Chapter 2

The one in the lead stopped, raising its head sharply, sniffing at the air in grunting snorts like an animal. It began to look around, it's greenish-black skin seeming to absorb the little light filtering though the trees.

Humanoid though it was, Sa't got the distinct feeling it was more an aggressive monster than anything.

She chanced a glance at her companion and saw the grim determination in his set expression. He looked at her and spoke in a low whisper. "Do not follow."

And left their flimsy cover, drawing his sword and charging the group of maybe a score of the creatures, using what little surprise he had to get in the first blow against the apparent leader.

'Do not follow'? Though she supposed he truly did expect her to obey, she was by no means helpless and he was overmatched against so many alone, especially if they had reinforcements nearby. She had promised not to endanger her life, but—judging from the things' distinct lack of skill—she wouldn't be in danger of losing her head.

She drew her twin katana and attacked.

They were down by three before they realized the presence of a second assailant, and still were slow to respond.

Strider was a little quicker to notice, but in no position to do anything about it, surrounded as he was, and hard-pressed to keep the crude blades from his flesh.

Two more had fallen before some of them began to face Sa't properly, and their lack of skill made the ones that did easy to deal with. If they had worked together, that may not have been the case, but they were disorganized, attacking en masse without working together. Still, they were many, and she and Strider were only two.

Fewer attacked Sa't than Strider, apparently believing her to be an easier target—which she soon disproved. The ones around her fell quickly to her flashing blades, and she went to help the only person she knew in this world take care of the ones remaining.

Movement off to the side—behind Strider—caught her attention.

One they had not seen, raising a bow as crude as their other weapons with a wicked, barbed arrow knocked.

No time—she moved, knocking him aside and down, wincing as the arrow struck her low in the side of the chest and throwing one of her blades with deadly accuracy at the archer before wavering and dropping to one knee.

Already Strider was back on his feet, dispatching the remaining creatures with vicious efficiency, a sharp desperation in his moves that surprised Sa't. She had not had someone truly worry for her health in quite some time.

Of course, most of those who had seen her shot—by anything—knew she was Immortal, and Strider did not.

She took shallow breaths, struggling not to cough, feeling the damage in her chest and lung, but knowing it wasn't enough to kill, even temporarily, if she could just get the arrow out.

Unfortunately, it was barbed, and she didn't have the strength to pull it out herself.

Then Strider was kneeling in front of her, catching her shoulders and lowering her down towards the ground, eyes sharp and unhappy. "Child…"

Of course. In this type of time, a lung-shot was invariably fatal. For anyone who wasn't Immortal, anyway.

She opened her mouth to speak, and coughed blood, turning her head so as not to choke. "Get it out," Sa't managed roughly.

"Child," there was pain in that voice, "Why did you—I told you not to follow—"

Sa't gave a harsh cough, "Get it out."

"The arrow is both barbed and poisoned, child," Strider's voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "You are dying."

Sa't very deliberately did not repeat the jaded thought to cross her mind aloud. "Please," she gasped instead, "Get it out."

There was pain in Strider's gaze, and he closed his eyes for a long moment before opening them and looking at her with a mix of determination and sadness. And he did as she asked, wrenching the barbed arrow from her flesh with brutal efficiency.

Sa't bit back a cry, her body bucking in protest before she managed to roll away from the attempt to put pressure on the wound, knowing that sparks of Quickening would soon be wiping it away. And that those selfsame sparks would burn her new friend's hands pretty badly if he touched them.

He caught her shoulder and gently forced her onto her back even as her Quickening set about healing the wound—and he froze upon seeing the blue-white sparks dancing across rent flesh.

Not that she could blame him. There was a very real possibility that she was the only Immortal in this world.

She allowed herself to cough as the wound healed, clearing blood from her lungs, forcing herself to sit and spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground beside her before glancing at the amazed and wary Strider.

"You have questions…" Sa't sighed heavily, rubbing at the still-recovering wound.

He did.

"What are you?"

He almost regretted the question as she suddenly looked ancient and weary, her eyes reflecting pain and regret that cut to the core.

"We are called Immortals."

