Silverhelm: A Tale of Two Enemies

Apparently Hobbits Can Eat (And Sleep) Through Anything

I trudged a distance behind the five travelers. We were in a swamp known as Midgewater. Midgewater! It seemed more "midge" than "water". I hoped the hobbit carrying the Ring knew that the Nazgul were following them, even though the Nine weren't easily spotted. Thrice now I had killed one of their steeds, the black horses.

Ahead I saw Aragorn directing the hobbits to stop for the night. They were making a fire against a large standing stone that would shelter them from the cold North Wind. I surveyed the area around me. There was no place suitable for sleeping. No matter, I would make the night up in a tree.

I climbed up a sturdy oak and tied myself in with a length of vine that was draped over a mossy branch. My branch allowed me to see them, but leaves hid me from their sight.  The four hobbits were asleep already, but Aragorn was sitting on a rock nearby, no doubt standing guard.

An hour passed. Then another. I was beginning to nod off when I saw something black dart away from us. A Rider! Something was up if it was going away from the Ring. I quickly untied myself from the branch and picked up my bow. A growl issued from one of the surrounding trees. Wargs! I fumbled with my quiver. That dang vine just wouldn't untie! As I worked, I risked a glance at Aragorn and the hobbits. The hobbits were still asleep, but Aragorn was standing in front of them, protecting them from the orcs rushing at them. He was fighting a losing battle and desperately needed my help. Yet he didn't call out for me. Had he forgotten amid battle, or did he think asking for help from a female was below his level? It didn't matter, because if I kept trying to untie this knot, he and the hobbits would be dead by the time I reached them, and the Ring would fall into the hands of the Enemy.

"Blast it," I hissed under my breath. I drew a knife from its sheath and cut through the vine. I had been avoiding this because it would make a sound as the vine fell to the ground, as it did now. Aragorn didn't hear, but four orcs close to me did. They looked up and saw me. I shot each of them in the forehead at once.

As they crashed to the ground, Aragorn looked in my direction, then kept fighting, though he didn't seem to see me. I jumped from my branch, showering arrows even as I flew through the air, each one finding its mark. I landed in a crouch, then quickly stood back up.

Some of the orcs stopped fighting for a second, stunned. I took advantage of this split-second time to shower arrow after arrow, sometimes more than one at a time, at them. It looked like we were winning, and they were all gone when an orc came crashing out of the woods and launched himself at Aragorn, whose back was turned. I calmly set an arrow in my bow and shot it in the forehead, and it crashed to the ground. Unfortunately, I was out of arrows.

Now it looked like they were all gone. I lowered my bow, and Aragorn did the same with his dagger. Then hordes of orcs came pouring out of the trees. Hundreds of them. Before they could see the hobbits, Aragorn dragged all four of them into the bushes. Somehow, they were still asleep. Hobbits. They can sleep or eat through anything. As Aragorn grabbed two hobbits at a time, Frodo and Sam first, and threw them into the bushes, I singlehandedly held off hundreds of orcs. But I was falling back. There were too many of them. I was about to throw myself upon them, to make a last stand and sacrifice myself for the sake of Middle-earth, when Aragorn drew two long, wicked-looking knives and charged at the orcs from behind them.

As he held off half the orcs, I moved with deadly elvish efficiency, killing all in my path. I was heavily wounded now. An orcish knife had cut my face, in a long jagged line from my forehead through my eye to my left cheek. Thankfully, both my eyes were functional, but heavy bleeding from my forehead made it difficult to see. My right bicep had been ripped open, and my arm stung from the weight of my sword. But we were winning now. I killed three orcs with one thrust, then beheaded two more with an elegant sweep of my sword. As I looked over to Aragorn, I saw an orc preparing to attack him from behind as he was occupied with another. I ran over, cut the sneaky orc in half, and sheathed my sword in the same movement. All the orcs were dead now. Panting, I turned to Aragorn.

"Are you wounded?" he asked. Ugh. Ever the gentleman. Can't he see me bleeding?

