they were four humans, and upon closer inspection of their well-worn cloaks, she decided that they must be some of the mysterious Northern Rangers.
She had heard of the Rangers- the Dunedain descendants who roamed the wild lands of Middle Earth much as she did- they were even more notorious than she was. Their hooded cloaks, rugged appearance and secret ways sparked equal amounts of curiosity and fear in the human settlements to the north. Her interest piqued, she settled against the tree and closed her eyes, soaking up the reminder that she was not the only person left in this wide world.
Arathorn, son of Arador, the Chieftan of the Dunedain, sat comfortably against a large boulder, enjoying the warmth of the fire as it chased away the chills of a long day. He and his men had been patrolling the woods north of the shire for almost a week now, and he was looking forward to returning home. Fortunately, the patrol had been quiet, and he had little news to report back to his father.
Suddenly, Arathorn tensed, feeling the eyes of a stranger on him. A quick glance at his friends showed that none of the others seemed to notice that they were being watched and he let his gaze drift casually through the trees surrounding their camp. Seeing nothing, he frowned, and returned is attention to his companions, though he kept his senses open and watchful.
"I will never forget the glorious day that Arathorn fell face first into the mud, right in front of the Lady Gilraen!" Halbarad was saying, laughter in his voice. Arathorn narrowed his eyes at his best friend and brother in arms. Halbarad merely winked at him and continued with the story.
"He's smitten with the beautiful lady and had decided to show off before her. He challenged Caldar to a duel," Halbarad continued, earning chuckles from their other companions around the fire (Caldar was well known as one of the fiercest, most
skilled rangers, and had been their teacher), "Of course, Caldar knew right away what the great and mighty Arathorn was up to, and so proceeded to dump Arathorn on his face into the mud, not one minute into the fight."
"Just you watch, Halbarad, I am going to marry the Lady Gilraen someday," Arathorn said, eliciting more laughter and teasing comments from his three companions.
Arathorn rolled his eyes, enduring the good-natured teasing of his men. Once they had had their fun, Arathorn launched into an equally embarrassing tale of how Halbarad had once almost taken Caldar's eye out with an arrow. All the while, a part of him remained focused on the woods around him, searching out their silent watcher.
The next night, Arathorn again felt that they were being watched. Although he could not identify the watcher, he felt no ill will, and decided that whoever it was did not intend to attack them. On the third night, after the other rangers had all fallen asleep, Arathorn called softly out to the night.
"I can feel your eyes upon us watcher, I know you are out there somewhere. You are welcome to come and share our fire," he said quietly in elven- the language preferred by the Dunedain. To his knowledge, the only creature skilled and silent enough to sneak up on a ranger was an elf. If their watcher was one such creature, as he suspected, then they would easily be able to hear his quiet words, as well as understand them.
The only answer he received was the soft hooting of an owl.
He repeated his welcome the next night and was rewarded by a slight movement up in the trees. It was barely a movement at all, just a subtle repositioning of the watcher's position on the branch, but it was enough for Arathorn's eyes to make out the dark outline of a person high above them. He waited another moment, hoping that the stranger would come down from their perch, but nothing happened. Accepting that this was all that he would get for the night, Arathorn sighed and went back to keeping watch. When he woke up the next morning, the figure was gone.
This continued for several more nights, even as the rangers moved steadily closer to home, making camp in a new spot each night. Whoever it was that watched them never came closer, but each night, Arathorn was able to make out their slight form somewhere in the branches above. He never mentioned their presence to the men he traveled with, as something held him back from doing so. He could not believe the watcher meant them harm, and their presence became a comfort to him.
A week after Arathorn had first felt the gaze of their watcher, they were attacked. It had been another long day as they slowly made their way back to the Dunedain village. Although there was still quite a bit of snow on the ground, the long winter seemed to finally be loosening its grasp. The bits of new grass and the tiny buds on the trees had encouraged the men, and they had made good progress.
They had just gotten a fire going and were settling around it when shrill cries pierced the quiet night. Arathorn and his men jumped up, reaching for their weapons. Minutes later, goblins emerged from the rapidly darkening woods, and Arathron felt a mix of adrenalin and fear course through his body. He counted at least 20 goblins, their dark forms flooding into the circle of light made by the fire. Where they had come from, he had not the slightest idea. Goblins hadn't been seen in this part of the world in centuries.
