Chapter 9 - Assumptions

The others in the camp settled down for a few hours rest, with plans to continue to Edoras at dawn. Vezely moved to higher ground, to a rolling hill's rocky outcropping; an all too common feature of Rohan's landscape. There, like a sentinel on watch, stood Legolas, leaning on his Galadhrim bow, looking out onto the fires of Mordor, which illuminated the sky in the East. He had been contemplating the information exchanged prior, continuing to piece together the young Elf's past while trying to unravel her in the present. He acknowledged that the culture of the Easterlings was far removed from his own, that Vezely was hardened by it, but somehow it also gave her purpose. The complexity that lay behind her strong façade would continue to confound as well as intrigue him.

She took her place by his side, finding his presence reassuring, calming. Speaking to him in Elvish and also fixing her eyes on the horizon, she said, "I appreciate your defense before."

He smiled, for he was glad to hear her words in his tongue, "Eomer spoke rashly on matters he knew not."

"And you defended me on matters you know not," she replied carefully, not wanting to appear any less ungrateful. He turned again to face her, finding concern in her eyes, saying nothing so she would continue. "I remain grateful, but as my past is laid bare, do not assume I am innocent of deeds that I only later came to question."

"Such assumptions I would not make," he replied steadily, noting perhaps she didn't want him accidentally thinking better of her than she desired. He added wondering, "You believe Gandalf's favor is misguided."

"He strains a metaphor for hope," she spoke as if talking to the wind, "As did the Blue Wizards. I am Sauron's experiment that failed, as if I had no sentient role in the choices I made. My minor defiance to Sauron's commands seemed undeserving of both his punishment, and further undeserving of the kindness on the part of those who saved me."

"I remember quite clearly," he began, wanting to steer the direction of the conversation slightly, "Something you said upon leaving my village. 'Mirkwood will someday be overrun, but not by your armies.' Even then you were not without moral compass."

Vezely thought back, yes, she had said that. She was surprised he was thinking of that time. She straightened her posture. "The Balchoth were ruthless, but not necessarily without a sense of honor, a warrior's honor. But I lost that honor over the years."

"Tell me, about the ones who raised you. About the cherished memories that ring bring you," despite Legolas's desire to know more about the darker parts of her past, he also hoped to hear joy in her words and not allow her to dwell on anymore dim thoughts this night.

Vezely smiled warmly at the request, for she had not often spoken of those times or been requested to share them. She moved to find a place to sit down; an outcropping in front of a large stone to rest her back on. Her eyes and pleasant demeanor encouraged him to follow. Though he preferred to stand, he was obliged to accompany her. He laid down his bow on the grass in front of them, and lightly rested his back against the cold surface of the rock beside her.

She smiled at him as he sat, thinking of where to start, what to tell, and knowing she could never be as good a tale giver as he. "As you know, I was given to the rulers of the Balchoth to raise as their own under orders of Sauron, who they had sworn allegiance to. I was to be trained in their ways, as an elite warrior, prepared to assume leadership of their clan, and from this their people were promised aid in their claim to the lands across Rhovanion. I was young, not yet able to ride a horse properly, and very quiet, and needed adjustment. But despite my awkwardness, they always treated me as their own. Their former child had died and I like to believe I filled the void that was left.

My mother, Kuzu, was fearless and the best rider of the Balchoth. I learned everything I know about riding from her, but I still do not think my skills surpass hers. She loved to tell me fanciful tales of dragons and exotic chiefs in mythic lands, and would do so every evening before I pretended to sleep. My nights were spent inventing stories of myself partaking in these adventures. And my father, Yumruk, was an extremely stern man of little words, but I could always make him smile. Each winter we would forge blades together, and through those days of fire, water, and smoke I learned lessons on how to rule. Regardless of the fact that I was a task and a promise given to them by Sauron, they cared for me deeply. It was a time I knew not who I was outside of my clan, and Sauron had not yet revealed his plans for me. The world was small and I was focused on being a good daughter, a good warrior. My blood was not a concern until the years continued to pass..." She stopped speaking momentarily, not sure how to continue, for the thoughts of her family aging and dying saddened her.

