Chapter Text
Kaia crept along the edge of the pathway, ready to dive into the foliage to her left if the need arose and with the way orcs seemed to have taken over practically all of the woodland areas of Middle Earth, the need was most likely going to arise and soon. The scratches on her arms and legs and cheeks from her last encounter with them were only partially healed. Damn orcs caused more trouble than a thousand field mice on a rampage in her larder. More trouble, more damage, and far more aggravation, that was for certain.
The thunder of pounding feet shattered the silence and the deer she’d been stalking leapt off into the brush like quicksilver. She stood there for a moment, scowling at the skittish deer, then she sank into the brush as well. And not a moment too soon, for she had no sooner moved off the path when the army of orcs came thundering around a bend from the north.
She sank back as deeply into the trees and underbrush as she could and willed herself into absolute silence. From where she stood, it seemed the orcs were endless, pressing on without stopping, without slowing down, and as she moved throughout a good portion of Middle Earth, she was all too familiar with orcs and could say with certainty she’d never seen so many on the move at one time. This was no pack, but an army, and one, it seemed, with a sole purpose.
They stalked something.
Well, it wouldn’t be her, that was for sure.
The thunder dulled to a low rumble, but as she was about to step out onto the path once more, the thunder returned. Only this time, no orcs came around the bend, nor did the thunder come from the north. Instead, it rolled up from the south as the forest came alive with not only that thunder, but with the clang of steel and the whistling thwock of arrows.
A battle? Orcs battled with one another on a regular basis, but never on this great a scale. Somewhere just south of where she stood it seemed they were suddenly waging war. Perhaps they’d found their quarry?
Her curiosity getting the better of her, Kaia crept toward the sounds. Foolish, no doubt, but she needed to know whether or not the time had come to move on, as she did more often than she cared to think about. Not that she wished to move. She’d been in this part of Middle Earth for some time now—although she could not say for certain just how long that time actually was, as the days had a way of blending together. Even so, it was long enough that the cabin that had been abandoned when she found it was now actually something of a cozy little home.
But at the same time, she needed to know if she was in for much in the way of trouble, and so there she was, sneaking through the underbrush with a care she reserved usually for tracking swift-footed animals. She crept over fallen logs and around decayed stumps, picked her way carefully through pricker bushes and all the while, her heart beat fast enough that she could hear it as her pulse pounded through her temples. Still, she’d learned in at the time she’d been on her own, how to move without a sound, and so she reached the top of a clearing surrounded by mossed-over stone ruins that had once probably been white and immense but were now little more than stained and discolored stone scraps.
She crept closer to the stone, using it for cover as she peered around at the scene before her. The halflings caught her attention, for while she had heard of them, she’d never seen any. Compared to the orcs surrounding them, they were indeed small. And terrified, from the looks of it, even as they shouted to catch the orcs’ attention to lure them away from the wide river she knew flowed along the western shore.
Without hesitation, she reached for her bow and slipped an arrow from the quiver on her back. She lay the arrow on the rest, but did not draw back the string. Not yet. There were far too many orcs for her to intervene on behalf of the halflings and while she felt pang of sympathy and the annoying sting of helplessness, there was truly nothing she could do for them. She certainly was not about to sacrifice herself for anyone she did not know.
But then, hurtling over the ridge across from her, came a man and in his grasp, a sword of gleaming steel. Without hesitation, he threw himself into the fray, swinging that blade with an expert precision that was almost fluid in its grace. A large ivory horn banged against his hip and as he swung about to his right, he grabbed it with his left hand to jerk to his lips. The bleats rang out with such power, the sound actually knocked her back a step and she stumbled over a downed branch. She lost her footing, toppling end over end back down into the gully behind her. Her bow went in one direction, the arrow in another, and she landed hard enough that she knocked the wind from herself. Stunned, she lay staring up at the leaf-spattered sky, the sounds of battle sounding so far away and hollow as she struggled to draw breath. The sounds of the battle drowned out the sounds of her fall, thankfully, and when her lungs finally chose to re-inflate, she gasped to fill them.
With a soft groan, she managed to roll onto her hands and knees, and slowly got to her feet again. Steel meeting steel reverberated at a normal volume once more as she shook off the last of the cobwebs, retrieved her bow and the arrow, and climbed back to her perch.