I gestured to my face, which was bleeding so much I couldn't see out of my left eye. "Obviously not." As he made a move towards me, probably to help me, I backed away with my hands held in front of me. "I can handle it!" Seeing his skeptical expression, I laughed. As well as I could laugh with a gash in my cheek, anyways. "I'm not your regular gentle lady, remember? I've had injuries before, and I know how to deal with them."

Aragorn nodded an agreement, his face apologetic.  He tended to his own wounds as I swatted midges away from my face. I made my way over to the small stream I had seen earlier that day. The water was thankfully clean. I splashed handfuls of cold water onto my face. It felt so refreshing; I hadn't had a bath in weeks.

Having cleaned my wounds, I took a needle and fine Elvish thread out of a pouch tied to my belt. I stitched up the gash on my bicep, none too neatly. Even though I am a woman, I don't possess any ladylike qualities. After stitching my bicep, I rolled my sleeves back down: I don't show people the scars on my forearms. I haven't shown a single person.

I sat on a rock near the hobbits' bush and contemplated how to stitch my facial wound. I had no mirror or puddle to look into, and I didn't want to risk poking my eye or opening the wound any further. A voice shook me out of my thoughts.

"Do you want me to do that for you?" I looked up, startled. It was Aragorn.

"Yes, thank you."

"You can handle yourself, right? You don't need my help?" Though the words were chastising, he spoke in a teasing manner, and his eyes sparkled.

"I meant that I don't need you looking after me like I'm an injured lady that doesn't know anything. I've never had a facial wound like this before."

"Oh, fine," he said. Taking the needle from his hand, he threaded it on the first try- something not many men can do. Seeing my evident surprise, he raised his eyebrows. "I've had a lot of experience stitching," he explained. "Stitching wounds of course, not fabric." This made me laugh.

"Ah, I see," I said. "But please do stitch my wound before it rots and the midges descend upon my face!" Chuckling, he did as I asked, finishing in less than two minutes. Record time. "So should we wake the hobbits now?" I asked as soon as he finished.

Aragorn realized that they were still asleep. He laughed, saying, "They slept through all of that, now how will two people wake them up? Let them sleep, they need the rest."

"You get some sleep too, Aragorn. You need the rest, and I can keep watch." I said this seriously. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked like he hadn't gotten a second of rest for weeks.

"No, I won't sleep until we get to Rivendell. I don't want anything like this-" he gestured to at the dead orcs "-happening. But tell me, how do you know my name? And you fight like an Elf, yet you are not one."

"Alright, but it's a long story. I have an Elvish lineage. My mother was Cirdali." Seeing Aragorn's blank expression, I explained, "She's Elrond's daughter, Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir's sister. She wed a mortal and chose a mortal life, but I was born before she became mortal, and that is why I am an elf. And that is why I warn you against marrying Arwen: Elrond will not be happy at all. He will try to dissuade you, and do what he has to prevent you two from marrying, he does not want to lose both of his daughters to mortality. Anyways, I grew up in Rivendell, but that was two thousand years ago. I have been traveling, hunting orcs, and recently, Nazgul."

"I had no idea you were so old!"

"Stop, you make me feel like an old lady. But yes, I look much younger than I am. "

"Lyrasael... that name sounds familiar," he said, thinking.

"Because it is. You knew me once, and I knew you in Rohan, Thorongil, soldier of Gondor."

"Aha! You're Silverhelm! The woman who held off hundreds of orcs!"

"Stop. You're giving me too much credit. All I did was stop myself from getting killed."

"Well, couldn't you apply that to everyday life?" He asked, grinning. I was beginning to like this Ranger.

We sat in silence for a few hours, Aragorn smoking some of the weed he stole (literally) from the hobbits, looking out into the distance (no doubt thinking about Arwen), me cleaning the orc-filth off my blades and sharpening them, and later looking for usable arrows among the corpses and cleaning them too. After all, one has to take care of her weapons, lest they break like Narsil!