It was a simple answer that nonetheless told so very, very much.

"You are immortal?"

Sa't sighed softly, turning her deep brown eyes back to meet Strider's gaze. "If we can die of age, none of us have lived so long as to find that age. I have looked like this for over four thousand years. Watching as everything I care for withers and dies…" There was old grief in her tone, the mourning of more than just one lifetime.

"How is it you can face the ages alone, little one?" Strider asked, wonder and sadness in his voice, but before he could apologize for the thoughtless words, she laughed.

The laugh was brief, but rang clear and honest, if with a trace of bitterness. "One day at a time, Strider. One day at a time. And I have not always been alone. Not always."

There was a long pause before Strider held out a hand, "Not now, my friend."

A brief moment of shock, then Sa't face broke into a smile, "Thank you."

xxxx

The ride back held discussions on secrets, and Strider—Aragorn, he told her—stated that Elves made immortality not to strange a thing.

Well, that explained why he'd taken it so well.

Sa't shrugged, "My kind… make it a practice in my world to keep our immortality secret. We are… believed to be myths, if thought of at all. There are only our kind immortal in my world, and others either wish to take that immortality from us to make it their own, or destroy us all. People fear that which they do not understand."

Strider seemed to consider that for a few moments before he nodded acknowledgment.

"Still…" Sa't shook her head wearily, "I will trust your judgment, my friend. I know nothing of your world."

Then they neared the first guard, who scrambled out of his tree on sight of their dishevelment.

"Strider! What happened?"

"Orcs, less than two miles east. We will need to send out a party to ensure than none escaped."

The man nodded sharply, turning to whistle a short, birdlike tune.

In moments another rider came up the trail, his eyes immediately falling on Strider, then flicking past him to Sa't, who had just raised a hand to rub at an itch where drying blood still clung to her skin.

"Is the child all right?" he asked, alarmed.

"From what I understand of her people, she is not a child," Aragon said dryly, "Her people heal quickly. The wound bled only for a short while."

Sa't glanced at him. All statements were true, but evasive. He was keeping her secrets for her, though she had told him he could tell what he wished. He knew she was uncomfortable with many knowing, so he was evading the questions.

She was grateful for that.

"I am well, truly," she spoke up, smiling wanly. "Merely weary."

Strider nodded agreement to that sentiment. The fight, while it had not lasted more than twenty minutes, had been tiring in the extreme. "An orc party, a little over a score two miles to the east. We need to send out a group to ensure that none escaped."

Eyes widened slightly in surprise, flicking between the two. "Over a score?"

"I'm not quite as helpless as I look," Sa't murmured, just loud enough to be heard.

Strider shook his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "Indeed not," he suppressed a grin at the looks sent Sa't's way. "If not for her skills, I would have died. Nevertheless, there may have been some survivors."

The men nodded, getting back into a more professional mode. The rider turned his horse, "I will get together a hunting party, Strider, and send for healing supplies."

"Thank you."

The rider set out at a fast canter towards the nearby camp even as the other climbed back up his tree, and Aragorn nodded thanks before urging his bay back into a walk, Mithril following to the left and slightly behind, placid as a gelding.

xxxx

"What troubles you?" Sa't asked as the two made their way into the camp proper, absently flicking her hair out of her face.

Strider shot her a surprised glance before shaking his head slightly, "You see much, little one. Orcs do not usually gather in such numbers so far from Mordor. Though vicious, they are cowardly creatures that do not work well together—they must have a reason for coming in force."

"I see the problem," Sa't murmured thoughtfully, leaving the question of 'Mordor' for another time. "What could cause them to act in such a way?"

The Ranger shook his head, "I do not know. Unless something stirs in the East…"

"Well," Sa't turned to practicality, "Is there someone who would know?"

"The Istari would know," he sounded sure of that, "And likely Lord Elrond in Rivendell. But the Wizards are hard to find and Rivendell is a fortnight's ride hence, pushing the horses."

"Is it worth going to find out?"

He glanced at her again, then smiled. "Yes, it is."

Eyes sparked with a long-forgotten lust for adventure, "Then let's go!"

xxxx