Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess
Chapter X: In the Company of Rangers of the North
Tharbad, 2940 TA, November 29
As night fell, Xena settled in near the edges of the mysterious Forest of Fangorn, its dark silhouette looming in the distance. Despite the lack of stories or tales explicitly warning against the forest, an ominous air surrounded it, whispering ancient secrets and veiled warnings that made even a seasoned warrior like Xena wary. As she sat by the crackling fire, its flames dancing in the twilight, she contemplated her next move. The map she possessed was proving insufficient in unraveling the intricacies of this realm. It was clear she needed more than just geographical knowledge; she needed the lore, the stories, and the whispers carried by the wind to truly navigate these lands.
The forest remained an enigma, its depths shrouded in mystery. Though her instincts urged caution, the adventurer within her thirsted for knowledge and discovery. The decision not to tread into the Forest of Fangorn, a place resonating with unknown dangers, lay at the cusp of her thoughts.
As the night deepened, the forest loomed over Xena's small campsite, its canopy casting an eerie shadow over her makeshift shelter. The silence was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant hoot of an owl. Xena lay awake, her senses on high alert, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts.
As dawn painted the horizon in hues of gold, Xena extinguished the fire, readying herself to depart. The forest's looming presence lingered, a silent guardian of untold stories and unforeseen dangers. With a last glance toward the depths of Fangorn, she mounted Swiftwind, her resolve unwavering, yet a lingering sense of foreboding guiding her decision to skip the forest for now.
As dawn broke over the horizon, Xena stood at the edge of the Fords of Isen, the river's murmurs echoing in the crisp November air. The map she possessed indicated this as the next waypoint, a pivotal crossing in her journey through this unfamiliar realm. Yet, the river that lay before her was a testament to nature's might, its waters swollen and swift from the seasonal rains and snowmelt.
Swiftwind, her trusted companion, pawed the ground, sensing the challenge ahead. The aging mare, though weathered by time, bore an undeniable resilience, a testament to their shared adventures. Xena gazed across the churning waters, assessing the challenge that lay ahead—a river that could either become a passage or a formidable barrier.
The landscape surrounding the Fords of Isen was a fusion of rugged beauty and untamed wilderness. The river's banks were adorned with golden-hued foliage, a stark contrast against the frothing currents that carved their way through the land. The distant peaks of the surrounding mountains loomed like sentinels, their snow-capped tips hinting at the harshness of the forthcoming winter.
With careful consideration, Xena began preparations for the crossing. She gathered supplies, ensuring their secure fastening to Swiftwind's saddle, knowing well the need for caution in traversing the swelling waters. The horse, sensing her purpose, stood resolute, a silent ally in the impending challenge.
As they stepped into the river, the water's chill embraced their legs, the current tugging at their every step. The Fords of Isen, usually a shallow crossing in the summer, had transformed into a formidable obstacle in the late autumn. The river's flow was relentless, its force testing its resolve with each advancing step.
Swiftwind waded through the rising waters, her aging frame a testament to strength and endurance. Xena guided her carefully, every movement calculated to navigate the treacherous currents. The riverbed shifted beneath their feet, stones polished by the relentless flow offering precarious footholds.
The air filled with the sounds of rushing water, mingled with the rhythmic beat of hooves and the occasional splash as they pressed onward. Xena's senses were heightened, attuned to every change in the river's temperament—a rising swell, a sudden eddy, or the shifting of submerged obstacles.
The river surged, its depths concealing the perils beneath. Swiftwind strained against the flow, her muscles taut with effort as she forged through the challenging currents. Xena's focus remained unwavering, her connection with the horse guiding them both through the tumultuous waters.
They emerged on the opposite bank, the rush of accomplishment mingling with the relief of a safe passage. The Fords of Isen had been conquered, a testament to their resilience and determination against nature's trials.
As they continued their journey along the North-South Road toward Tharbad, the landscape gradually transformed. The terrain shifted from the untamed wilderness to a more structured path, marked by remnants of an ancient civilization. The road, weathered by time, bore traces of an era long past, its cobblestones hinting at the bustling trade routes that once connected these lands.
The scent of impending winter lingered in the air, a subtle chill that heralded the changing seasons. Along the road, ruins of old waystations and crumbling structures whispered tales of a bygone era, their silent echoes resonating over time.
Tharbad, once a thriving city of trade and commerce, now stood as a shadow of its former glory. The river Greyflood, spanning the breadth of the city, had long relinquished its role as a bustling thoroughfare, its bridges crumbling and its quaysides in disrepair. The once vibrant hub of civilization now lay quiet, its streets deserted, a testament to the ebb and flow of history's tides.