She reached the top in time to see two orcs snatch up the halflings, just scooped each up and lumbered out of the clearing, still moving south while the rest of them continued the battle. The fighting raged, but like the two orcs and their halflings, it moved south as well.
As quickly as they erupted, the sounds of battle ceased and silence slammed down all around her as the last of the orcs followed their brethren south and as the path wound out of sight, so did the army. Kaia waited wit heated breath, to see if any would return. When she was satisfied that they would not, she slipped the bow back where it belonged, the arrow back into the quiver, and instead eased her broadsword from the sheath at her right hip, and crested the hill to descend into the clearing. She looked about for the man with the horn, as she’d not seen what his fate had been, only to find he was nowhere about.
But, as the battle sounds rang into memory, she realized that she still heard something. Wounded orcs perhaps, so she crossed the clearing to the opposite slope, and crept as noiselessly as she could, over the ridge and climbed down into the clearing.
At first, she thought perhaps the sounds actually did come from the battle still being fought further upriver and that the woods for some reason bastardized them. But as she moved about the broken, decimated orc bodies, leaves, tree branches, arrows and other abandoned weapons, toward a large oak slightly to the northeast, Kaia realized that noise was not that of a battle at all. And as she climbed up the opposite slope toward that big tree, her fingers tightened of their own about her sword’s somewhat worn grips, her heart hammering louder still against her ribs, leaving her as breathless as she had been when she’d slammed down into the hard-packed earth only minutes before.
A man lay there, somewhat propped up by the tree’s gnarled trunk. But that wasn’t what made her hand tighten about her sword until her fingers went numb. Nor was it the sight of the the arrows that riddled him which rendered her dumb for a long moment, her grip loosening, the sword clattering into the broken leaves and debris at her feet.
No, what made her stare was that he still lived.
His breathing came rapid and shallow, each breath punctured by a moan of pain that grew softer with each one drawn. Sweat soaked him, plastering his dark hair to his head, the arrows quivering as he fought for air, which in turn led to more moaning.
She dropped to her knees alongside him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “There, there,” she whispered when he moaned again, “I’ll not hurt you.”
His eyes had been closed, but as she spoke, the lids lifted slowly. His eyes were pale, blue or perhaps gray, she couldn't tell. She could tell they focused on nothing, however, but darted about as he gasped, “They took the little ones…”
His eyes slid shut once more, and he went still. Kaia stared, her mouth going oddly dry as she whispered, “Please… breathe, won’t you?”
“I’m sorry,” he managed to whisper. “I am so sorry…”
“Easy now,” she patted his shoulder again. “The orcs are gone, but they might come back.”
She peered over her shoulder, at where her sword lay. It was just beyond reach. Turning back to the man, she murmured, “I’ll be but a moment.”
A low moan, even softer still, answered her. She patted his shoulder a third time then scooted back to snatch up her sword. Footsteps grew louder and the urge to bolt surged through her. Self-preservation screamed at her to simply run, to blend into the woods and disappear before the orc army returned.
But she couldn't leave him. She might not be able to do much, but if she left him there, he’d be condemned to death. She counted no less than five arrows protruding from his large body. His surcoat and tunic were dark—royal blue and scarlet respectively, so it was impossible to tell how much blood he’d lost. But, a childhood spent on a farm taught her all she need know about bleeding and injuries and how to treat them and her mother’s voice sounded in her head.
With that, she slid her blade back into its scabbard and returned to the man’s side. “Come. We need to leave. Now.”
“No…” he almost whimpered, his head lolling from side to side, “leave me…”
“I’ll do no such thing.” She crouched, grabbed his arm and, whispering, “Forgive me,” hefted him to his feet.
His cry rang out, raw and anguished and she winced as it echoed throughout the clearing. “Hush… lest you wish them to return.”
“I cannot…”
“You can and you will.” She gritted, ignoring the dull ache in her back as it felt like every bone in her spine compacted from the weight of him pulling down on her. He towered over her, far broader than she would ever be, and could barely stand on his own. Two arrows protruded from his left thigh, and with each step, he whimpered as his weight shifted from his uninjured leg to his injured one.
