Return to the North [ Lord of the Rings x Silmarillion ]

Prologue: Lost

She was hopelessly lost in the depths
of the cold, dark pine woods. The fine cut on her cheek was bleeding down her face, staining her pale skin scarlet. Whipping her head from side to side, she sent her silver hair flying. She panted as at last she came to a halt after hours of running.

She released a piercing scream in anger and frustration, falling to her knees slamming her sword into the ground, sending wood chips and pine needles flying. She had gotten herself into this, she herself and no one else. But she wanted to place the blame on someone else.

"If Mother and Father trusted me, I wouldn't have had to go off and join the Northern rangers myself," she muttered, finally regaining control of her anger. Then she snarled, the anger flaring up again. "They can die for all I care."

As the silver haired young woman stood once more, she tried to more calmly look at her surroundings. She knew she was somewhere north of Lake Evendim. Her company was nowhere to be seen. They had been scouting north of the lake, looking for a new place to set up a village. But then there had been orcs, and wargs, and in the night she had become separated.

After several moments of taking in her surroundings, she decided it was time to get moving. The wargs that had been chasing her were nowhere to be seen. Without a dark Lord or evil master to serve, they had declined to acting more like ordinary wolves, hunting not for sport but for food. She must've been far too much trouble to keep pursuing. After all, she had picked off two of the five long before running.

Picking a direction, she began to walk forward carefully. The sun was high in the sky and offered very little indication for which direction she had chosen. She knew she couldn't simply backtrack; she had done much twisting and turning during her flight.

After a while she sheathed her sword and calmed down. She was fine. She was one of the better trackers of the Northern Dunedain. Bergil said it was because of her mother. It was always because of her mother, or father. Never because she had worked hard at it. She liked her uncle, he treated her best. But even he fell victim to praising her parentage and not her hard work sometimes.

Her green cloak snagged on a tree branch as she walked and she cursed, trying to untangle it. They'd always said her anger issues came from her mother's side as well. She didn't mind that explanation.

She tried to control her fiery spirit, really she did. But she always felt like a tightly drawn bowstring, ready to release all its power and energy at one moment, only to be restrung and ready to release another arrow after the first. It had caused confrontation with her family and friends, to the point where she decided to leave for the North as soon as she was old enough. It had been four years since she'd been back in Minas Tirith. She didn't miss it.

The only person she truly missed was her older brother. He had cared for her, loved her like no one else. While mother and father were off protecting the king, or busy with matters of state, her brother had trained her to protect herself despite their age difference. That was why she continued to send him messages every so often.

Suddenly she halted. She sensed something was near. Scuttling up a tree with low branches, she perched like a squirrel and watched below her. A man in a black and orange robe was not far ahead. He was resetting rabbit traps, it looked like. She gave a gasp when he looked up, straight at her.

"Come down, young one," he said with a half smile. "Are you lost?"

She scrambled down the tree carefully and approached him. "Slightly."

"What's your name?" He finished resetting his current trap and straightened up.

The silver-haired woman frowned but for some reason, decided to trust the mysterious man. "I am Tinneth of the House of Fëanoriel, third daughter of Lady Míril and Lord Elrohir, niece of King Elessar and Queen Arwen, Ranger of the North."

"Well Lady Tinneth of the House of Fëanoriel, follow me and we can get you home. But first I need to stop at home." The old man had a glint in his eye that slightly unsettled Tinneth, but she paid it no mind.

"What is your name?" Tinneth asked the man. "Where do you live?"

"I am Dúnir. I live in a little old house in the snow."