As Xena approached the outskirts of Tharbad, the city's dilapidated walls came into view, their weathered stones bearing the weight of forgotten tales and lost opportunities. The river, now a mere reminder of former grandeur, flowed silently beneath the ruins of once-magnificent bridges, carrying with it the echoes of a city that had witnessed both glory and downfall.
With each hoofbeat echoing in the desolate streets, Xena rode into the heart of Tharbad, her eyes scanning the abandoned thoroughfares and crumbling structures. The city's melancholic aura whispered of a past rich in tales and endeavors, now relegated to the annals of history.
Amidst the ruins, she sought answers, determined to uncover the truths veiled by time and neglect. Tharbad, a relic of a forgotten era, held secrets that might offer clues to the realm's mysteries—a city teeming with stories waiting to be unearthed, a tapestry of forgotten lore waiting for a curious explorer to unravel its threads.
As Xena rode along the ruins of Tharbad, a haunting silence enveloped the landscape. The absence of life stirred a sense of unease, casting an eerie veil over the path. Time passed without encountering a soul, the desolation punctuated only by the rhythmic cadence of Swiftwind's hooves against the weathered road. Unbeknownst to Xena, the rarity of travelers along this forgotten route had turned it into a clandestine thoroughfare for the nefarious—the Ringwraiths, Sauron's agents, and lurking orcs sought the solitude of this forgotten path to carry out their clandestine missions.
The map Xena possessed, though a guiding beacon in her journey, bore the markings of an era long past, a testament to the shifting landscapes of time. Its depiction of the North-South Road didn't align with the current state of affairs, leading her unwittingly into a perilous terrain fraught with hidden dangers. The city's ruins hinted at tales buried beneath the layers of decay, a silent testimony to the history this forgotten land harbored.
Deciding to pause and allow Swiftwind a moment's rest, Xena sought shelter within the remnants of a crumbling structure. The ruins, though devoid of life, offered a fleeting sanctuary amidst the desolation. As she surveyed the surroundings, the air seemed to whisper ancient secrets, coaxing her to explore the vestiges of a bygone era.
It was then that the faint echo of distant sounds pricked her senses. A subtle rustle in the air, the shuffle of distant footsteps—too soft for human ears to discern. Swiftwind, sensing her rider's unease, stood alert, her ears flicking toward the direction of the elusive sounds.
With a hushed command, Xena beckoned Swiftwind to remain concealed within the shelter. Curiosity mingled with caution as she ventured forth, her steps deliberate and silent, guided by instinct honed through countless battles.
However, the calmness shattered as an unexpected onslaught emerged—a horde of brutish orcs, numbering between 20 to 30, materialized from the shadows. Their guttural cries pierced the air, a cacophony of aggression that shattered the stillness of the ruins.
Xena's heart quickened as she faced the menacing horde, her senses reeling at the sight of these grotesque creatures. Their twisted, malformed figures, draped in tattered armor and wielding crude weapons, bore a visage that stirred a primal instinct within her—a visceral reaction to the unknown and the grotesque.
The confusion that swept over her was palpable, an unspoken bewilderment as she confronted the sight of orcs for the first time. Their grotesque appearance and savage demeanor stood in stark contrast to any adversary she had faced in her own world.
Yet, amidst the initial shock, her warrior's instincts surged forth, drawing upon her honed combat prowess. With a swift motion, she unsheathed her sword, the steel gleaming in the subdued light. The clang of metal against metal reverberated through the ruins as the skirmish ensued—a dance of blades and fury amidst the desolate backdrop.
Xena's movements were a symphony of grace and precision, each strike calculated, each parry a testament to her prowess. She maneuvered with agility, her combat skills unmatched, despite the unnerving novelty of her adversaries. The orcs, driven by ferocity and bloodlust, surged forward in a frenzied assault. Their crude weapons clashed against Xena's sword, the clash of steel resonating amidst the chaos of battle.
Despite her initial bewilderment, Xena's focus remained unwavering. She pivoted and spun, her blade finding its mark with calculated accuracy. Her agility and mastery of combat allowed her to anticipate the orcs' brutish attacks.
Swiftwind, sensing her rider's plight, neighed in solidarity from her shelter, a testament to their unspoken bond. As Xena fought with unwavering determination, her confusion gave way to a fierce resolve—a warrior's grit and resilience against the grotesque tide of adversaries.
The skirmish unfolded amidst the ruins, the clash of battle a testament to the clash between darkness and valor. Each strike, each parry, carried a weight of uncertainty, a confrontation with an unknown adversary that tested not just her combat skills but her resolve in a realm where ancient evils lurked within the shadows.