“It’s all right,” she whispered, ignoring the trickle of sweat rolled down along her spine, and down between her breasts. It had been a cool day, almost crisp, but as she all but dragged him from the clearing of Amon Hen, it might as well have been the dead of summer. Sweat soaked her tunic and dampened her hair, leaving it to hang in wet strings about her face, which she was certain was most likely bright red by now from the exertion of dragging a full grown man through the woods. If that wasn’t bad enough, he could barely walk, which mean the toes of his boots caught on every single bit of debris in their path. Never mind the arrows still protruding from his body. Her initial reaction had been to yank them out, but then wisdom prevailed and she left them in place, although she wished she had something to wrap about each one to keep them as steady as possible until it was safe for her to remove them.
“Please…” His voice was fainter still. “Leave me to die and go on… if they come back…”
“Oh, hush and just try to help me, if you can.”
“I beg… your pardon…”
He grew heavier still, but as the thunder grew louder once more, she ignored the pain in her back, the burn of the muscles pulling along her neck and shoulder, ignored everything but the need to get him—and herself—out of danger as quickly as she could.
Black dots danced before her eyes and her blood roared in her ears as the thunder grew louder and the man grew heavier still. Her right shoulder felt almost in danger of separating completely from her body as she stumbled over an exposed root and he let out a howl.
They slid most of the way down the last slope and across a wide path, and it wasn't until she spotted the familiar towering oak tree that marked the beginning of the narrow path deeper into the thickest part of the forest that she allowed herself to think they might actually be safe.
But then he slipped from her to land on his knees and the howl that rang out was primal in its agony, reverberating through the woods with enough force that birds took flight.
Kaia froze. There was no way possible the orcs did not hear that. They had to.
“Please,” she moved around to grab the man’s hands, her right arm only barely obeying her by now, it hurt so badly, “we need to get off this road now. Those orcs are on their way and I cannot fend off that entire horde alone.”
“Leave me,” he whispered.
“I’ll not and I swear, if you say it again, I’ll drag you back by your hair.” She crouched to grab his arm and drape it about her neck once more. “Now, on your feet!”
With that, she yanked and stood, a hot sting racing along the side of her neck as she did. He weighted down her shoulder, but at least managed to stand and there must have been a bit of divine intervention at work for they made it into the darkness, off the path and out of sight of any orcs.
The cabin was foreboding from a distance and no warmer up close, and Kaia kept it that way, as it looked as if it had been unoccupied for ages, which meant no one would stop there if they didn't absolutely have to. From time to time, vagrants thought to pass a night there, only to find themselves firmly evicted at the point of her sword.
Although it looked run down and dilapidated, she’d made certain to reinforce it in any way she could, and so as she shoved open the door, then shoved the man into the great room, she was finally able to breathe easily as she pushed the door shut behind them and locked it firmly.
The great room was sparsely furnished, but thankfully she did have a sofa and that was where she not so elegantly deposited her large parcel, who whimpered as he sank into the cushions.
“I know, it isn’t the most comfortable place, but I’m fairly certain my arm is about to fall off, so you will simply have to make do. Give me a moment to wash my hands and I’ll tend to your wounds.”
“Hopeless…”
“Nothing is hopeless as long as you draw breath.” Rubbing her sore shoulder, she moved to the kitchen, where the ewer she’d filled that morning held enough water for her to wash her hands and still have some left over to wash his wounds.
She kept her meager supplies in the kitchen cupboard, and brought over what she had. Needle and thread, should she have to stitch his wounds, and worn, discolored strips of linen she’d used in the past as bandages. They looked sketchy, but were in fact clean.
“I’ll be back in but a moment,” she told him, setting the things on the stone table before the sofa. “I’ll need to get something I can tear for dressings.”
“Please don't trouble…”
“Stop it. I am not going to keep telling you that.” She turned to go into her bedroom, which was a small room off the kitchen and toward the rear of the cabin. As she rarely wore gowns any longer, she had several chemises she kept folded in the low chest for just such an occasion, although it was usually herself she was patching back together and never another body.
The linen was old, but also clean, and tore easily into strips that would be folded as necessary and when she brought them back out, she said, “I am sorry, but I’ve nothing to give you for pain. A bit of wine, perhaps, but it is more vinegar than anything now.”