Legolas knew the reason for her staled speech, "To live amongst mortals is not easy for Elves," he said consolingly, knowing well the pain left by friends lost and for those currently he could not bear to think of losing. "Yet their memory lives on in you, as that ring stays in the sun," he added optimistically.

Her sadness dissipated with his words; they were exactly what she needed to hear. "Yes, they do," she then looked at her ring to treasure the memories it held.

Legolas then added, "The thoughts of your childhood warm me, for I had assumed you only experienced hardship and pain."

She understood this must have been a common assumption, for she was a child forcefully taken and given to what most perceived was a ruthless clan of barbarians. "Most do, for the Balchoth hold this reputation. Do not get me wrong, it is one well earned and they would not have been allied with Sauron otherwise," she smiled slightly before continuing, "Few know that Sauron requested a male child brought to him. The orcs brought me instead. I would have been killed if not for my parent's insistence of my worth," she stated proudly. "I also hold no memories of my life before, of my Elvish parents, or the base deed that took me from their arms and placed me in another's. Though I often wondered of such an existence in your kingdom, if that is indeed where I am from. Please tell me about your youth, comfort me with your memories so I do not continually burden you with the darkness that mine lead to."

"I already said, you provide no burden," he replied earnestly, and though he desired to know more of her life, he could not easily deny her sincere request. "I can tell you of my first century, when Mirkwood was calmer than it is now…" He spoke of his mother, who had already crossed into the Utter West, his father and the trials of ruling his kingdom before the changes that happened since the arrival of Sauron. Vezely listened charmed by his voice and presence, the thought of an Elvish existence, the beauty of living amongst the nature of the forest, all seemed blissful to her. Despite facing the distant fires of Mordor, dark thoughts of their present situation did not enter her mind or the conversation.

At one moment, Vezely rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes as he spoke of the first journey he had taken to Rivendell, where he would spend time studying about the people of Middle Earth and their history. His heart beat quickened slightly at her touch. He felt her warmth seep into him and smelled her scent, a subtle mix of cinnamon and sweet cloves. Yet thinking she must be tired, "I could tell you of the first time I met Lord Elrond, or perhaps..."

She shifted slightly and turned her head towards him, but his head had also been turned, causing a closeness they had not yet experienced. Their lips were mere inches apart, their eyes parallel, and they could feel the lightness of each other's breath mingling in the air in front of them. For a moment time stopped. Then realizing she had foolishly let herself break such boundaries by resting her head on his shoulder, that she was taken in by his presence and his voice enough to let her guard down completely, Vezely quickly moved her face away from his and sat back up.

"Perhaps we should rest our minds," he added politely after, hoping to mitigate her discomfort.

"I am not weary," she rejoined quickly as it was often her mantra, "Though I suppose, it could not hurt to rest."

She had brought her knees closer to her chest, embracing them with her arms and resting her head on top of them. She faced away from him, closing her eyes, and unexpectedly found sleep easy.

Legolas looked over her hunched form; she suddenly appeared weak and fragile to him. He thought of her imprisonment, how she must have looked in her cell, trapped in and without comfort. He was reminded of Gandalf's warning to not pity her, for she would detest it, though was not compassion in his blood? As she drifted off, Legolas inched slightly closer to her, and gently guided her body towards him. She did not rebel against his careful changing of her position and he allowed her to take the same position as before, resting her head on his shoulder. He would then lightly rest his own head on top of hers. Closing his eyes, the world suddenly felt calmer, as if the fires of Mordor were only a distant memory and invisible in the distance.

Dawn broke through the camp, emerging the travelers from their sleep. Legolas heard the commotion first and awoke in the same position. He slowly tilted his head up and breathed in the crisp morning air. His subtle movements however, did not stir Vezely, which surprised him and he wondered when the last time was she rested. Thus, he didn't have the heart to wake her immediately.

A rumbling groan suddenly came from the camp. Gimli emerged from his sleep feeling a pressing headache from over smoking the night before, an intolerance noted merrily by the two hobbits who felt better because of the sleep Longbottom leaf had brought.

Vez stirred immediately and her right hand reached for the hilt of her blade though it was missing, all before realizing she sat close to Legolas and that his arm was around her back.

"'Quel amrun (good morning)," he said softly.