In the heart of the chaotic skirmish, Xena wielded her chakram with a fluidity that bordered on an art form. Her acrobatic prowess came to the fore as she somersaulted and spun, the lethal ring of steel becoming an extension of her relentless onslaught. The resounding clang of her weapon echoed amidst the ruins, drawing the attention of her adversaries.
The orcs, though formidable, struggled to anticipate her swift moves. Yet, the relentless horde proved to be a formidable challenge. Seven of their number had already met their demise at the hands of Xena's lethal prowess, but the remainder of the savage assailants refused to yield.
As she deftly parried the simultaneous strikes from two orcs, the air hummed with tension. Swift reflexes guided her in splitting her chakram, employing its halves to deflect the relentless assaults. But amidst the chaotic dance of battle, an unforeseen threat loomed—an orc poised to strike from behind.
In the fleeting moment before the impending blow, a sudden glint of metal flashed through the air, hurtling towards the unsuspecting orc. A dagger, propelled with precise accuracy, found its mark, felling the assailant mere inches away from Xena's vulnerable position.
Surprised and momentarily disoriented, Xena turned, her eyes falling upon the hooded figure who had intervened with such deadly precision. The chaos of battle swirled around her as she registered the unexpected ally. With a faint smile of acknowledgment, she refocused her attention on the remaining adversaries.
From the remnants of the ruins emerged a cohort of cloaked figures, their attire shrouded in black. Their movements were fluid, their combat skills a testament to their expertise. Though unfamiliar to Xena, their seamless coordination and expert moves bespoke a history steeped in combat and discipline.
With a synchronized grace, these enigmatic warriors joined the fray, their actions precise and calculated. Side by side, they clashed with the remaining orcs, their collective prowess a symphony of lethal strikes and tactical finesse. The orcs, caught off guard by this unforeseen alliance, found themselves outmatched against the combined might of Xena and her newfound allies.
The battle raged on, but with each coordinated assault, the tide turned decisively in favor of the unified force. Despite the ferocity of the orcs, they proved no match for the combined skill and strategy displayed by Xena and the hooded warriors. Slowly but steadily, the assailants fell, their grotesque figures succumbing to the relentless onslaught of the unified front.
Through the haze of battle, Xena fought with unwavering determination, her agility and combat prowess lending a crucial edge to the conflict. Though a few scratches marred her otherwise unyielding facade, her resolve remained unshaken amidst the chaos.
As the final orc met its demise, the echoes of battle subsided, the ruins once again returning to a haunting silence. Amidst the remnants of the confrontation, Xena turned her attention to the enigmatic figures who had intervened, her gaze inquisitive yet guarded, silently acknowledging their unexpected assistance.
Xena's eyes flickered across the hooded figures, noting their guarded demeanor and the underlying tension in their exchange. She maintained a respectful distance, wariness intermingled with curiosity as she observed their cautious interaction. Not only was Xena taken aback, but the five hooded men seemed equally surprised to encounter a lone woman traversing these remote lands, especially one displaying such evident skill in combat.
"Thanks," Xena spoke first, maintaining a cautious distance as she observed the mysterious figures. "What are these?"
The man positioned at the center spoke curtly, his features still obscured by the hood. "Those are Orcs, My lady," he responded tersely, his words clipped and tinged with a hint of concealed anger. He seemed perplexed by Xena's lack of familiarity with the creatures, considering her evident prowess in battle.
"Orcs," she echoed, acknowledging the identity of their fallen adversaries with a faint nod. Their brevity in speech and the air of urgency that enveloped their conversation hinted at a pressing mission, one that urged them to keep moving.
"Arapher, we cannot linger; we have to move on," one of the other hooded figures interjected, causing Arapher to shoot a disapproving glance at his companion for divulging his name to a stranger.
Her gaze darted between the hooded figures, trying to glean any information from their stance or demeanor, yet their faces remained shrouded, their identities concealed beneath the dark hoods.
The man in the center, whose brief response revealed a hint of frustration or agitation, appeared to hold authority among the group. His curt manner and guarded tone hinted at a reluctance to engage further. The mention of his name, Arapher, slipped from the lips of one of his companions, eliciting a flicker of irritation across his concealed visage.
Recognizing the tension that lingered among them, Xena opted not to probe further into their affairs. Instead, she maintained a respectful silence, gauging the subtle dynamics unfolding within the group. The urgency in their demeanor suggested that lingering in conversation was not an option they entertained.
Arapher motioned for his companion to hold on, pivoting to face Xena. The sight of a solitary, skilled warrior navigating these lands alone concerned him. "Are you traveling on your own, my lady?" he inquired, his tone guarded yet genuinely curious.