Disregarding the thought, Arathorn raised his sword, prepared to take on the first blow from his attacker. The blow never came, however. The goblin suddenly stopped, eyes wide and sword raised, not three feet from where Arathorn stood. A moment later, the ghastly creature groaned and toppled forward, a sleek black arrow protruding from its back. At first, he thought that the goblin had been accidentally shot by one of its own, but on closer inspection, he realized that the arrow was extremely well crafted, and swirling elven script was carved into its shaft in silvery lines.
He heard the twang of a bow, and five more goblins fell in quick succession. The goblins stopped their advance at first, but the hesitation did not last long. With a cry, they surged forward. A black figure, lithe and graceful, dropped from the trees above, landing between the goblins and the rangers. Arathorn heard his men gasp in surprise, but he simply took the time to study the silent watcher.
With a battle cry, the goblins closed the remaining distance and attacked. Arathorn had a few moments to observe the watcher as they drew out two swords, one longer and one shorter, from where they had been sheathed in an X across her back. The beautiful weapons glittered sharply in the fire light and the woman attacked with a speed, grace, and ferocity that no human could ever hope to match. Then he was forced to focus on the fight, as a goblin suddenly came at him from the right.
While he was engaging the first goblin, another came up behind him. He knew he need to move, to block the new attack that was aimed at him, but his sword was still locked tightly with the that of the goblin before him. He braced himself for the blow that he knew was coming, but instead a blade flashed silver past his face, imbedding itself deep into the neck of the second goblin. He turned to see the watcher already turning to attack another goblin and gave them a quick nod of thanks.
The battle was over far sooner than Arathorn would have thought possible, given the sheer numbers of their opponents. In just a few short moments, not a single goblin was left standing, and none had escaped to bring word of the events to their enemies. Arathorn knew that their quick victory was mostly in thanks to their silent watcher, who had taken out at least twelve of the goblins on their own.
Arathorn cleaned his sword, then turned to the mysterious woman. She wore loose trousers and a black tunic underneath leather armor. A black hood and scarf covered her face, and she wore thick black gloves, so that Arathorn could not see even an inch of her skin. Several blades of various sizes were strapped about her person in addition to the crossed swords, and Arathorn was sure that she had more tucked away out of sight.
After watching her fight, he knew that she had to be an elf of some sort, no other creature could move with such grace and speed- though he had never met an elf that worked so hard to shield herself from the view of others.
"I thank you for your assistance today, you may have just saved our lives," he said, bowing slightly. Halbarad and the other rangers watched her warily, having had no idea that she was there before the fight began. Arathorn smiled to himself, perhaps this would be a good lesson for his men in watchfulness, even in times of apparent peace.
The woman said nothing but nodded to him in return before stooping to pull one of her arrows from the body of a goblin. She cleaned it and then returned it to the quiver strapped to her back. Arathorn turned to his men.
"Halbarad, you and I will stay here and clean up this mess," he said, before turning to his other two companions.
"I want you two to go ahead and warn my father that goblins have been spotted. Where there is one, there are many, and our people need to be prepared. Take only what you need most, Halbarad and I will bring the rest with us," he said. The two rangers nodded and got busy sorting through their packs while Halbarad and Arathron set about putting the camp back together and moving the bodies further way so that they did not have to smell their stench.
Once that task was finished and the other two rangers had left, he turned back to the elf. She had finished gathering her arrows and now stood hesitantly on the edge of the firelight, as if debating whether or not to come closer. She had also retrieved a powerful elven long bow, which now hung casually across her back. Overall, her appearance made for a rather formidable sight.
"Come, join us by our fire and share our food, so that we make thank you," he said. The figure stood still for a moment before nodding and slowly approaching the two remaining rangers.
"You have awfully good timing," Halbarad commented casually, "we'd have been in trouble if you hadn't shown up. What do we call you, my friend?"
There was an awkward pause, and Arathorn was about to say something to break the silence when the stranger spoke.
"I believe the people around these parts call me the Shadow," the elf said slowly. Her voice was low and rough, as if it had not been used in a long time.
