Excuse me while I just kind of completely rip up the ending of ROTK and throw a rave instead. :D
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!
Your dreams tell you that they're looking for you, but reality holds a solid argument of the opposite. It's been two days of running, two days of burning agony in your calf, two days of surviving on crusty, moldy bread and gross water. You reckon you're almost to the mountains surrounding Mordor. The thought, coupled with the prospect of escaping with your leg in its state, is almost soul-crushing.
The night of the third day you are once again dropped like a sack of potatoes as the orc pack rests for the night. You accept your disgusting rations with no fight. Indeed, you had been as passive as you could manage for the past two days, ever since you put your plan into action. The idea that you'd lost the will to fight would be the orcs's downfall, and you would relish murdering them.
For two days you'd endured the terribly uncomfortable ride thrown over an orc's shoulder without protest. You used the time to very, very slowly cut your bonds with the sword at your carrier's waist. Each step sliced a few more fibers of the thick cord, and you had to be careful not to tug too hard and alert him to your doings. Now the rope is only holding together by a few strands, a fact you hide between your chafed wrists.
You put your plan into action as soon as you're sure everyone except the night watch is asleep. Slowly, so very slowly, you army-crawl through the long grass, moving only inches per minute to ensure you remain undetected. You creep to the orc who carries your weapons during the day and gently withdraw just one dagger. With that one dagger, you are going to absolutely butcher everyone.
It takes at least thirty minutes for you to move into position behind the orc keeping guard by the fire. You stand up only when you are inches from him. In one fluid movement, you cover his mouth and dig the dagger across his neck. Black blood spurts from the lethal wound. He dies with only a quiet gurgle. You ease his body to the ground and move on the the nearest sleeping orc. One by one you slaughter them in their sleep, getting a vicious high each time you take another life. It's a beautiful and very fitting revenge for them completely and possibly permanently messing up the projected timeline.
You leave the leader for last. You pick up your axe before moving to him. You stab the dagger into his shoulder to wake him up. He does so violently; you press him back to the ground with your good foot. "Baruk-khazad, bitch," you whisper before planting your axe in his skull. He twitches a few times before going still. You wish someone could have been around to witness that epic line. With the orcs lying dead all around you, you gather the least gross of their blankets and sleep soundly until dawn.
Unfortunately, dawn brings no positive changes, only the realization that you're lost, hungry, and still injured. You consume the provisions with the least mold on them, gather the rest of your weapons, and start limping back in the direction the orcs came. If you go long enough that way, you're sure to find something. But your leg slows your pace by half, and you have to take frequent stops. You hew a crutch from one of the few trees that helps a bit, but at this rate, the final battle will be over by the time you reach Edoras!
The day passes slowly and painfully. You collapse against a rock when the stars begin to appear above. The wound is on fire, and you must save the water you took for the road. If this was how Kili's arrow wound felt, you would have made sure it never happened, bonding moment with Tauriel be damned.
Something crinkles in your shirt when you lie down to try to sleep. Confused, you pat yourself until you discover a folded paper tucked in your vest. You're horrified when you open it - it's the letter to Thorin you were writing when Boromir returned, the letter you never finished or sent. Tears burn your eyes when you read it by the dim silverly light of the full moon.
Darling,
We're back in Edoras and everyone's safe. It wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Gimli helped me see to that. There'll be a feast in a few days to honor the fallen.
If it comforts you to know where I am and will be, soon we'll move to Dunharrow, and to Minas Tirith after that. Two more battles and I'll be on my way home. It's the final stretch and I couldn't be more excited. You and I will be together again soon, I promise, and my heart won't rest until then.
You clutch the paper to your chest and cry freely. You are not hopeless - you refuse to die until you see Thorin again - but you are angry and upset and tired and hungry and in pain.
"What use is foresight if you can't see your own future?!" you shout at the stars. They are at fault for all this, after all. "This is dumb! Why did anyone let me outside? Why did I have to go for a walk? Why didn't I know this would happen?"
The stars twinkle on silently. You hadn't expected them to answer, but the silence is still infuriating. You throw a pebble in the air with all your might before curling in a ball to sniffle yourself to sleep.
You'd never had to survive in the Wild by yourself. Every time before you'd been accompanied by someone who knew what they were doing, who could make a fire and cook and lead in the right direction. You've had no fire since striking out on your own. You have no strength or ability to catch a small creature, and you may as well spin and point for all the idea where to go you have. By the third day on your own, your wound has become all but incapacitating despite your best efforts to keep it clean. You're constantly on the lookout for some athelas, but you doubt you'll have much luck in the plains.
You end up sitting on a rock, looking over the plains and contemplating hacking your leg off at the knee. Even without the wound, you doubt you'd have the strength to go on; five days of nothing but bits of stale bread to eat hasn't exactly been a balanced breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You still haven't given up and accepted death, but you can't exactly see a way out of your situation. Unless the eagles magically decide to come your way, you may have to resort to crawling.