Xena nodded, indicating her horse. "Yes, I am. I'm not well-versed in these lands," she admitted candidly. "Just Xena," she added, correcting any formality.
"We are rangers of the North. I am Arapher, and these four are my companions. We travel together," he explained, the revelation of their identity met with Xena's admission of unfamiliarity.
Her honest response left the men slightly baffled. While the Rangers of the North weren't universally known, tales of their existence often circulated in Middle Earth.
"Why are you here? What are you seeking?" Arapher inquired, trying to discern her intentions.
"I'm merely exploring the lands. I'm not from around here," Xena replied simply.
"Would you care to travel with us? This road isn't safe. We're heading to Bree, the nearest town where you can find aid and continue your journey," Arapher proposed, cautious yet unwilling to abandon a lady in these perilous wilds.
Xena readily agreed, acknowledging her lack of knowledge about these places. Additionally, the men seemed well-informed, a factor that piqued her curiosity. Traveling with them offered an opportunity to glean insights into the region and possibly learn more about the enigmatic Rangers of the North until they reached Bree.
As they mounted their horses and set off from Tharbad, the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves echoed against the stillness of the landscape. Xena rode alongside Arapher, the subtle curiosity in her gaze indicating a desire to learn more about their surroundings.
"So," she began, breaking the quiet ambiance. "What can you tell me about Tharbad? It seems like there's quite a history here."
Arapher glanced at her briefly before focusing on the path ahead. "Tharbad was once a thriving city, a significant hub of trade and culture. Its roots trace back to the days of Gondor, built on the crossing of two major rivers, Gwathló and Greyflood. But time has not been kind to it. The city fell into ruin after the Great Plague and the damage caused by floods and wars."
Xena listened intently, her curiosity evident. "And the Rangers of the North, you mentioned them earlier. What's your story?"
Arapher's expression softened a touch as he spoke of their order. "We are the descendants of the Dúnedain, tasked with guarding these lands against the shadow that looms over Middle Earth. We keep watch, protect the innocent, and gather information about the movements of evil forces."
"Evil forces like those orcs we encountered?" Xena questioned, recalling the recent skirmish.
"Indeed," Arapher affirmed. "Orcs, and worse. The darkness that threatens these lands takes many forms."
The conversation continued as their horses carried them closer to Bree. Arapher shared tales of the Rangers' valorous deeds and the struggles against the encroaching darkness. Xena, in turn, asked questions, her thirst for knowledge evident as she absorbed the rich tapestry of history and lore woven into the lands they traversed.
Their journey became a blending of exchange—of stories, knowledge, and mutual understanding. As the day waned and the outline of Bree appeared on the horizon, the camaraderie between Xena and the Rangers had grown, forged through shared experiences mutual respect skills, and resilience.
As dusk painted the sky in hues of orange and gold, the Rangers skillfully set up camp near the outskirts of Bree. With practiced ease, they made soft beds, kindled a crackling fire, and prepared a simple yet hearty meal from the day's hunt.
The aroma of roasted meat mingled with the smoky scent of the fire, enticing everyone to gather around the warm glow. It was here, amidst the comforting dance of flames, that Arapher finally dropped his hood, revealing a countenance marked by wisdom and resilience earned through countless journeys.
"Bree," Arapher began, his voice carrying the weight of concern, "it's a sanctuary nestled between the Shire and the Old Forest. Usually, it's a calm haven for travelers of various races. But the times are changing, and the peace we once knew seems to be faltering."
Xena listened intently as Arapher delved into the growing dangers lurking around Bree, the increasing presence of orcs, and the unsettling shifts in Erebor. The information was new to her, but she absorbed it with a nod, acknowledging the gravity of the situation.
"We travel independently," Arapher continued, clarifying their stance. "But if you find yourself in need in Bree, mention my name, and aid will be extended. You won't be entirely alone."
The notion of support eased Xena's uncertainties, and she silently thanked him with a nod. Yet, curiosity still danced in her eyes as she sought further understanding. "What happened in Erebor?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar term.
Another ranger, chiming in, shared insights about Erebor, the reclaiming by dwarves, the rebuilding of Dale by humans, and the efforts of the elves in Mirkwood. The complexities of these lands, the races, and their alliances painted a tapestry of tales that intrigued Xena, though much remained shrouded in mystery.
That night, as the embers of the fire slowly dimmed, Xena refrained from delving deeper into the intricate histories. The names and races sounded alien to her, yet she knew these were threads waiting to be unraveled in her journey across these lands. With a quiet resolve, she nestled into her thoughts, understanding that her path was one of discovery and exploration, where every encounter would reveal a new piece of the intricate tapestry of Middle Earth.
((Upcoming Chapter Eleven))
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