"The Shadow, you say?" Halbarad said in amazement, "I've heard of you! Folks around here have told strange tales of the Shadow who stalks through the night. They can't seem to decide if you are some sort of dark guardian or a wraith." A low chuckle came from beneath the Shadow's hood.
"I can assure you that I am no wraith, and for that the people of this land should be very glad," she said simply. With that, an uneasy silence fell once more on the camp.
For the first time in long time, Ciara had to force herself not to fidget. It had been so long since she had last been in the company of others that she found she had no idea what to do with herself. Logically she knew that she shouldn't have followed the rangers, creeping forward into their camp each night was a terrible risk.
Each day, she had told herself that she would not go back, and if she happened to be going the same direction as the rangers, it was simply because they were both traveling the same way. Yet each night, she hadn't been able to stop herself from venturing close enough to observe the four rangers.
She studied their leader now from beneath her dark hood. His dark hair, long for a human, but far shorter than that of an elf, was dirty and his grey eyes were sharp, missing nothing. The grey cloaks that he and the others wore blended well with the winter landscape. He was clearly comfortable in his role as leader and moved with a quiet confidence that spoke of many years of training for battle and many nights spent in the woods.
He was handsome, she supposed, in a sort of rugged, unkempt way, but that was not what had drawn her to him. Perhaps it was the way that he had been able to sense her presence, when no others could, or perhaps it was the way that he did not challenge her or try to chase her off. Suddenly, as if feeling her eyes on him, the man cleared his throat and spoke.
"I am called Arathorn and this is Halbarad. I am the commander of the Dunedain Rangers, and my father is our Chieftain," he said.
Ciara nodded slightly, then, realizing that they were still waiting for her to say something, said, "It is an honor to meet you."
Despite feeling awkward and unsure, Ciara felt herself relaxing slightly and taking a closer look at the ranger Arathorn. Although no longer as strong as they had once been, the Dunedain were still a sturdy, formidable group of warriors. It would take a strong man to lead such people.
The one called Halbarad removed a piece of meat from the fire and handed it to her. As she reached forward to take it, she felt the sting of a shallow cut on her arm, where one of the goblin blades had managed to sneak past her defenses. Arathorn gasped.
"You are injured! Why did you not say so from the beginning?" he said, quickly reaching towards her as if to grab hold of her arm and examine the cut more closely. Ciara jerked back, dropping the meat that Halbarad handed to her, and quickly moved away from the two men. Arathorn stilled, then slowly held his arms out, palms up.
"We mean you no harm, please, let me take a look at it, I know some of healing," he said slowly. Ciara's heart beat began to race. If they got to close and saw the grey skin beneath her clothes, they would know immediately that she was not a Sindarin or Sylvan elf. She could tell that Arathorn was both intelligent and observant, it would take him no time at all to figure out what she was.
"It is nothing, merely a scratch from a blade that came too close. I am fine," she said gruffly, turning so that the injured arm was turned away from the fire and their view.
"Even the smallest wound can become infected if not properly cared for, and many goblin blades are coated with poisons. Please, just let me clean it and bandage it, and give you something to combat any poison," Arathorn said, his voice soothing. Ciara held completely still, battling with herself over what to do.
She wavered, was life worth living if she simply continued to do nothing but hide from the world? Was life worth living without companionship? Maybe, if they take offense to you, they will be able to finally put an end to your pointless wanderings, said a small voice deep in her heart. Pushing the thought aside, Ciara made a decision.
It was time to start a new chapter of her life, she could no longer abide the loneliness that had been her constant companion for so long. She slowly eased back to the fire, subtly checking to make sure that her weapons were within easy reach should the rangers react badly to her secret. As she sat back down next to the rangers, she slowly reached up, and for the first time in over six hundred years, pushed back the hood and pulled down the scarf that covered her face while in the presence of others.
Arathorn watched as the Shadow hesitantly came back to the fire, wondering what could make such a skilled warrior so skittish. When she pushed back her hood, he heard Halbarad gasp, and it took every bit of willpower he possessed not to do the same. This was no wood elf or high elf.
