Author's Note: Hello and welcome to chapter eleven of "Wounded". I decided to post a little early since I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow. This chapter is a bit slower than the rest as it contains flashbacks as to what exactly happened between Aniror and Erthor. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read and review the last chapter, Nari-chan SND, MerryKK, childofGod-4ever, enkemeniel, andAwen1923. Thank you all so much! As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I clam no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

Chapter Eleven Shadow

Aniror paused by the threshold of her talan. The night-birds were singing, sweetly and she could have wept for their beauty.

And she could have wept for fear.

Erthor had come to Lorien as she had never expected him to. Now he crossed into the Golden Wood with his company and she would be forced to face him. What would he say, she wondered. Or would he speak at all?

Perhaps they would share a cold glare or a harsh greeting. Perhaps he would refuse to meet with her and she would skirt about him. Or perhaps he would be kind as he always had been, causing her rage to grow.

She wished him pain and torment. She wished his heart split open and the red blood to splash upon the stones. She wished him dead.

But in her heart, Aniror could not deal the death blow. She was a coward, not cunning, a creature who sought manipulative means to heal her wounds and tear apart the flesh of another.

Faramir had been her revenge. What would bold and gallant Erthor think when she found love in the arms of Man?

Jealous, he would be jealous. And angered. And perhaps just perhaps he would feel a little of the pain that haunted her.

He deserved it, after all.

Aniror leaned against the closed door, her hair catching upon small splinters engrained in the wood. She would not have revenge now, Boromir had seen to that.

Curse him! She wished him dead along with Erthor.

Boromir would take his brother from Lorien and from her and leave her alone with nothing.

No position. No ally. No lover.

And what would she do then? Would Galadriel repent and release her from punishment? Or would she be bound to an empty life amongst the trees, achieving no glory.

It frightened her most, the thought of passing from this world unknown and unheeded. Long had been the years of her life, long and forgotten. The trees would hold no memory of her and the earth would not miss her light footfalls.

Wasted. She had wasted so many years.

Now Erthor had come to Lorien with his company. Aniror growled and pulled up her sleeve. The scar was pale in the moonlight, modest. No mark of poison or blood or pain remained. But oh she felt it still.

It had been for him and him alone. For him.

Aniror settled her hood over head. Snow had begun to fall, thin flakes that lit upon her flesh but melted on the ground. A cold wind blew and spoke of ice and winter. The sky was grey with worried clouds.

Haldir frowned. "You are a fool, Aniror."

"Such kind words," she replied. Her horse nudged her shoulder and pushed her forward. Haldir sighed and took a step back.

"Will you not heed the Lady's counsel? It is ill, I fear, for you to leave the Wood now. Often do black storms brew over the Mountains."

"As they have for centuries." She folded her arms. Haldir had seen her to the borders and she was surprised. Never had he thought to advise her or hinder her. Her Captain he was yet she had leave to go along her way. He would not stop her now.

"I am not daunted" she said.

"That is what worries me." He shifted his weight. "Stay in Lorien."

"I will not."

"Then you are mad."

"So you have always said." Aniror would tarry no longer. Erthor awaited her, she knew it.

She remembered his smile still.

"You will go by the Redhorn Pass?" Haldir asked as she mounted her horse.

"Yes."

"That way is treacherous."

"I have gone before." Aniror dug her hands into the mare's brown mane. She was a small creature, but swift and daring.

"You go against the Lady's wishes," Haldir said. He lowered his eyes. "And mine."

Aniror nodded. "So it seems. Give my love to Faeleth and the little Pelilas."

Haldir sighed. "You are a fool, Aniror."

"Farewell!" She cast him a final smile and nudged her horse into a canter.

He was right, Aniror thought and shame made her face burn. She should have listened to Haldir…and the Lady.

The journey went well for the first half and most of the second. And she would have made it, but for the Orcs that found her two days ride from the Hollin Gate.

Aniror pressed her warm fingers over her forearm.

The ground was dry and frozen. The hollow rumble of hooves sounded over the low hills.. Aniror rolled her shoulders and sat up straight. She had not far to go.

A marked path crawled between the foothills. She followed it and did not feel the danger that pressed upon her, nor the growls that lurked in the dens.

They came upon her swiftly and she could not turn aside or hope to flee. The company was small but hearty. In a moment the Orcs ringed her horse with curses upon their tongues and swords in their hands.

Aniror froze, a feeling a desperate nakedness creeping over her. Long had she fought from the branches of tall trees with her kin and now she stood exposed, alone.

She drew her sword.

"In the name of Elbereth!" But her voice trembled. She could not command the Orcs to retreat. "Back! Back I say! You shan't have at me."

They laughed, their eyes black beads and their skin like cracked leather. Suddenly Aniror remembered the foul fate of the Lady Celebrian. She shivered.

The foremost Orc raised his blade and brought it down. Aniror threw her weight to the side to avoid the blow. Her horse slammed into a second Orc, sending the creature sprawling upon the ground.

The tight circle of foes was broken. Aniror leaned over her horse's neck and they broke away with the wind heightening the howls of the Orcs. The path opened before her, turning around hills and dipping into small vales. She dared to hope.

But a single arrow found her, burrowing between the bones in her forearm. Aniror shrieked and her blood drenched the horse's flank.

The screams behind her died away.

Aniror sank onto the step outside her door. Warm stars blinked down at her, comforted her.

Fortune was generous and the wound not great. Yet she had been careless that day.