Twilight is falling on your perch when you spot another living creature in the distance, the first you've seen since being on your own. You can't quite tell what it is, but you're intent on either riding it or eating it. You suck in a breath and run towards it despite the poignant protest from your calf. All the while you coo at the animal, trying to coax it closer or at least keep it from bolting. When you're a few yards away, you realize it is a fine brown horse, already saddled. Its equipment is from Rohan; you wonder what happened to its rider.
"You are a godsend," you murmur into its neck. It nuzzles your shoulder. "I literally do not care where you take me, as long as there aren't orcs."
You clamber into the saddle and give the reins a shake. The horse meanders in a direction of its own choosing, and since it's not the way the orcs took you, you leave it be. Running to the horse exhausted you, so you lean forward and rest your head on the horse's powerful neck. Its body heat will keep you warm for the first time in three nights.
You doze on and off until the sun rises, at which point you find yourself in a much greener area. There are trees in the distance, old and gnarled, that you recognize as most likely being of Fangorn. A creek bubbles quietly nearby. It is here where Duyam, your horse - you named it the Dwarvish word for blessing, because was it ever! - stops to drink and graze. You tumble out of the saddle and roll into the creek. The water is clear and cool and delicious. You drink your fill and the clean out your wound. It burns awfully at first, then soothes the deep hole.
Duyam grazes while you crawl along the bank of the creek, looking for food. You locate a berry bush near the treeline. You stuff handfuls of the plump, juicy fruits in your mouth and relish the sweetness and texture and the fact that it's not moldy bread. You lie back in the thick green grass with a sigh after stripping the bush. Duyam slowly moves up the river until he's close to you. You pet the hair of his leg absently as you ponder what to do next.
Your top priority is athelas. The arrow, whether poisoned or not, has left a nasty hole in your leg that has not yet begun to heal. On the contrary, it may be close to infection, and infections can no longer just be cured by antibiotics. After you regain use of both your legs, you'll see if Duyam can take you to Dunharrow; surely Rohan's army has left Edoras by now.
"I have to go into the forest," you tell Duyam. "Do you want to come with me?"
He simply continues to graze.
"Suit yourself. Just don't wander off or I'll be really up the creek."
You enter the thick forest with only your daggers. You crawl over the soft forest floor, looking behind every root and under every low bush for some athelas. Finally the small white flowers catch your eye and you whimper in relief. You take the whole plant to use. On the way out, you even find some mushrooms.
Duyam watches with mild interest as you crush the leaves in a handful of water. You press the watery mess right into the wound. The resulting shout of pain echoes across the plains and startles Duyam. You rip of a length of shirt to use as a bandage, and after five long days your injury is finally properly tended to.
"Not bad," you pant to Duyam. "I've survived pretty well, haven't I? Shockingly, this has been a bigger pain than getting slashed by Azog. At least then I had someone to take care of me... Do you think I'm pathetic?"
He snorts into a tuft of grass.
"Thanks. I think I'm pretty great, too."
You wait until your ride is refueled before heading off again. This time you're able to choose a direction with more surety. You head steadily south and count each second before you're back in civilization.
Edoras appears on the horizon. You push Duyam into a run to get there faster. You thunder through the gates and back into the walls you were so eager to leave less than a week ago. Faces turn to stare at you as you gallop up the main street to Meduseld. Two guards are stationed at the foot of the stairs.
"Is King Theoden still here?" you ask one breathlessly. "Have they left yet?"
"Kind Theoden departed for Dunharrow this morning, my lady," he says, confused by your urgency.
"So I've only just missed them! Which way is Dunharrow? I need to get there as soon as possible!"
The guard gives you directions. You stop only to gather your things from your room before riding there immediately. On the way, you think of how you're going to explain suddenly going MIA. It's easy enough on the surface: orcs caught you while you were taking a very unwise solo walk. But it hadn't been a random coincidence. They'd been sent to look for you. Sauron himself apparently wants to meet you or worse. You can only guess that somehow, some way, the news of your knowledge has spread all the way to Mordor. Given this, you feel very selfish proceeding to Dunharrow and putting your friends in danger...just not selfish enough to stay away.
You reach the cliffside encampment a few hours after the sun sets. You guide Duyam up the narrow sloping path with the air of coming home after a viciously long day. The men whisper and exclaim as you ride through the camp. You dismount and tie Duyam's reins to a post. Reuniting with your friends can potentially wait. You are exhausted to the core and don't even care if there's not a bed made up for you. You're prepared to sleep in the most lush patch of grass.
A figure emerges from a large tent to your right. You squint through the low patches of campfire light and exclaim, "Aragorn!"
Aragorn perks immediately and looks toward your voice. In an instant he is right in front of you, hands on your shoulders, checking over you. "Why did you go off alone? Where were you? Are you injured? Your leg - "
"Man, am I glad to see you," you sigh happily. "My leg is kind of fine. I put some athelas on it and - "
He's not listening. "Lord Elrond is still here. He can tend to it."
