Chapter 5

People, I am so, so sorry for the extremely late update. I've finally finished my other story, just in time to start back at school, so basically I have just as much time to write as I used to. I'm tackling four subjects – three at the second highest level, and English at the highest level – so things are getting a little intense, especially considering this is my last year at school so I'll be looking at uni or college now as well (brb weeping in fear). But I'll be trying my very best to get new chapters out to you all, and keeping them at a high standard.

Hope you enjoy this chapter; and remember to review if you have anything to say, or even if you don't! See you on the other side.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything about Lord of the Rings. I only own Maethoriel and her people.

Gandalf had come to Maethoriel the day after and informed her of the next stage in their journey. Before the company could set out, scouts had to search the lands for any sign of the Black Riders, to ensure that they would not be hindered at least in the first leg of their journey. Elves were selected for this task – Elrond's own sons among them – and Aragorn would be going too, skilled as they all were in tracking. Maethoriel instantly offered her assistance, supporting her proposal with claims that she needed legitimate practice in battle against their enemies.

"Yes, I think that would be wise, as well," Gandalf nodded thoughtfully. "Although, I am not sure how the others will react."

Maethoriel quietened her voice. "They do not need to know, Gandalf." He stared at her, a light crease appearing between his brows. "How long are the scouts searching for?"

He was silent for a moment. Then, "They will search for however long is necessary."

Maethoriel nodded and looked out over Rivendell from their position on her balcony. The evening sun was casting a pale light into the valley, illuminating the oranges, reds, and golds of the autumn leaves. Elves and guests alike meandered the stone pathways, talking quietly amongst themselves – no doubt about the Fellowship and its task. "I will depart the night before they do," she spoke, "And I will travel alone." She turned to look at Gandalf again. "This might be too much to ask; but may I have your word that you will tell no one of this plan until I have left?"

He smiled, somewhat warily. "Of course. They will not see our logic – not at first, that is – but I will try to convince them as well as I can. At the very least they will send others to persuade you to return; but it is ultimately your choice, and they will not go against you."

"Thank you, Gandalf. Your faith and understanding is refreshing."

"I am faced with the same issues," he replied. "Although not as drastic, I must say."

She nodded. "They must learn to treat me as an equal – for that is all that I am."

And so, the night before the scouts were set to depart Rivendell and scour the lands, Maethoriel could be seen walking along the paths towards the outside world. Any who saw her thought nothing of it, as they often saw her exploring at night – she had still not become fully accustomed to the prospect of slumber. The fact that she was not wearing her usual emerald outfits, however, did stir a little curiosity. She was instead dressed in the outfit she had arrived in – the deep grey tunic, black leggings, leather boots, and the earth-brown cloak.

When she reached the outskirts of the Elven outpost, her eyes fully capable of sight in the surrounding darkness, she witnessed a grey-cloaked figure step out from the shadows. "Gandalf," she greeted quietly.

He tilted his head in reply, and lifted his arms. A bundle of fabric was illuminated in the dim light casted by the stars and the moon, and the skin of Maethoriel herself. "I brought everything you requested," he told her, lifting the fabric away.

Maethoriel reached out to take her bracers, leather belt, tomahawk and dagger from him. After securing them to her person, she took the bow and arrow he produced from the ground at his feet and attached them to herself as well. "Thank you, Gandalf." As he bowed his head, she turned and looked back at Rivendell, at the soft golden glows of the lanterns, the barely illuminated structures of the trees and the buildings that blended so well into the scenery, and the rare Elves seen silently walking the outpost, oblivious to the fact that one of their most treasured guests was sneaking away.

"May I walk with you to the edge of the valley?" Gandalf asked, barely waiting for her reply before he started forwards.

They walked in silence for a moment, both contemplating seriously. Maethoriel wondered if she was doing the right thing, going off by herself, possibly into the open arms of her enemies whom she had not yet fought. Aragorn and Elrond's fearful protests repeated themselves over and over again in her mind, intent on sparking a flame of doubt within her; but her heart stayed strong and confident – this was the right thing to do. She had to practice her skills against true opponents, in a true battle, without the Fellowship scrambling to protect her and impeding her from defending herself.

