Desperate Cry

Right, this is my first more-or-less serious attempt at fanfic. Reviews are welcome but please bare this in mind and cut me some slack!!
Disclaimer: ofcourse I don't own copyright or whatever. Duh.
I've borrowed a little from the book, translating frutchutch to English as best I could so there may be slight differences. These lines are marked with [these].


She came walking out of the forest, easily, despite the heavy bags on her back. She was a tall young woman of seemingly twenty-five years old with clear green eyes and golden-brown hair that formed a thick, gleaming mass falling to her waist. Dressed in boots, tight trousers, a white linen laced blouse and a long leather coat over all, none of the weapons she carried were spotted at first sight. Two short swords were hidden in their sheaths on her back, crossed, an adorned dagger rested in the sheath on her right boot, and a second dagger hung around her waist. The only thing clearly visible was the bow she carried and the bunch of arrows on her back. Despite the heavy load, she walked with a straight back, her posture and her long powerful strides reminding those who saw – which were none until now, and she was anxiously looking out for anyone – of a battle queen of ages past, yet a tragic one. Her eyes were swollen and sore, since she had been crying so much the tears had stopped coming. Her gaze was panic-stricken and frantic.

Coming out of the forest, all she saw was beautiful and peaceful meadows all around in a hilly and rocky landscape, the familiar land surrounding her fathers house. The ais cls cleaner than any she’d ever smelled; nature seemed immense and immaculate and soothing to her. Her frantic panting calmed down as she walked on in an easier pace towards where the sun would set, about an hour from now. She didn’t see the small group of people of varying height until they wjustjust quarter of a mile from her, because they had been walking up a hill and now came to its top. The sight of people – any people - came as a relief, she hurried towards them, thinking ‘if I could only get to these people, I will be safe’ and she took large strides towards them, almost running in her despair. When she thought they should be able to see her, she started waving to make herself be seen. At last one of them, a blond young fellow, noticed her and pointed her out to the others. They altered their direction and walked straight towards her now, so that they came within hearing range of each other soon.

“Hello! I wish your fellowship a good morning!”, she shouted, unable to keep the tremor from her voice, as they came closer. None seemed happy to see a stranger, least of all the tall dark haired man that seemed to be their leader. Her despair, gone so swiftly at the sight of a group of people, came back and deepened.

“Good morning to you too, lady”, he replied.

“Could you perchance grant me the pleasure of letting me walk a distance with you?” She and the dark-haired man now stood a few feet from each other and something in his eyes told her he had an important errand, he and the two that followed, and he seemed determined to turn her down. Fear put an ice cold hand around her heart, fear that she would be alone again, and the orcs would come back. Distressed, she begged him with her eyes and continued. “I would join you if permitted, for it is always better to travel in company than alone.” A trembling sigh betrayed her building panic.

The man in front of her frowned and said, “I can see you are in great distress. What, might I ask, is the reason of your travelling alone? For these fair lands too are no longer safe.”

She hesitated. Visions came back to her, visions of her brothers and her father lying dead on the floor in her fathers house and on the ground outside.

At a gesture the other two behind him put down their packs and relaxed. She and the kind man walked a few steps away from them, and he bid her tell her story. Shivering, she obeyed and told how she had woken up in the middle of the night, in the attic above the stables, a severe thumping pain in the back of her head, blood on the hand that explored it. She had jumped up when memory came back, of her eldest brother coming running down the path, shouting warnings of orcs coming. When she saw them, moments later, at least two dozen of the hideous creatures, she turned to fetch her sword, used only in good-hearted practice with her brothers, but felt a hard blow to her head. Her youngest brother had knocked her unconscious and hid her where she would be safe, and as she crawled out of the little space above the stables, her heart thudded loudly with agony; the only sound that reached her ears. It was silent all around. Too silent.