Charcoal grey skin flickered in the firelight, while silver eyes, so light that they were almost white, provided a stark contrast. Pure white hair, mussed from being under her hood, was swept back, disappearing in to her hooded tunic in what he assumed must be a long braid. Several strands had come loose and framed her face, which was angular and solemn. Strange white markings decorated the skin on her forehead and cheekbones. Arathorn could hardly believe his eyes. The woman that stared at him now could be none other than one of the lost Nenanore.
She watched him sharply, her body tense, as if to spring back should he attack her. He understood her fear now. The Nenanore, or Star People, were once a strong and proud race of elves led by a warrior queen and known as some of the most skilled fighters Middle Earth had ever seen. They had not been seen on Middle Earth in almost a thousand years, not since the Betrayal, when the great Nenanore had fallen.
According to the stories passed down by the Dunedain and the records in the elven halls of Lord Elrond, the fall of the Nenanore came when at least one of their own turned traitor and allied with an army led by some dark force in order to attack their own people in their home city of Amon Lanc. With the help of the traitor, the army was able to invade and destroy the Nenanore, and then in turn attacked many of the northern kingdoms, including the elven Kingdom of Mirkwood and the human city of Dale before Thranduil, King of the Green Wood and the wood elves, led his own army against them. They, along with Lord Elrond and his forces, managed to defeat them, but the place where the Nenanore had once dwelled still reeked of evil and dark sorcery, giving rise to its new name, Dol Guldur.
The Great Betrayal had happened nearly a thousand years ago, and, as what usually happens with the passage of time, the stories of the Nenanore had faded into myths and legends. Humans and dwarves, with their shorter life spans, no longer remembered the Nenanore as they were, thinking of them only as dark elves who were in league with the darkest forces of Middle Earth and were feared and hated. The elves never spoke of their fallen cousins, so Arathorn was unsure of their opinion on the matter.
For a moment, he contemplated the thought that she could have been one of the elves that turned her back on her people for power, but he quickly pushed that thought aside. She could have attacked them at any time in the last week, and yet she had exposed herself to help them fight off an attack and then saved his life.
"Halbarad, do me a favor and go retrieve my medical supplies from my pack. Here, Lady, let me see your wound," he said, breaking the tense silence. The Shadow's gaze jumped to his face, silver eyes wide in surprise.
"What," he said, enjoying her stunned looked, "Do you truly think that I would attack the very person who saved my life just moments ago?"
"You are very strange," she said, "the last time someone learned what I am, I ended up in chains and a stone cell."
Arathorn winced in sympathy, wondering what other horrors this woman had survived in her long years of life. Had she been alive to witness the fall of her people? He had always thought that the immortality of the elves was an incredible blessing, but perhaps, in some cases, it could become a curse as well.
A soft nicker in the trees behind them made him spin around, hand going for the sword sheathed at his side. A glove covered hand shot out and gently, but firmly, kept him from drawing his blade. He looked up into the shining silver eyes of the Nenanore. She shook her head slightly before turning to the sound and whistling softly. Another snort sounded before a horse wandered out of the woods and into the camp.
The creature was unlike any other horse Arathorn had ever seen. To start with, he was much larger than most horses, and his coat was the most unusual color- coal black, so dark it was nearly blue, shimmered in the firelight, while small flashes of silver sparkled throughout. His main and tail, both long but well brushed, were a stunning silver color that seemed as if it was made from the light of the moon. Shadow left his side and went to stand before the magnificent beast, murmuring softly in his ear. The horse snorted again and gently bumped her forehead with his soft muzzle. Turning back to the fire, the elf lead the horse closer to where a stunned Arathorn and Halbarad stood.
"This is Astoldoer, he is a Tinuroch and was raised by my people. He has been my companion for many long years and will not harm you," she said. Arathorn stood and approached the horse, holding out his hand for him to sniff. Astoldoer gently brushed his hand with velvety soft lips.
"You are a beautiful creature, my friend, and are welcome here, as is your mistress," he said softly, noting the intelligent gleam in the animal's equine eyes.
Thus began a great friendship between an elf and two Dunedain humans. Though she rarely ventured into their village, the Shadow was often in the company of the two rangers, and they made a formidable team.
Hope you liked this, let me know what you think! I have chapters 1-4 done already, but I wanted to see what people thought before I add them here.