Perhaps this would demonstrate her ability to fight, and relieve them of their worry.

"I appreciate your assistance, Gandalf," Maethoriel said, briefly clasping the wizard's shoulder as they neared the edge of the valley.

"I hope that it will not have been in vain," he replied pointedly, "Do make sure that you survive this escapade."

She chuckled as their pace began to slow. "Of course." She sighed, then, and fixed Gandalf with a serious gaze. "Will Aragorn be travelling alone?"

"He will be protected," the wizard assured her. "He is a capable warrior, and has been trapped in dangerous situations before. Do not fear for him."

A thought suddenly popped into her mind. "And what of Legolas? Will he be searching for the Black Riders as well?"

Gandalf eyed her curiously but kept his thoughts to himself. "He is staying." His eyes twinkled as he suppressed an amused smile. "I believe he wished to spend more time with you in Rivendell, before the company left."

Maethoriel felt a slight stab of guilt. "Give him my apologies, if that is true," she said. She then bowed her head to him and said, "Farewell, Gandalf. May we meet again." And she moved to leave.

His hand suddenly gripped her arm, and she turned to him in confusion. "Did you think I would allow you to leave completely alone?" he asked.

Her frown deepened. "You gave me your word that you would tell no one of this," she said, doubting that he would go against it despite the evidence that he might well have.

To her relief, he said, "I stayed true to my word. Give me a moment, and you will understand what I speak of."

She watched his back as he rounded a corner out of sight, pondering what he had arranged for her. How could he have not told someone, and yet be expecting her to not travel alone? Suddenly her face paled and her stomach dropped. "Gandalf, surely you do not wish to come with me?" she exclaimed, startled, after him.

"Of course not," he called back. "I am staying in Rivendell." His figure emerged from the darkness again, although this time he was not alone, and Maethoriel understood what he had meant.

A beautiful black stallion walked at his side, as pitch black as the Night Sky, holding his head high and fixing Maethoriel with a calm gaze. He had on him what she recognised to be tack from Rohan, which brought a confused frown to her face once more. "How did you come by him, Gandalf?" she asked in wonder as the stallion approached her easily. She reached up a hand to stroke his velvety neck, as his face nudged into her shoulder.

"I did not," Gandalf replied with a smile. "He came by me."

Maethoriel paused in her stroking and looked to the wizard. "What do you mean?"

"The day after you arrived, I had a brief amount of time to myself, which I used to walk on the outskirts of the valley. Suddenly he appeared at my side, as if out of nowhere, and followed me back into Rivendell." He paused to pat the stallion's side. "I have been to the stables of Rohan multiple times," he mused, "Never before have I seen this horse."

Maethoriel frowned. "But the tack.." she murmured.

"Exactly. It was a most strange meeting – I did not hear him approach; it was as if he just... appeared."

Maethoriel turned her bewildered expression to the horse. "Where did you come from?" she asked quietly, stroking his neck still. The stallion snorted and nodded his head several times. Maethoriel glanced at the sky, and when the horse went quiet, she suddenly understood. "Rhovanion sent you, didn't he?" she asked, smiling. The stallion gently nudged the side of her head in reply.

"Rhovanion of the Wild?" Gandalf clarified.

"Yes," she nodded. "He often sends steeds to emberlings in need of them."

"How?"

"Only he and his children know the answer to that, Gandalf. It is a dangerous aspect of the Stars; he has the ability to summon all kinds of creatures."

"I thought that stars did not have powers?" Gandalf frowned.

"We thought so too. However he came across this ability, we do not question, because it is not our place to do so."

He nodded thoughtfully and looked back at the stallion. "Do you know this horse?"

"If the stories are anything to go by, this may be one of Rhovanion's favourite steeds," she replied. "I believe his name is Sadron." The stallion snorted again and nuzzled her cheek, his warm breath tickling her smooth skin. Maethoriel grinned and looked up at the Night Sky. "You have my thanks, friend," she said.