When she saw the body of her father, she gasped and ran to it, falling to her knees. “No!”, she breathed, all blood drained from her face as she threw herself upon his dead body, still warm. She sobbed over his beloved form, her dear brave father, dead now, his sword an inch from his hand, a dead orc lying at his feet. Outside she found the remains of her three brothers, slain and maimed, as well as a number of orcs, heads and limbs hacked off. She stepped closer to the bodies of her brothers. When she saw half of a leg was torn off and cast aside, she nearly fainted. When she saw what seemed to be teeth marks on the remains of the torn-off leg, she fell to her knees and threw up, tears mixing with vomit. She couldn’t even remember packing her weapons and food for a few days’ travel, she said to the man that was patientlytenitening. All she remembered was fear, for she knew the surviving orcs couldn’t be far yet. Her three hour walk through the forest was like a nightmare. Then, to her great relief, she had come upon the three travellers and she was desperate for their company.

“You must, you must let me come with you..!”, she begged.

The handsome man in front of her looked to the ground, then answered. “Indeed it is better to travel in company, certainly for a young lady such as yourself, and I understand your needs. Yet we are on an urgent errand and have time nor means to chat idly, or to take others with us.”

She straightened her back and he seemed to notice, with surprise, that she was as tall as he. “I do not come to your fellowship with empty hands, stranger. I bring with me my own supplies as well as useful skills at gathering and healing. I have keen ears and profound sight, also in the dark.”

The man in front of her seemed to give iBecaBecause these are dark times, and because you have been stricken by a tragedy, you may travel with us a short way. Bur eur errand is important and our pace fast. We will not slow down, not for you, not for rest, at least not until sunset.”

Thankfully she smiled. “I owe you my gratitude. You will find I will not slow you down.”

He smiled at this, and resumed walking, then switched to fast, large-paced running.Then he spoke again: “If we are to travel together, let us introduce ourselves and be strangers no longer. I am Aragorn.”

He said no more, no family name or that of the city or country he was from, but she sensed there was plenty to be known about this man. He seemed burdened with a treacherous fate and tragedy had left its marks on his face. All in all, she was very much taken with this man. “My name is Elfhild.” She looked over her shoulder at the two silent figures behind them. “A varied company you have here, Aragorn.” Indeed. One normal man, one of which she assumed was a dwarf, by his posture and enormous beard, and one that seemed regular, but had something over him she couldn’t define, until she noticed his elegantly pointed ears and realised in awe that this must be an elf. She had not seen one since her early childhood, when two elves came to call in her fathers house, making an enormous impression on a seven-year-old girl.

Aragorn was gentlemanly but silent, and after a while she slowed her pace and caught up with the others. She could not help but stare at the elf, almost feeling unworthy of roaming in the presence of such a splendid creature. It was clear there was a warm friendship between the elf and the dwarf, however unlikely. “It must be a special errand to bring such a company together”, she started to the dwarf, not daring just yet to speak directly to the elf
.
Instantly his face darkened. “It is, and the most urgent as well. We are in search of a large band of orcs. They have taken two of our friends and members of our company.”

She turned, empathising. “Oh no! My heart goes out to you, who follow them on such a hopeless quest.” She shook her head in grief. “Orcs leave none alive, at least none they can find.” Gimli was about to respond to this assumption, but then she nearly bumped into Aragorn when he suddenly stopped and went down on one knee, fingers on the soil, studying. She saw he was studying the tracks, tracks made by many thundering feet.

[“At last!”, he said. “Here are the tracks we’ve been looking for. Following this water stream goes the way the orcs have followed since their fight.” ]

Spotting their prey (a large group of dark forms only the elf could see) they resumed their trek and ran swiftly, jumping from stone to stone. Elfhild had no difficulty keeping up with them, at least not during the first couple of hours. When Aragorn finally stopped she dropped down on the spot and sat there, trying to catch her breath after all those miles of running. When she looked up, she saw the three were standing together, looking at some small thing Aragorn held up for them to see. Curious, though only partly recovered, she got up to take a look. It was a pretty pin, shaped to resemble a tree leaf, glistening and beautiful to behold.

The simultaneous outcry of Legolas and Gimli clearly showed they recognised the gem. Elfhild derived, from the short discussion that followed, that the pin came from an elfish cloak, which had been given to the two halflings (whatever those were) in the infamous realm of the Lady of the Wood. Even Elfhild had heard of the wood and its ill-reputed rulers. Yet the two halflings they were searching for (indeed their whole companionship, which at the time had included several more members) had clearly been there and survived.

