Author Note: Welcome to my first ever post! I'm not new to writing fanfictions or stories by any stretch, but I am new to posting them for an audience. I would love to know thoughts and feelings in regards to the story and suggestions are welcome - given that they are constructive and not destructive, please! I will do my best to post new chapters every other week on Saturdays for those of you interested enough to follow along. To be frank, this story is both a creative outlet and an exercise in accountability, but if someone else can get enjoyment out of it, why not?

Disclaimer #1: I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or base plot, only the characters that I create, such as our leading lady, Sifrïda.

Disclaimer #2: This story is rated M for later chapters. If that's not your thing, be advised that you read at your own risk.

Enjoy!

Prologue

Her village was burning. There was no one left alive that she could find and there were tracks through the tall grass from those few who had been able to flee.

She had been out in the far pastures, tending the livestock; her ewe was very close to giving birth to her first lamb and she had been so excited for her as she had traveled across the plains with the flock. Then she looked up to see thick, black smoke in the distance, and she knew that something was terribly wrong. Her heart had dropped. Leaving the flock in the care of her wolfhound, Frár, Sifrïda had raced back along the plains on the back of her family's horse, Drȳgja, pleading with the Valar that her family was safe and had fled before the attack. Or in the least that she would get there in time to be of aid. She was devastated to find near to nothing left.

Dismounting from Drȳgja's towering back, Sifrïda took halting steps toward what was left of her family home; it was in no better shape than the rest of the burning cottages that made up her village. She dropped to her knees feet away from the still smoldering embers, her body felt hollow - as if her very soul had flown from her in its grief. She could not believe her eyes, her heart was broken and her mind ceased to process what was in front of her. She could not cry out for fear of the arsonists' return. She could tell from the lingering stench and seemingly mindless destruction that it had been orcs that had attacked her home. She knew there was little time to linger in her sorrow, they could return at any time to check for survivors.

With tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, Sifrïda reached for Drȳgja - she had been ill at ease and nudging Sifrïda's shoulder to leave this place since she had fallen. With her arms around the horse's neck, she pulled herself up to stand on trembling legs and had to take a moment to press her face against Drȳgja's broad shoulder to steady herself. As her legs regained some strength, she took deep breaths and her spine visibly straightened as she pulled herself together. Her family would not want her to lose her own life or will in the face of their passing. She would be strong for them. She would live on for them. And she would not shirk her responsibilities or duty to her lord and land. She steeled herself and mounted Drȳgja once more, determined to return to her flock and her dog and deliver them to safety. There would be time to mourn later.

Sifrïda urged Drȳgja into a gallop, racing back to the far pastures where she had left her charges. She breathed a long sigh of relief to find them unharmed, grazing peacefully as she had left them. She was thankful the fields were downwind of the village and out of sight behind rolling hills - the orcs had not caught their scent. Whistling sharply, she called Frár to her side, the great beast bounding through the tall grass as he obeyed. He was well trained, as was her sweet Drȳgja, the only family she had left in the world now. She shook her head, there was not enough time to dwell on her loss, she would need to move quickly if she were to reach the safety of Edoras with all of her animals alive. With another whistle and a sharp command to Frár to follow, she began to long and arduous task of leading her flock toward the home of the king. The sun was making its descent across the sky; she would ride as far as she could south along the river Entwash until nightfall and again in the days after until she reached the river Snowbourn, then make her way west upon its crossing and hope she would not be spotted in the nights to come.