In the comfortable silence that followed, Gandalf looked to Rivendell. "There are only a few hours left before dawn. It would be wise to set out now, while you can."

Maethoriel nodded and grasped his shoulder. "You have done me a great service this night, Mithrandir. I give you my most sincere thanks."

"You are most welcome," he replied, tilting his head respectively. "May Sadron bare you swiftly back to us, and may good fortune meet you on your quest."

"I will return as soon as I can," she promised, mounting Sadron with ease and grace. She looked down at Gandalf. "Until we next meet, wise one." With a kick to Sadron's sides, they lunged forward and were engulfed by the darkness around them.

Maethoriel had been searching the lands with her faithful companion for two weeks and three days, and still nothing could be found. The Black Riders seemed to have fled from that part of the world after they lost their steeds in the flood, and as she travelled further south she still could not find a recent trace of them. She met other travellers on the road who claimed they had seen cloaked figures passing through the wilderness at night; but that had been more than a week beforehand, so she assumed that the Riders had returned to their master, empty handed. She was no stranger to witnessing horrors; but, still, she did not want to imagine what was waiting for the Riders in that cruel, dark land.

For many long days and cautious nights they travelled southwards alongside the Misty Mountains, heading for the Gap of Rohan. Not only did Maethoriel have to watch for enemies; but she also had to ensure that none of her allies would chance upon her and insist for her to return to Rivendell. For a long time she remained cautious, until they came closer and closer to the land of Rohan, and then she became suspicious.

She knew from what her father had told her that Théoden had been possessed by Saruman, and so the King's land was susceptible to attack from the wizard's forces. The thought of thousands of innocent, defenceless families, unprotected by the one sworn to protect them, made Maethoriel incredibly uneasy and desperate to act. She longed to scour the lands and rid them of any foul being sent to destroy the people of Rohan; but her purpose was not to save one people – it was to save a World from decay and ruin. Her mind and heart fought on a daily basis, which served as distracting and irritating, therefore lessening her awareness of her surroundings.

One day, as it progressed into evening, Maethoriel and Sadron were standing individually by a small stream. They had been travelling for hours already, and had decided to take a well-deserved break to hydrate themselves. The amount of travellers was dwindling the closer they got to Rohan, which did nothing to quell the battle raging within Maethoriel's mind. She knelt on the muddy ground beside the stream and lay her hands in the bubbling water, feeling the cold seep through her skin into her bones. She wondered at how many families were forced to live in the wilderness as she was at that moment, and focused on the water rushing beneath her as if it would bring her an answer.

All she saw, however, was her own reflection. Her long black hair had been pulled into a pleat that ran down her back, and her smooth skin was dirtied from the amount of travelling they had done. Her mind drifted to what Legolas had said to her about her apparent beauty, and she frowned at herself. As far as she could see, there was nothing special there – save for the fact that she was an Emberling. And if she was nothing special, then how was she to ensure both Aragorn's survival, and the Ring's destruction? She had never been on a quest of her own before, and if she had ever left the Night Sky, it was never for anything incredibly dangerous, as she knew this was. She could die at any moment – right then and there next to that stream; perhaps the next day as she stopped to study a flower; or even the very last day of their quest, when all failed, or just she failed.

She did not know whether this thought strengthened her or weakened her.

Suddenly behind her she could hear several sets of heavy footfalls. She stood and whirled around, retrieving her bow and positioning an arrow. For a tense moment she waited, listening to the sounds of the footsteps and her own heart beating rapidly within her chest. Her wide, alert eyes darted around her surroundings, looking between and within trees for whoever might have been approaching her.

Then she saw them – a group of orcs trampling through the trees towards her. The leader's gaze had just landed on her, and its mouth opened to yell; but her arrow sailed and embedded itself within its neck, impeding it from doing so. The orcs stopped and scrambled for cover, shouting and yelling about their leader as she let loose a few more arrows, each of which hitting their mark with power and precision. As she went to get another arrow, there was another shout and the group burst out from the tree line, barrelling towards her.