A short moment later they were on the run again, following Aragorn, who had the greatest tracking abilities she’d ever seen. With hope in her tired heart she watched the sun slowly setting, assuming the darkness would bring rest. The sun went under the horizon and still they ran. It was not until it was completely dark that Aragorn finally stopped them. Elfhild remained standing this time, for dignity’s sake, panting and resting her hands on her thighs as she listened to the hunters debate. It seemed they were divided between continuing their pursuit or taking their needed rest. Although they had eaten along the way, slowing their swiftly running to fast big-paced striding for a short time, Elfhild longed for a good warm meal and a nights rest.

As her heart finally slowed down and her breathing was slower, she sank down a few steps away from the others and the realisation hit her, of her father dead, her brothers dead. There was no one now she could turn to; they had been her only relatives. She was utterly alone. Never more would there be the good warm meals in the dining hall, with her brothers laughing and joking among good food and light and heat from candles and the great fire. Softly she sobbed, trying to keep quiet, until the elf urged her to come closer. Hoping they wouldn’t see she’d been crying, she sat down near the dwarf and saw that Aragorn was already fast asleep, lying on the coldl usl using his cloak for a blanket. Elfhild was comforted just by sharing their company, and got out some food. For a while they sat eating from their own supplies and hers, and she spent this time listening to the talking of the elf and the dwarf, and asking a few questions herself, as they ate a small but fresh meal (further spiced by a few herbs and plants she had quickly gathered).

“I know you errand is of the utmost urgency, clearly,”, she began, “but can you not tell me at least where you have come from, and for how long your roads have been joined? And in what direction you travel, or would be travelling if your companions had not been abducted?”

The dwarf sighed. She looked up as he started to speak. “We come from the bygone glory of Khazad-dûm, known to most as Moria, the once great city of the Dwarves. In its glorious days, now long gone, it was great beyond the imagination of men!” Another melancholic sigh. “But is has fallen to darkness, and so has one that was very dear to us all, the leader of our fellowship. He can guide us no more, and lon dwe dwelled in darkness, until we found peace and rest and a place to mourn him in the Golden Woods. The fair lady that dwells and rules there, has given us council and clarity of heart.”

The elf continued in his melodic voice. It was difficult to keep track of what he was saying, for the beauty of his voice. “She has provided us with boats, with which we sailed the Anduin, but they were lost. Then we were attacked by orcs, orcs that killed Boromir, who was also in our fellowship, the son of the steward of Gondor, and they took Merry and Pippin. We have been hunting them since then.”

Her heart gave one loud pound, then ceased altogether for a while. “You mean, you’re after the orcs? You’re attempting to gain on them and overtake and – fight them?”

“In order to save the two hobbits they have captured, yes.”

Even the dwarf noticed her deadly pale face. “I can’t – I can’t stay. I…” She scrambled to her feet and backed away, blood-drenched visions plaguing her mind and clouding her direct surroundings. She walked a few paces until her trembling feet tripped over something and she fell. Legolas quickly sat beside her and put a hand on her back. She shook her head again, not noticing her own tears as she stumbled, “I cannot face a fight with orcs. Every time I close my eyes I can see my father and brothers lying dead all around… sometimes even if my eyes aren’t closed.” She ran her hands across her face. “I need to get to Edoras. I have relatives there. In the morning, could you show me in which direction it lies, so that I might seek the way on my own?”

Legolas shook his golden haired head. “You must not, you cannot venture out alone. It cannot be done.” When she trembled, he reassured her. “Look, when we gain on the orcs and battle ensues, you can hide yourself well away, where you will not be seen and come out afterwards.”

Her eyes were squeezed shut in a bitter grimace. “A shame on the race of Eorl. Yet my mind cannot bare to even think of getting close to a battle with those accursed creatures.” She lowered her head, and rested her forehead against croocrooked knees. “My heart should be ablaze with the desire for vengeance, yet I can only cower in fear!” Trying in vain to repress the tears, she was grateful for the elfs good intentions but wished he would go away and not see her cowardice.