The sound of ripping fabric split the cold air. Aniror wrapped the strip of her tunic hem about the broken arrow shaft. She flinched upon touching the torn flesh and blood pooled in the crook of her arm.

Snow fell anew. The delicate flakes brushed her cheeks and stained her dry lips. Which way did the road go? She could not tell. All was shadow.

Poison. Aniror saw the sticky black liquid drip from the shaft. She lowered her nose to it and sniffed. The stench was light, putrid but mild. This was not the poison of warriors but hunters, meant only to slow the prey.

Aniror groaned and stood. Already it twisted her veins and the blood coursing through her. She pulled herself onto the mare's back, her eyes raking the countryside. No creature stirred, no bird sang. How many leagues still lay between her and Imladris?

She could not tell. All was shadow.

But the mare could. With a steady pace she found her way to the road and trotted amongst the hills. The wind cried once then died. Silence reigned.

Aniror tried to count the passing leagues and mark the land with her eyes. She did not remember the place. The earth spoke foreign riddles.

Behind storm clouds the sun set. A ruby sky brought the night with no moon. The poison made wild patterns dance before her eyes. Her lungs were heavy, thick with frozen air.

Why did Erthor not come from her?

She could not tell. And all fell to shadow.

Fortune indeed, Aniror thought. She leaned her elbows upon her crossed legs. Fortune brought her two leagues outside of Imladris and the keen mind of mare brought her to safety.

But perhaps she should have perished in the Wild. It might have been for the better, to die alone, unlamented, lost.

Her pain would have been lesser then.

Streams sang in Imladris and Aniror could not bear to remain indoors. She paced upon her terrace, the garden at her feet. Flowers bloomed through winter's frost and the air was clear.

Oh how she loved the place.

The halls of Elrond's home reminded her of pleasant times and soft dreams. Only two years past had she first come there at the biding of Galadriel. For the summer she served with Elrond's guard. They were cheery folk, her Northern kin. Bright and kind and gallant.

She fell in love.

Erthor was one of Elrond's captains. Gentle he seemed yet fierce in battle. He was of days past when the world was not cold and dark and hope still lingered for the Elves.

She had not wished to part from him, knowing that unspoken words and thoughts of love must lay between them. A year she waited in Lorien until a year seemed like an age and she could no longer stay.

Of course, the Lady had wished her not return to Imladris, as did Haldir. But what knew they of her love? Erthor must await her. He must. She passed through peril for him.

Aniror lifted the light bandage covering her forearm. A scar would remain of the wound and nothing more.

Footsteps sounded across the terrace and Aniror turned. Erthor came to her, his head bowed. Why did such shame darken his eyes?

Aniror smiled as she watched him. His hair was not plaited, but fell freely about his waste in gold and his face was keen. Strong he looked, lean with the grace of many battles upon him.

She sighed. "I knew you would come to me. What kept you?"

"Much thought," he said and halted several feet from where she stood. Aniror frowned. Would he not rush to embrace her?

"What has brought you hither, warden?" Erthor asked at length. Why did he not speak her name?

She shifted. "I have come to you."

Erthor lifted his head. Sorrow grew in his grey eyes. "It is as I feared."

"What fear?" She stepped forward and he stepped back. "What fear?"

"I fear you are mistaken," Erthor said. He stood in the shadow of an old tree, fading from her sight.

"I love you," Aniror said. She had not meant to be so direct but the words brewed and bubbled within her.

"I fear you are mistaken, warden," he said once more. "Forgive me. Had I know of your affection, I would…I would have spoken truthfully from the first."

"Erthor!" She could not stop her tears. He withdrew and hurried away. Aniror fell to her knees. Her wound throbbed.

Aniror shut her eyes. She should have killed him then. She should have…she should have…

No. Reason beckoned her and she calmed. No, she would rather him suffer. She would rather him live on in torment.

Aniror did not stay long in Imladris after Erthor's visit. She took her leave, ignoring the advice of the healers and returned to Lorien. A fierce scolding awaited her and Haldir swore he thought her dead. The Lady had presented her with more sympathy.

Two months passed and her grief lessened. Rage took hold, threatening to smother her. Each breeze, each song, each day, reminded her of vengeance. She could no longer stay in Lorien.

Perhaps the Lady sensed her misery. Aniror was called upon and an errand dispatched. She was travel South to Gondor to gather what news she could.

Aniror was no stranger to such tasks. Once more she readied her little mare and took to the road.

A month she spent in the Wild. And she should have returned home before another passed.

She should not have passed through Ithilien.

Aniror saw him first through the veil of leaves and bramble. Tall he was and lordly. His hair fell to his shoulders and his eyes…his eyes were Erthor's.

She waited. He passed from her eyesight but not from her vision. The moon rose and she settled herself into a darkened glade. Summer thickened the grass.

She called to him and he came.

He stood at first by the edge of the glade. She smiled.

"Come. Come."

He did not think to hesitate. Faramir stepped into the glade with his hood cast back. Stars guarded and guided him.

"An Elf?" His question made her laugh. "How came you here?"

"By darkened roads."

"Why?"

"Do not ask a question there is no answer to."

He dared to draw closer. Aniror removed her mantle.

"Come. Come."

And he fell into her embrace.

Aniror stood slowly. The night was passing and the stars already dimmed.

What could she do?

Below upon the forest floor, the Great Gates swung open to admit the company from Imladris. Aniror shrank against her door, fearing Erthor's sight.

What could she do?

Author's Note: Thank you so much reading! Please, take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. All comments are greatly appreciated.