She slid her bow onto her back again and took out her dagger and tomahawk, holding one in each hand as she readied herself for their attack. The first came at her, raising its weapon high above its head with a mighty battle cry. She dodged to the side as the weapon came down, and swung her tomahawk into the orc's back, pulling it towards her so she could stab her dagger into its throat. She ducked the next attack and hacked at the orc's legs, bringing it down to the ground where she stabbed it in the chest. Rolling forward out of the way, she heard the thump of another weapon hitting the ground where she had just been, and embedded her tomahawk within the orc in front of her, plunging her dagger into its stomach.

A rough, slimy hand gripped the back of her cloak when she stood up and threw her backwards, causing her to fall on her back. As the orc rushed at her, she kicked her leg up and knocked its weapon out of its hand, springing up again to dodge its lunge for her. With one downwards stroke, she chopped the orc's forearm off, and it let out a deafening yell, which she soon silenced.

There were only three orcs left, surrounding her with menacing snarls. Two sprung forward at the same time, stabbing at her. She blocked one with her tomahawk and spun to dodge the other, kicking one of the orcs' backs so that it collided into the other's chest and knocked it over. She raised her dagger above her head to block the downwards stroke of the third orc and slashed its stomach with her dagger, causing it to double over in pain, exposing its back. She brought her tomahawk down upon the bare skin and sent him to the ground, limp.

She turned to see one of the other orcs rushing at her, its companion lying on the ground with a gash in its shoulder – she assumed it was from when they fell together. Before she could react, a set of black hooves lashed out and hit the orc in the chest, sending it flying backwards. She threw her dagger into its chest and then moved to the last survivor, placing her tomahawk at its neck to stop it from moving.

The ugly creature looked up at her with pure rage and loathing over the loss of its group. She eyed him without pity and made a split-second decision. "Where are the Black Riders?"

Confusion contorted its features. "They are Sauron's servants," it growled. "I serve Saruman."

She pressed the blade of her tomahawk harder against its neck. "Where are they?"

"I don't know!" it snapped.

She sighed angrily, and ended its suffering.

She stood and walked to the orc behind her, removing her dagger from its chest. Her weapons were dripping with the blood of her enemies, and she had an unpleasant taste in her mouth from looking at them; but a quick wash in the stream fixed that problem and she turned to look at Sadron. He gazed at her almost knowingly, and nudged her upper arm when she approached him, inducing a dull throb of pain. Looking down, she saw that there was a minor gash in her skin.

She spared a moment to pat his neck, murmuring a thanks, before she went back to the stream to wash her wound. The action caused her much pain; but she knew that she would most likely be faced with wounds just as bad, or worse, than that in the days, weeks, and months to come, so she soldiered through it and kept her reactions to a minimum. Once it was clean, she ripped a piece of her tunic off and tied it around her wound, making sure it was tight enough before she mounted Sadron.

"It will be too dangerous to travel further into Rohan with packs of orcs roaming the land," she said to him, running her fingers through his mane. "And we have nothing on the Black Riders." She looked down at the scene of carnage laid out beside her – the lifeless orcs strewn across the blood-stained grass, staring upwards with unseeing eyes. It made her uneasy, to see such death and pain; but she knew it was the right thing to do. Killing those orcs meant that the lives of several families would continue for a little while longer. "Let us return to Rivendell," she said. Sadron set off at a brisk pace, eager to get away from the disturbing scene.

Maethoriel hoped that her wound would heal in time, so that Elrond would not have more reason to chastise her.

So hopefully that wasn't too disappointing, considering how long y'all had to wait for it... I really am so bloody sorry about how long you had to wait; and to make things worse, shits getting even more intense at school:( I'll try my very best to get new chapters out to you when I can, but I'm afraid you're gonna have to wait a while with this story. I mean, you would anyway cause there are three bits to it, but you know what I mean.

If you could review and tell me what you think, that would be amazing. I need to know if I've still got this whole 'writing a fanfic' thing going on, or if my writing's gone to shit.