Bewildered by being startled, and in such a position, she replied with her eyes wide and cheeks slightly blushed, "'Quel amrun."

"I would linger here a little longer," he spoke quietly, "But we should prepare to leave with the others." He slowly stood, offering his hand to her, and she took it while contemplating his words and the position she awoke in, allowing him to help propel her to her feet. They stood for a moment facing each other, hands still clasped in front of them, and their eyes affectionate but they stood uncertain of the others' thoughts which in turn confused their own. They walked towards the camp side by side, before leaving each others' company in eyes distance, an act noted by Aragorn who observed them when their figures first emerged.

Vezely whistled for Gizik, who quickly came to her side.

Legolas greeted Aragorn in Elvish, and he smiled knowingly at him, stating quietly as he walked by his side, "The night was kind to you, my friend."

Legolas smile proved this true, though he was still admittedly uncertain of his feelings.

Walking Gizik towards the gear, Merry spotted her Elven ears, covered under her headscarf the day prior.

"You're an Elf!" he proclaimed excitedly and wide-eyed, causing Pippin to turn and greet her with a similar expression.

"And you're a Hobbit," she said with candor.

"I thought you were from the East?" Pippin queried confused, rounding by her side.

"I am from the East," she replied looking down at him.

"You're an Elf from the East then," Pippin stated forthrightly.

"Something like that," she replied, slightly amused by his remark. Perhaps she was just in a good mood from the evening's rest, but she continued the conversation, "You know, you are the first Hobbits I have met."

"Is that so?" Merry said proudly.

"And how old are you?" Pippin blurted out, causing Merry to hit him on the side arm.

She cracked another smile before replying, "I am younger than most Elves," for this was true considering those who have been around since the Elder Days.

"You look young," Pippin added hastily, "Even for an Elf. I mean, not that I've met many Elves, but you seem younger than most."

She grabbed her rucksack from the ground and attached it to her horse's saddle. While doing this she looked at him skeptically, wondering if it was a good idea to allow him to continue.

"Pip, age isn't always proper to question a lady on," Merry whispered to his friend.

Stopping his conversation, "Sorry, meant no offense!" Pippin stated embarrassed.

"None taken, I am not like most ladies," she added bluntly, having just adjusted her sword to her belt, and clicking its blade into its sheath. She mounted Gizik swiftly, and smirked at them once more while wrapping her scarf around her head.

"A fact well noted," Merry declared in slight awe of meeting a warrior Elf woman.

Clicking Gizik into gear, she rode swiftly up onto the rocky outcropping to look out at the valley below. "The West is not what I expected, Gizik," she confided in Easterling, patting her on the neck, "Not what I expected at all."

The others would join her shortly and they would make haste back to Edoras, where Eowyn would await them, having accompanied the soldiers and villagers back home. That evening they would honor the lives lost in battle.

"Back to where we were," Gimli stated, upon entering the same quarters they had spent their first night in Edoras, "Still cold and drafty."

"Looks preferable to sleeping on an Ent root," Pippin stated optimistically.

Instead of settling in, Vezely quietly removed herself to the outdoor veranda, desiring to give the group their space. Their bond was strong, for before they had spent a trying journey together as the fellowship, continually tested and having dealt with the loss of their companions. She did not begrudge them this time to reconnect and bond again after being apart. Although, another part of her felt hesitant of being around Legolas after the prior evening.

She positioned herself cross-legged on the ground, her back against a pillar. The view was breathtaking, the expanses of Rohan stretched before her, and the cool, crisp air filled her lungs as it rushed up the mountain side below. She faced West, so the far sky was not occluded by the smoke of Mordor's fires. Moments of silence passed and she simply breathed in the landscape, noting the sound of the traveling winds and the dust they carried along. She had brought along a small tattered book with her; one with Easterling text scrawled through its once empty pages. It was her own writing. The book was a gift from the Blue Wizards who told her to write down her memories as she had them, for her mind was displaced during her captivity and she would find thoughts flooding in and should set a space for them in its pages to reflect. She had not turned the pages for some time, but felt oddly compelled to do so now. She found lines she had written on her time in Mirkwood: the small company of Balchoth who died in the ambush, the Elves she fought and killed, the wounds that afflicted her. She wrote of the woodland caves she found herself healed in and the king who spoke kindly to her. She read through her words in order to take her mind back to that time:

"I awoke in immaculate quarters, cleaned and dressed in a long gown of cream fabric and of exceeding comfort. My weapons and gear were nowhere to be found, however. I did not know at the time my exit strategy, or my bearings for that matter. I only knew I must have survived the confrontation and undoubtedly remained in Northern Mirkwood among the Elves; the thought of their race concerned me for I am their blood but know them not. I aided my men in killing the ten who attacked us. I provoked it, for I had not heeded their warning to turn around and ordered my men to attack. They were fierce bowmen who quickly dispatched many in my troop from the high ground. Arrows shot on us as we scrambled to find cover, where I remained quietly, luring them to come closer before prompting my men to attack. Yes, I remembered suddenly as I awoke. The arrow that pierced my leg, my difficulty breathing as my lung collapsed from a knife taken in a fight with the last of them. My horse must have transported me to their city.

I was a prisoner, though I wore no bonds of captivity. But how could I be anything else? I found the door strangely unlocked, though I knew not what it opened to. I slowly opened it, finding an empty room of equal size and sparsely furnished. Someone had been there recently for I found an empty plate and dining utensils left on a table next to an open book with script I did not understand. I quickly took the knife, for its point could still serve purpose. There were windows on the far side of this room, with curtains that blocked my view from the light streaming in from outside. My bare feet walked swiftly to the window's side, I peered out and realized I was above ground but underground; a system of caves where terraces and bridges were carved and built throughout - the likes of which I never thought possible. I jumped out the window to the veranda; my feet finding polished stone and no handrail to hold one from the drop below. I stayed towards the wall and move silently to the corner, unsure what lied beyond. Peering around I saw a staircase which connected to another terrace; a fuller view revealed it as a city of connected fleets. I grew discontent, for I wanted nothing but to be on the ground. My unfounded fear of heights became apparent. And besides that, I saw little possibility of navigating each fleet without being seen. One at a time, I thought, though not a strategy it was the only way down. I used the knife to remove much of the cream gown's length, for it would do nothing but slow down my escape. My bare legs and feet caught a breeze, the direction of which I did not know, but it prompted me to run down the first flight of stairs to the side of the building it housed. I peered in the window; there was someone inside, an Elf-woman in light blue robes reading. Then three others entered, all male, tall and with bows and quivers attached to their backs; one had a staff. They were speaking in a tongue I did not understand. The woman made a motion to lead them to the upper fleet, where I should have been.

Two followed, but the third remained, problematizing my desire to go beyond. He faced the front doorway, which provided access to the veranda that attached to the next stairway. I decided to confront him, for it was only a matter of time before the three were made aware of my absence and returned. I quickly jumped in the open window, startling the Elf as he turned to swing his bow at me. I ducked and quickly kicked his foot from under him, sending him to the ground. He attempted to get up but found my elbow crashing down on his head while doing so, knocking him unconscious. The knife remained in my hand but I left him as such, feeling no need to slit his throat. Unfortunately the three others were aware of my absence and were returning. There was no time to race down the stairs unseen, so I stayed hidden by the doorway's side. The two Elves rushed in first, quickly going to their fallen companion, leaving the woman my victim. I quickly grabbed her, interlocking her arms behind her and pressing the knife to her throat. My back was toward the wall for I feared giving any others a clear advantage behind me.

The bowman quickly has his arrow in position. He was fair of skin, with golden hair and piercing blue eyes that exuded an intensity I could not soon forget. The slightly older Elf, also with golden hair, but longer, and with similar features, motioned his hands for calm. He spoke softly but sternly, first in Elvish and then in Westron, "We do not want quarrel."

I smiled mischievously before narrowing my eyes on him. My words were angered, "I will give you quarrel if I am not released." To prove I meant it, I pressed the knife into the woman's neck drawing a small amount blood and causing her distress, but my grip was too strong for her to move from it. The archer stretched his bowstring further back.

"Your wounds are healed," the Elf said to me cautiously, "We can allow you leave, but not if you take another's life."