He padded her back once more, an unusual sign of physical affection, and got up, saying, “At sunset we will talk about this. Things will seem less hopeless in sunlight. For now, lie down and rest, if you can.”

She did lie down to rest her tired limbs, trembling with the effort of a whole day of running, but did not expect sleep to come to her. When she closed her eyes, the visions of slain beloved came back and when sleep did finally come, it only intensified the horrid images, making her gasp and moan and even cry out in her sleep. When she woke up, part of her hair was wet with the tears she’d cried while asleep and Aragorns face was soft with sympathy when he woke her. While he was listening to the earth itself, searching for the proximity of the orc band they were chasing, she got up her things and ate some leftovers for breakfast. When he got to his feet, it was clear he had only ill news to tell.

[“The rumour of the earth is faint and muddled”, he spoke. “Nothing walks upon it for many miles around us. Faint and far away are our enemies’ feet. Yet loud do horses’ hooves sound. I remember hearing them while I lay asleep on the soil and they disrupted my dreams: galloping horses, passing in the west. But now they ride north and away from us. I wonder what is up in these lands!”

“Let us go!”, said Legolas.]

Every one was up and away before she could stop them, and she quickly followed them despite her decision to break with their company, suddenly she realised she would rather not be separated, at least not immediately. She hurried to Aragorns side and told him of her need to go her separate way; much as she dreaded a possible encounter with orcs that were running wild in these lands nowadays, she still preferred it to the certainty of running straight into them.

Aragorns answer was quite simple. He wouldn’t let par part with them. One time she tried to sneek off unseen, falling behind and then slowing down, but it was noticed soon enough and he dragged her back, saying: “Out on your own you go towards a certain death. Orcs are roaming freely throughout Rohan. Only in company are you safe. Listen to me!” He shook her shoulder when it seemed she would break loose and flee. “If we ever catch up with the orcs and the halflings they carry with them, you can hide yourself until it is safe again. When you joined with us your said you would not slow us down. Keep to your promise!”

Come twilight it became clear they would never be able to catch up with the orcs. Elfhild felt great relief over this but this quickly disappeared when she realised this also meant the two hobbits, kind and innocent creatures from what she’d been told, could not be saved from their dark fate.

[Gimli ground his teeth. “This is a bitter ending of our hope and all our trouble!”]

Elfhild stood panting, wondering where they would go now that their quest had proved useless, as she had thought from the beginning on. Perhaps straight for Edoras.

[“Of hope perhaps, but not of trouble”, Aragorn said.]

She sighed when she heard they would simple resume their chase, poess ess though it seemed, but accepted. After a short meal from her own supplies (she did not want to burden them with her presence furtby aby also using up their much-needed food supplies) she lay down again and was thankful that Aragorn had dragged her back, preventing her from seeking death by an orcs sword, for she now realised that was what she had tried to do, follow her father and three brothers into death, so that she could rejoin with them and rejoice in their love, instead of seeing their staring dead eyes in her dreams over and over again. She straightened her back and was, for the first time, sincerely grateful of their company and protection. The next day passed for her more swiftly than any she could remember, and she took comfort in the lovely hilly landscape of her country, looking upon it with curious and appreciative eyes, since she had never travelled this far. When they stopped for the night, she was tired but her companions found her good-natured and talkative and they spoke for a while before laying down to rest as best as they could in the cold. That night she slept better, occasionally waking up and then soothed by the elf’s sweet voice, softly singing in his own ethereal language.

The next day they had just had a small breakfast and Elfhild discretely wandered off, needing to empty her bladder and looking for a spot out of sight. Afterwards, she noticed a tiny water stream and paused to wash her face and hands, and drink a few ice-cold handfuls before filling her flask. Refreshed, she turned to rejoin with the others, but stopped as she saw a large company of riders, galopping towards them, then closing in on them in a tightening circle, countless spears pointing at them. Since she had never seen the King’s soldiers, the sight of them struck her as somewhat intimidating and she watched from behind a large rock standing on a grassy hill, and looked on. She could not see what was happening, since Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas were surrounded by men seated on horse back. She could only vaguely hear voices speaking, and suspecteey wey were being interrogated. Voices were raised in threatening words, then softened, and a man, taller than the others of his company, spoke for a long time. She was amazed when he handed over (simply handed over) two of their horses to the travellers and left with what seemed friendly words or advice.

