The Exile's Daughter

Faint Hopes

I was riding in between the sons of Elrond, watching Aragorn and Legolas scouting in the distance. I knew them too well; they had spotted something unwelcome. Clouds bloomed over the wild plains of Eriador, and it seemed dark even though it was barely three hours past noon. In this light, orcs would have a distinct advantage. I prayed they would not overcome us.

Despite my determination to take on my old task again, it had been almost two months since my kidnap, and spring was tentatively blooming around us. I could smell wildflowers in the grass, and in the woods next to the camp birds were nesting.

I had hunted for the Dúnedain a few times, somehow managing to maintain a good degree of accuracy despite my wounds, and I had been out on patrols with my cousins, Aragorn, and Legolas. However, I had not yet found myself in a fight, save for a few stray wargs, nor used my twin swords. Now that the time was upon me, I wondered whether I had chosen wisely in carrying on. It would be the first time in eight weeks I had faced battle.

"Keep close, you're going to be fine." Elladan said calmly from my left. I gritted my teeth.

"I am fine."

"Never suggested otherwise." He muttered under his breath. I dug my heels into Calanon's side, coming to a pause beside Legolas and Galdor, who were mounted a few feet away from Aragorn, surveying the scene before us.

It was not a reassuring sight. The ground was churned up from the footsteps of countless enemies, the grass obliterated. It stretched out for leagues ahead of our path.

"May the Valar save us." I jumped down from my horse, picking up a square wooden locket from the ground. It was tied to a long string, and clearly once sat around someone's neck. It was barely an inch across, but when I opened it there was a tiny sketch inside. A woman's smiling face looked up at me, her tendrils of hair surrounding her hollow cheeks.

"Strider." I called. He rode over, dismounting and bending down beside me. I showed him the locket and his face darkened, his dark curls falling in curtains around his face. He examined every inch, from the wood to the string.

"This belongs to a man of the south." He met my celestial grey eyes with foreboding.

"There were Southrons in Bree and its surrounding villages." I recalled.

I bit my lip. Perhaps it had been too soon for this. We had known that the enemy's numbers were growing, but to see it on this scale was a shock. This was far more perilous than anyone had expected. The elves wished to aid us, but if they were able to break through on time, I would call it a miracle.

Legolas sprang from his horse too, bending beside me and brushing his fingers against mine. "Stay close", he whispered. All I wanted was to close my eyes, sink into him, and sleep.

However at that moment, Galdor spoke up from his saddle, pointing to the ground about ten feet from where we crouched. "I see a glint in the grass, like a drop of water in sunlight."

I rose and followed his gesture. It took me no time at all to find what he had spotted, and I bent down to lift it gently in between my forefinger and thumb. Aragorn followed me over and we gazed down at it perplexedly, while Elrohir rode closer for a look.

"This is no symbol of orcs." Aragorn muttered.

"Nor of men." I held it up to the dim sky above. It was a pale green jewel, no more than an inch across, but it glimmered like morning dew in spring, like rain on the green grass of some land fairer than imagining. As it caught what little light shone down, the clouds seemed to relent somewhat, and a single ray of sun caught my face, warming me and calming my nerves. For some inexplicable reason, I thought of my mother.