"Who are you?" I asked, but not changing my stance or releasing my grip.

"I am King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, this is my son, Legolas, and the young woman you hold is Rayne, a healer without whom you would not have survived."

I felt slightly uncomfortable with acknowledging them aiding my recovery, but I could not think of his statement of releasing me as anything other than a lie. I hissed cockily, "And why, King, would you release me?"

"You are Elf-kind," he replied quickly as if that in itself was a good reason.

I laugh unconvinced, "Elf-kind?" Then I added proudly, "I am a Balchoth. I am not your kind of Elf."

Thranduil came slightly closer, so I tightened my grip much to the dismay of the woman I held. "You are one of us," his serious eyes were fixed on mine, "Taken from your home and put on a path of Shadow. And you must leave this place now. If you ever long to return, it is by another route not yet laid out for you."

For a moment my heart stopped, I swallowed what spit I had in my mouth. His words haunted me and for some reason, I could not question their validity. "Release her, and we will allow you to follow this destiny," he added as I considered my actions.

I slowly released my grip and kicked the woman forward, sending her to her knees. The knife remained in my hand for a moment longer as I awaited the archer to release the tension on his string. My eyes narrowed on his and we communicated our anger and distrust. Thranduil helped the young woman to her feet before asking his son to stand down, after which I reluctantly handed the knife to the king.

"Come, we will take you to your belongings," he motioned to bring his hand to my shoulder, but was smart not to touch me. I followed him down multiple platforms to the ground below; his son followed me close behind. I turned once and searched his face, letting him know I would keep my ears attuned to sense any mal move. On the descent I took in the sight of the Elven city, a magnificent cave that didn't end. Light streamed in from unseen sources, illuminating the artistry of its carvings. The thought of perfection crossed my mind and troubled me.

Once out the entrance, my horse had been brought with my weapons and gear attached to its bridle. Thranduil took the reins, but before handing them to me, he spoke steadily, "You are hereby banished from these lands Vezely of the Balchoth, return and you will face certain death." I nodded in acceptance of what to me was an empty threat, considering the forces planning to be amassed in the East. I quickly jumped upon my horse, my bare legs and feet finding the leather easier to grip.

I looked one last time on the city's entrance before departing and on the Elven king and his son, whose intense eyes did not fade. For some reason, I knew I would remember them as I write this now. Before departing, I stated as a matter of fact, "Mirkwood will be overrun, but not by my armies." I rode out of there into the forest, focused on more pressing matters; my people and the fate of their settlement in Calenardhon. I stopped momentarily that night, finding water and food in my pack, plain bread wrapped in leaves. I was hesitant to eat it, but found it nourishing after just a small amount. Northern Mirkwood never became part of my desired invasion list; I would leave it to Sauron's orc armies.

The only other occurrence left unexplained is a dream I had after falling unconscious from my wounds. I write this after for I remain unsure if it was a broken memory from somewhere else. I remember standing in a shallow tide on a beach, the warm ocean water soaked up to my ankles, a blurred forest glen stretched out before the sand. I heard a beautiful voice singing in what I deduce is Elvish tongue and I felt as if it was my blood mother's. I have no proof, only a feeling."

Scrawled on the same page was the phonetics of the Elvish she had heard, which she would attempt to translate many years later as she learned the language. Also on the page, scrawled sideways in the margins, was a short Balchoth proverb she learned as a child, which reading again now held different layers of meaning. She began to recite quietly to the wind, "The land stretches on, set your foot on it, make it your home, but do not stray from the warrior's path or forget the home you came from."

"What does it mean?" Aragorn asked behind her, having come out for a quick smoke and hearing her speak lyrically to the wind in a foreign tongue.

"It's about remembering home after one leaves it or makes another," she replied still in thought, as Aragorn leaned on the pillar beside her. "I wrote it down here and I do not know why."

Aragorn looked briefly at the Rhunic scrawlings in her book; its pages were full and they looked to have been turned frequently.

She looked up to him, taking herself away from her thoughts to ask, "You have been East?"

"Some time ago I crossed the Rhovanion," he stated pleasantly.

"As a ranger?" she queried.