A little later, Aragorn was kind to explain what had occured between them and the Riders of the Mark, as he pulled her upon the horse, behind him. Thus they rode, Gimli sitting as she did behind Legolas, who mastered or rather directed the horse with mere words, it seemed.

She was sad to hear the news that the Riders had told: that they had encountered and slain the orcs that they were chasing, leaving none alive. They feared the worst for the two young hobbits. A little later they saw orcs lying here and there, arrows through their throats or out of their backs. [Finally, when the afternoon was nearing its end, they came to the forest’s edge, and on an open spot between the first trees they found the remains of a large fire; the ashes were still hot and smoldering.] Elfhild jumped off the horse, as did the others, searching the battle field, yet there was no sign to be found. That evening, when all the searching had proved fruitless, a fire was made and they sat around it, rejoicing in its ususual warmth and bright light. Elfhild shivered and stretched out her hands to the flames, remembering with an ache in her heart the last time fire had brought warmth and light and merriness; the last supper in her fathers house. They spoke of the forest they had just entered and its dark legends, yet Elfhild slept soundly throughout the night, not even awoken by Legolas’ cries of “The horses! The horses!” in the dead of night. With sadness she heard the tale of how a mysterious old man had appeared, and then the disappearance of the horses.

After a small and hasty breakfast, the four split up, searching the surroundings for clues of the hobbits’ fate (as well as the horses’) and Elfhild did her best at tracking, feeling the need to make herself useful, even if only a little. Bent over deeply with her face inches from the soil, she lost sight of the others but paid it no mind. Until she saw, just yards from her, a pair of iron-clad feet in front of her. Her gaze was drawn upwards, against her will almost, and she thought she would surely die of fear when she recognised the hideous shape of an orc, unmistakebly. For a long, thudding moment she could not see, could not breathe, unconciousness threatened; then, as the orc made a small movement (he was standing with his back to her) her vision came back, her lungs filled and she let out a horrifying scream that startled the orc as well as herself. Blindly, she grabbed a thick branch that lay near her feet and swung it around, hitting the orc by luck and ran swift as the wind in the direction she’d last seen the others, small screams still escaping her.

Just when she thought she’d left the orc behind her and was nearing safety, to her horror she spotted another one of the accursed creatures; he raised his foul face and looked upon her with a gaze that shone with foul purpose. He did not pursue her, but her relief was short when he picked up a bow and aimed an arrow at her. She could only think to keep running and hope the trees that stood between them and the growing distance would make his shot miss. She could already hear outcries of her companions, someone’s voice close to her, some rustling and then an arrow flew past her, frighteningly close, and she heard the orcs gruesome cry as it hit home, and she thanked the elf for her life. But the orc had already released his arrow, and it too flew, far and fast, and she heard its impact with some surface. She did nor hear the ‘thunk’ that would’ve indicated a trees trunk and sincerely hoped it had not hit anyone that had become dear to her in the past days. She neared Legolas and ran past him, past Aragorn and finally past Gimli, running straight out of the forest and a couple of yards behind the fireplace they had used.

There she stood, catching her breath, trembling severely and cursing herself under her breath. How she longed to go back into the forest and draw the bow she’d been carrying idly until now, and do her part. She had no idea how many there actually were. Her efforts could perhaps be badly needed. She grabbed the bow, was determined to go to her friends’ aid, then found she couldn’t and remained, asif cough a r a rope, by the forest’s edge, pacing to and fro in her indecisiveness. Finally she’d gotten her courage together and made one determined and brave step – when she saw Aragorn emerge from the trees’ shadows.

“They must have escaped before the Riders noticed them”, he spoke, both to her and to the others. Now he looked at her as he walked past her and shame filled her heart and clouded her perceptions. She followed the voices of the other three and stopped when they did, looking dully at the ground beneath her feet until Aragorn called them all to come look. Finally, he had found what they’d all been looking out for: tracks and clear clues of the two hobbits’ fate, in the form of a large pale treeleaf, with a golden shine to it, and on and near it some crums of lembas, the Elfs’ food for travelling. The halflings had a supply of this, having received it from the infamous Lady of the Wood, whose reputation was improving in Elfhild’s mind. Then even clearer clues: pieces of a rope, cut with the knife that lay near. Following the tracks, they came to a path that led into Fangorn, only a few dozens of yards from where they’d been searching earlier.

