Legacy of the Dispossessed {DISCONTINUED}

To Isengard! To Isengard!

One day turned into another and the hours dragged on as my legs got more and more sore. Truth be told, I was not used to so much running, with riding being my main mode of transportation. I felt great amounts of respect for Aragorn, who did not seem to even be winded, and great amounts of sympathy for Gimli, who lagged behind even me and panted as he struggled up the many hills in our path.

It was dawn. The sun rose, tinging the clouds with blood-red and making them seem to glow. Legolas paused at the crest of a hill, turning to look into the East where the sun's rays were barely visible over the horizon. "A red sun rises," he said to me as I passed. "Blood has been spilled this night."

I shuddered as I ran on. I did not want to know whose blood, and I rather hoped it was not Merry and Pippin's. The scenery had not changed much in the past few days - I had forgotten exactly how many - and the land still consisted of rolling hills, covered in dried grass and dotted with the occasional rock.

A few hours later, we heard the drumming of hooves against dry earth. Aragorn raised a hand and signaled for us to get behind a large rock that was conveniently located nearby. I flattened my back to the rough rock, still breathless. Though I was looking toward the sound of the hoofbeats, I felt Legolas's hand cover mine and give it a reassuring squeeze.

Shortly after, a cavalry of about a hundred and fifty individuals, with hair as blond as Legolas's and leather armor and long spears, thundered past us. Aragorn's eyebrows raised as he saw the sigils on their shields - a white horse dashing across a green field - and he stepped out from our hiding place to greet them.

"Riders of Rohan!" he called out, running up to the crest of a small hill. "What news from the Mark?" Legolas, Gimli, and I followed him to stand behind him, looking at them with slight confusion.

The riders skillfully whirled their steeds around in a perfect u-turn and cantered up to us, encircling us in three rings of mounted men. In unison, they lowered their lances so three layers of pointy sticks were surrounding us. The four of us unconsciously back closer together, Aragorn raising his hands in a gesture of peace while Gimli gripped the hilt of his axe tighter. I kept my hands well away from Ringil's hilt. Rohan's horsemen were no lightly armed soldiers; they could easily spear me if they wanted to.

One blond man - presumably the leader - spoke to us from his horse. His armor was edged with green and gold patterns, and his helmet bore a plume of white horsehair. "What business do two elves, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?" No answer from any of us. I was going to let Aragorn do the speaking in any manner, he obviously had some sort of plan that I would most likely ruin. "Speak quickly!"

"Give me your name, horsemaster, and I shall give you mine," Gimli growled, glaring up at the rider.

Aragorn put a hand to Gimli's shoulder as the leader dismounted and strode a few steps closer.

"I would cut off your head, dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground," the blond man hissed between clenched teeth.

"You would die before your stroke fell!" Legolas retorted, quickly nocking and aiming an arrow at the man. I put a hand on his arm, pushing his bow down. He gave a confused look, but I shook my head at him. Now was not the right time to start a fight.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Aragorn quickly said before either the Rohir or the dwarf could spark a true fight. "This is Gimli son of Gloin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

The blond man surveyed us with his brows drawn low over his eyes. Then he nodded toward me. "And the woman? A whore? A slave?"

Aragorn indignantly turned toward him. "This is a lady of a high house," he informed the man.