He nodded, allowing her to continue. "I encountered a band of rangers once on a campaign in the Iron Hills. The meeting was tense but it did not end in bloodshed," she remembered, clutching her book slightly, and then she added admiringly, "It is a noble charge, protecting those without want of recognition or reward. A better leader," she added, "Is always one who does not want the title."

"You are perceptive," he remarked. As of lately his thoughts of being something more were troubling him, worries Vezely noted in his demeanor.

"I do not overly concern myself with the West's strategy, for it is not my place to be privy to such information," she replied steadily, "But I am relieved that such plans involve you, even if you are reluctant of them."

He smiled humbly, "We may both understand displacement."

"I do not think you are displaced. Your heart appears settled," Vezely remarked kindly, noting the jewel that continuously hung from his neck with her eyes.

"That it is," he was warmed thinking of the truth of this statement.

She looked back out on the landscape, "Attachment is a weakness, I would tell myself. Maybe it is a stabilizing force."

"Love is a powerful force, perhaps the most powerful," he answered, affirming this to himself as well.

Vezely further considered this, "The Balchoth in me would say the only real power is at the end of a sword," she smirked, "But perhaps I can entertain such a thought without disgust."

Aragorn noted her sarcasm with a brief smile, amused she was not moved by romantic notions as most Elves were. Then he asked curiously, "What else is written in this book?"

"Mostly memories I had pieced together after my captivity. I have not looked at them for some time," she replied after closing it, "It is both a luxury and curse to remember."

"I cannot disagree, but every moment makes us who we are today," he said encouragingly.

While Vezely considered this statement, Eowyn approached them, and Aragorn greeted her politely, "My lady."

"Welcome back Lord Aragorn," she greeted him courteously, "I have come to speak with Vez," prompting Aragorn to politely nod to both of them before leaving, and Vezely stood to greet her.

"Welcome back. You will join the evening's festivities?" Eowyn asked of her attendance at the banquet that night.

"If invitation is given, though I understand if it is not," she noted humbly.

"You are welcome there," Eowyn told her adamantly, "And I would like to give you a place to wash up, for you cannot very much do so around the men."

This was unfortunately true, though not due to qualms of modesty on her part. "That would be most kind," she replied; it was hard to deny that she needed a bath.

"…You said both women and men fight in the Easterling militia, does it not create similar concerns," Eowyn asked as they walked, curious of this integrated fighting culture.

"On certain campaigns, yes. But often women and men are segregated," she replied, adding further explanation, "I wish I could say that women are considered men's equals in the East, but that fight is still not won. The East is made up of a vast array of cultures, each with their own beliefs and viewpoints. While the Balchoth had no qualms with a woman leading them, others are not so easily swayed."

"I see," Eowyn seemed somewhat disappointed, stopping in front of the door.

Vezely continued optimistically, "I am partly named after Vezena, an Easterling warrior who led her people to victory in the First Age. That such legends of women exist in Rhun and are told to young children, that means something."

"It is encouraging," Eowyn considered her own people's myths which had sparse to none female heroines. Opening the door, she led Vez to her personal quarters and to the washroom which had a large sunk-in tub, "The water will be warm," Eowyn explained walking in, "Feel free to use what amenities you need. And I'd be happy to have your clothes laundered and sewn as well."

Vezely looked around at the rich comfort presented before her, unsure how to react. She spoke wholeheartedly, "You do not need to offer me your own quarters."

Undeterred, Eowyn handed her one of her own dresses, "I want to," she held her head up proudly, for Eowyn admittedly admired the warrior woman, feeling she understood her desires to fight while seemingly no one else did. She knew it may have been a minor defiance on her part to offer such favors to her considering her past, but she did not care. "I will have Gleda, my hand maiden, retrieve your clothes soon. In the meantime, you may wear this and stay here as long as you like."

"You are overly generous, Eowyn," Vezely replied, her eyes showing surprise, sincerity, and appreciation before she left, closing the door behind her. Vezely had not soaked in a hot bath since the days before her imprisonment at Dol Guldur, when she had commanded an army and could enjoy the spoils of leadership. The thought of such a comfort laid before her made her tear up slightly.

A/N: Please take a moment to review now or later as you hopefully keep reading. I would love to hear your thoughts. Thank you!