Walking behind Aragorn she noticed, with a healer’s eye, that he was trying to hide severe pain in his left shoulder and made him stop still when she felt certain and he sat himself down with a sigh. Elfhild sat down next to him and when she cautiously asked: “Your shoulder’s hurt, isn’t it?”, he seemed instantly ashamed for appereantly showing his pain when he hadn’t meant to.

He rubbed it, turned his face away. “It’s nothing.”

“I know something of healing, let me take a look at it.” She moved to remove his armour, but he drew back.

“You needn’t bother.”

“Aragorn, I am a healer. I cannot resist healing a wound anymore than you can resist killing orcs if they’re within sight”, she said with a faintly bitter grimace at the memory of her own cowardice. “Grant me the opportunity to put my presence to use..!”

He smiled a little, giving in. “Well, if it’ll help you… Very well.” He removed the armour for her to see.

She gasped. There was an arrow sticking out of him! It became clear to her that he had cought the orcs arrow that had been meant for her. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?!” He didn’t answer, shrugged. “Oh, well, I’ll do my best, but it would’ve been better had it been removed immedeately.” She got out the leather pouch that contained all her medicinal herbs and seeds and things and pushed the arrow through to get it out. Then she disinfected the wound, telling Aragorn to remove his shirt because it was in the way. At her request ay day down, on her sizeable leather coat, and rested his head on his hands as she worked.

When she was done stitching up the small wound, with a fire-sterilised needle, she took a better look at the naked back and firm (very firm, she moaned to herself) shoulders below her hands, aaw aaw an amazing amount of scars that had healed, scars that were still healing and scars that hadn’t healed properly at all. “Good grief Aragorn,”, she sighed and ran her adoring hands over his back, “looks like you’ve lived a lifetime in the battle field.” Her hands ran to and fro on his muscular back without clear purpose, putting a puzzled frown on his brow, until she began a firm but very pleasant massage, starting with his shoulders. He let out a soft rumbling moan and closed his eyes, enjoying her touch. Her hands were silken and every inch of his skin she’d touched, seemed invigorated and sparkling and every inch she hadn’t yet touched, yearned to be. She stopped, he wanted to protest but saw she was only shifting for better reach. She now sat on the back of his ts, ks, knees spread and leaning on the soil, and he smiled with relief as she resumed her massaging. His sour muscles could sure use it.

Not an inch was forgotten or skipped. Forgetting herself, she massaged him firmly, kneading the skin lovingly, sliding her hands back and forth and from side to side. She worked her way down along his sides, rubbing the small of his back and grouin her knuckles in at his encouraging groans. Then her hands paused, all of his back had had a thorouassaassage (certainly more thorough than she would’ve given to less attractive men) and she uprighted herself and sort of stopped, slowly retrieving her hands and tracing a line with a disobedient fingernail along the curve of his backside before she got up. She felt a blush coming up at her own actions and was afraid she’d taken liberties, but to her relief he rolled onto his side, looking at her. “Elfhild,”, he said, “my back feels revitalised. You do indeed posses healing skills.” The look he was giving her held no more than just thankfulness for for some reason this disappointed her. She avoided his gaze, uncertain about her own feelings.

“That just about covers it.”

A loud rustling startled them both and Elfhild jumped to her feet in a reflex. He quickly rose with a neutral expression on his face when the dwarf approached. “Gimli”, he greeted him.

“Aragorn, Elfhild, the supper is long ready. Are you coming?”

Elfhild nodded and walked past him, but he’d noticed the blush to her cheeks at that last word. Aragorn covered himself and gathered up Elfhilds multifunctional coat.

“What were you doing, anyway?”

Elfhild turned around when Aragorn didn’t answer and held up an arrow head, unmistakably orcish, in her hand. “Would you believe this was sticking out of his shoulder?”