He didn't reply, but just let his head loll from left to right. He was frightfully pale, the darkness of his hair emphasizing it, and sweat beaded his high forehead while a scruffy beard shadowed his cheeks and jaw. He looked as if he’d been lost in these woods for months. As carefully as she could manage, she unfastened the elegant jade and silver clasp that held his fine grayish-brownish-green cloak at his throat, pulled off his gloves, then worked the fine leather surcoat from him without causing him too much pain. His tunic and trousers would have to be cut from him, if she was to be able to reach his wounds, but there was no other options. Hopefully she would find something to give him to wear. She picked up many odds and ends in her travels, and could probably come up with a shirt large enough from him to wear. Trousers would be a different story, but she would worry about that when—and honestly, if—the time came.
Along with the two arrows embedded in his left thigh, three more protruded from his torso—one just below his left collarbone, one only slightly lower, and one down just above his left hip. He’d been incredibly lucky, although she doubted he would agree with her. As far as she could tell, she could remove them, but there was no promising he would survive it, or the coming days.
Still, she had to try, and so as carefully as she could, she removed the one at his collarbone, her stomach clenching at the soft grind of the arrowhead against his bone. He stiffened, a hiss of breath leaking through his clenched teeth as she worked it free and blood spilled from the wound.
“I know it hurts,” she murmured, “and for that I am sorry, but there is no avoiding it.”
She dropped the arrow onto the floor and pressed a folded square of linen against his chest at the blood bubbling up. Within minutes, she had the bleeding slowed, her hands reddened from it as she first probed the wound, then flushed it, and when she was certain she had the bleeding under control, she then threaded her needle to stitch the wound closed.
He stiffened with each step, but remained surprisingly stoic, but finally sank into unconsciousness as she went about moving to the next wound. And the next. With endless patience, she removed the arrows, cleaned the wounds, sewed them up, and bandaged them, not stopping to rest or do much more than wash her hands when they grew too bloodied, or to light the lamp when it grew too dark for her to see what she was doing.
Finally, she finished and sat back with a soft groan, bowing her back, and sighed with relief as her spine popped and cracked and the pressure eased. Then, she stood, moving to the far end of the sofa, taking care not to fall over the man’s boots, which she’d simply tossed aside after tugging them off.
The pump for the water was behind the cabin and she filled the ewer once more, then brought it inside, where she’d let it warm over the fire, which was little more than embers, but wouldn’t take much to stoke back to life.
It had to be near midnight by the time she sank back onto the edge of the stone table and as gently as she could manage, set about bathing the man’s face, his neck, down into the broad plane of his chest, along his arms, his midsection—being careful not to jostle him or get the bandages wet. They were bloodstained, but it had begun to take on the rusty hue of old blood, so she breathed a sigh of relief. She had managed to staunch the bleeding and she didn't kill him, so perhaps he would survive the night after all.
She sat there for a while, just watching his chest rise and fall, shallow still, but not nearly as shallow as it had been earlier. His jaw clenched and he whimpered every now and again, but otherwise, he seemed as at peace as one could be in that situation.
Her stomach growled to remind her of why she’d been in the forest to begin with, and so with a sigh, she rose and moved to the cupboard to see what she might have to feed her guest come morning. Not much, unfortunately. She’d have to check the larder, and so out into the darkness she stepped.
All was quiet. Even the nocturnal animals seemed to sense the disruption to their habitat and so remained wherever they spent their days. A gentle breeze wafted through the trees, cooler than it had been of late, which meant summer had actually finally ended and the cold weather was on its way.
The larder was a bit more promising, a few eggs, thanks to the market that popped up every now and then on the western side of the forest. Black market, no doubt, but she didn't care. Eggs were eggs and she was happy to have them, even if they cost nearly as much as gold now. A slab of bacon procured with the eggs. A joint of beef. But not much else.
Still, it would be enough, or so she hoped.
Wood cracked in the distance. Most likely a raccoon or some other creature just going about their business, but just in case… Kaia slunk back into the house and dropped the heavy wood bar into the rests.
A bowl of apples, picked not to far from where she’d found the man, stood on the battered kitchen table. It was better than nothing, so she grabbed one and made her way back into the great room, where she’d planned to sit up and watch over her patient. However, her body thought differently and as she sank into the lone chair, across from the sofa, and leaned her head back for a moment—only a moment, mind you—the apple rolled from her grasp as sleep snuck up on her and clubbed her over the head.