"Aragorn, I don't need - "
His eyes flash. You hold up your hands in surrender and allow yourself to be led back into the tent.
Elrond looks up in surprise at your arrival. You wave sheepishly. "*Penneth!* Where did you go?"
"She's injured," Aragorn says before you can respond.
"Injured? What happened?"
"Orcs shot me with an arrow."
"Sit." Elrond gestures to a chair and pulls up a stool next to it. "I do not have my equipment, but I'm sure the Men here will have something."
"I still have some athelas." You pull the somewhat wilted clump out of your vest. "And I did do it up myself already. I'm not completely useless."
Aragorn exits as Elrond unwinds your makeshift bandage, probably to round up fresh wrappings. You sit still as Elrond inspects and washes the hole. "I would like this to be the last time I do this," he tells you sternly.
"I could've managed," you mumble. "You taught me healing, remember?"
"Perhaps I also should have included some lessons on common sense."
"Oh, that's cold! Let me tell you about my little adventure and see if you still think I don't have common sense!"
Aragorn returns just then with bandages and water and Legolas and Gimli right behind him. Legolas flits to your side and stands very still, watching Elrond's every move. Gimli's greeting is a bit less staid.
"My Lady, forgive me for speaking so, but what in Durin's name were you thinking?!" Gimli bellows. "You mention a walk and the disappear for five days? The worry you put us all through!"
"It wasn't planned, you know! Do you all seriously think I just fancied a five-day vacation in the Wild all alone in the middle of a war?"
Gimli's too busy ranting to address that question. You grab a big cup of water to wait it out. "I thought I was witnessing the passing of a dynasty! You must write to King Thorin immediately and update him - "
"Update?!" You choke on the water. "As in he already knows something about the situation?!"
"I had to tell him! He charged me with looking after you, and you went and vanished!"
"Oh my god. Ohhh my god." You lean your head back against the chair. "He's going to kill me. I can't believe he's not here already."
Legolas puts a hand on Gimli's shoulder to restrain him from continuing his rant. He says gently to you, "Tell us what happened."
"I just wanted a walk outside the walls. I went straight out so I could come straight back in. I was supposed to be back by sunset, but I ran into some orcs. They ended up getting the best of me. We went two days east before I had the chance to very cheerfully slaughter them all in their sleep. Then I had to work my way back, which wasn't easy with a hole in my leg. I eventually found a stray horse and made it back to Edoras, but you'd already left, so I came here, and here I am. But the thing is, I think..." You look up at Elrond, finally betraying your concern. "I think they were looking for me specifically."
Elrond's hands still and his head snaps up. "For you? Why do you think that?"
"They were looking for, as they put it, the She-Elf. They knew me by the jewel in my hair..." You withdraw the hair clip that you'd immediately taken off at first chance. "They intended to take me to Sauron. I don't think anyone's wondering why."
The wind and crackling fire logs can be heard in the silence. Elrond finally murmurs, "How?"
"Perhaps there is a spy among us," Aragorn muses quietly.
"It would not take a spy," Gimli says grimly. "Her foresight is hardly a secret."
Everyone looks at him, including you. "What do you mean, it's hardly a secret?" you ask, bemused.
Gimli seems just as surprised. "All Dwarves know of it, my lady. It's become a point of pride, to have such a powerful queen."
You're dumbfounded as this new information gives new lens through which to see recent events. Balin had mentioned unsavory folk in the lands around the Mountain. It was not uncommon knowledge that you'd gone away, and the bit of the Arkenstone in your hair clip only cements the link. And it's quite possible that the letter-bearing ravens were not the only birds to see you; crebain, vultures, and bats are only a few creatures that could have marked your identity. From the others' expressions, you can tell they're slowly arriving at the same conclusion.
"Awesome," you say flatly. "Y'know, I wasn't going to come back. I didn't want to put anyone in danger. But I was really hungry, and a bit hurt, and kind of scared..."
"As long as you do not wear that jewel, they cannot find you," Aragorn says tensely.
"How do you know? The orcs were a stone's throw from Edoras. They must at least know I'm with Rohan."
"You are not to go off on your own," Elrond says severely, inferring your point. "Sauron would not spare any force to be reckoned with to come after you, not when he's already attacking Minas Tirith. Any patrols could quickly be dispatched by so many soldiers in a hold such as this. You will stay here, do you understand?"
"Yes, fine, I'll stay."
"You should come with me on the Dimholt Road," Aragorn says. "You'd be far from any orcs for a while at least."
"No," you muse, "You and Legolas and Gimli are supposed to take the Dimhold Road. I'll stay here and ride to Gondor with Theoden. The order of events have been messed up enough as it is. I just want to get back on track."
"Perhaps we should not get back on track just yet," Elrond says suddenly. You blink at him. "I will explain later. Presently, you should sleep, penneth."
It occurs to you just how tired you are. "Yeah, I think I will."
"Take my tent," Aragorn says. "It seems I will not be needing it."
"Thanks. Have fun raising the undead army. I'll meet you guys on the battlefield."