Chapter 21: Daughter of the Dunedain

Coran let out a small scream as she thrashed with renewed vigor against her captor. That horrible vision of imprisonment playing over and over in her mind. She could hear whore repeated over and over again. She could see them tearing cloth from her body, hands unwanted and wandering. This was how her nightmare would start, feverish and alone in the wilderness.

Those hands held her tight and her captor kept barking something rough and awful sounding. It only fueled her to flee. She froze as she felt cold metal press harshly against her neck, the blade beckoning forth a line of blood. She dared not move, not for the chance of a spilt neck. She could barely contain her panting, trying not to press more into the blade.

Satisfied with her defeat, the man tossed his head over his shoulder and spoke in his harsh language. Soon, she felt rough rope encircle her wrists as they bound her hands in front of her. Straining in the dark, she tried to count how many of them there were. At least five. Hope of escape died, weighing heavily upon her. She fought back a sob as she tugged at her tight bounds.

She watched as they pillaged through her bag, tossing all of her books aside and passing the food amongst them. As they came upon Feredir's medicinal kit, she let out a shout. "No! Don't touch that! Don't!" She tried to pull away from the man who had his hand on her.

Their heads snapped up at her protesting. The one who held her called out something and beckoned the man who held the kit closer. He snatched it from him and put in front of her face. "What?" he asked of the kit.

Her heart fluttered at his Westron. Maybe they could understand her! "Medicine."

His eyebrows knit at her accent. "What?" he insisted louder.

"For healing," she attempted, praying he understood that.

"Show," he commanded, thrusting the kit into her hands. He dropped his hold on her. There was a fleeting moment when she considered running, running for Suldal, and running far, far away. But she would not get far. She would be stopped either by man or arrow. She resigned herself to demonstrate what the kit was for.

Clutching her arm, she made a great show of pretending to have a wound and pointed at the kit. She mimed smearing a salve onto her arm and signaled that her arm was better. Coran sent a cautious look to the man whose features were still concealed from her. He was silent before nodding. He tossed the kit to her. She caught it deftly in her bound hands, clutching it hard to her chest. Taking a shuddering breath, she stood silently as she watched them clean up the camp site.

Breaking from the group as they assembled their horses, the leader came to her again, leading Suldal. "Ride or run," he said gruffly, taking the kit from her hands and tucking it into Suldal's saddle bags. She wavered, feeling faint. She couldn't run behind their horses, not with her sickness starting to consume her. She nodded to Suldal and accepted the man's help in clambering up into the saddle.

Another wave of lightheadedness took her as she sat perched atop Suldal. She blinked rapidly, trying to fight it off. Her head felt so heavy; she could feel exhaustion threatening to take over. Grasping desperately at the pommel of the saddle, she tried to center herself as the leader led her over to the rest group.

She barely saw him tie Suldal's reins to his horse and signal for them to take off. Her last thoughts were of Telthedir and Goldor and their safety. And if they were even still alive.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x

A pain shot up her arm as she blinked awake. Her head lolled as she came to, feeling as if it weighed as much as a horse. There was pressure all along her sinus, thick with congestion, and she could feel a dried line of snot across her lips and chin.. Her head fell back against something warm and solid. Leaning more heavily against it, she opened her eyes. It was morning and she did not remember falling asleep. Realization crawled up her spine and she jumped forward, trying to get as far away as she could from the Dunlending that held her. A rumbled laugh sounded behind her and she twisted to see the face of her captor.

Her eyes widened as she stared at the face of the Dunlending leader. A thin scar crossed his nose and up across his cheek ending next to his ear. The rest of his face was covered in a thick full beard and several layers of grime. She squirmed in his grasp, trying to ignore the pain that accompanied as she did. Irritated with her movements, he clapped a large hand on the back of her neck and growled something she didn't understand. She struggled more and he grabbed her by the elbows, causing her world to go white. She loosed a scream in agony as his hands pressed against her arms.

He released her and her hand flew to her right arm. It throbbed in pain as she felt along her forearm and elbow. She winced and let out a shuddering sigh. A fracture? She must have fallen from Suldal. That would be the only reason why she was up on his horse. She could picture the bruises and the swelling blooming beneath her sleeve. She needed to see to it as soon as she could. However, she was thankful that he had decided to unbind her hands, allowing her free range.

Another pain and pressure grew, replacing her thoughts on how she could create a sling. She squeezed her legs as tight as she could about the saddle as the need to relieve herself overpowered every other need. The thought of having the men watch her brought heat to her cheeks. She cursed her desire to wear leggings, knowing that they would offer no modesty. Resigning herself, she twisted again and coughed out, "I need to relieve myself."

The man cocked his head to the side, indicating he did not understand her. Trying to quash the shame that was climbing her throat, she motioned to get off the horse and then grasped at her stomach.

He gave a snort and called out a command, at which his men pulled their horses to a stop. He jumped down and helped her down, trying not to jostle her hurt arm. His men moved off their horses as well, pulling out skeins and tossing various foods amongst themselves. As she let them settle, she pressed a hand to her forehead and was relieved that her fever had broken overnight. Her only good luck.

Spying a large rock, Coran motioned to it and started walking, the leader ever her shadow. Out of the view of the others, she stared him down, hopefully relaying to him that she would rather him turn away. Rolling his eyes, he turned his back to her. Of course he felt comfortable turning away. How far could she get before them noticing? I couldn't abandon Suldal anyway.

She fumbled with the lacing of her leggings, biting back a cry of pain as she moved her right arm too much. Clutching it to her chest, she tried unlacing them with just her left hand. She grunted in frustration as she could not get the knot undone. Her clammy fingers did not aid her and she wanted to cry as she found wetting herself might be her only option.

Coran tried blinking back her tears as she faced the other option. As snot and a few tears dripped down her face, she tapped the man on the shoulder. Trying to hide the rising humiliation on her cheeks, she bowed her head and made a show of her attempt to unlace her leggings with one hand.

She felt his calloused hand lift her chin almost carefully. Meeting her eyes, he seemed to ask permission. Her body froze at this. Why kindness? Why would her captor show her such kindness? Surely, it was for a reason. Surely, it was for greater humiliation later on. Squeezing out another tear, she nodded. She tried not to think of his fingers at the strings as she felt him push and pull at the knot. She tried not to think of how easily he could take her or kill her. She suppressed a whimper as the knot came free and his hands paused their work. She steeled herself at the possibility of him taking advantage of her situation, closing her eyes shut. If she behaved, would it be as bad?

Yet nothing came except a tentative hand at her chin again. She opened her eyes to find his brown ones staring back at her, and she couldn't decide if he was annoyed or amused by her. He gave her a nod and turned around, leaving her standing there speechless. What was he playing at? What order did he have to take her captive and then treat her well?

She narrowed her eyes in thought. "Thank you," she muttered and he waved it off with a slight flick of his wrist.

She moved away and managed to pull her pants down herself, glancing around to see if any of the Dunlendings could see her. Coran relieved herself quickly and pulled them up as soon as she could. She found she could loosely tie the lacings of her leggings. When she was done, she cleared her throat which turned into a fit of coughing, her throat scratchy and sore. The Dunlending leader turned and nodded at her, tossing his water skein to her as he started to walk back to the group.

Coran snaked out a hand and stopped him. He faced her again. Motioning to her arm and air miming breaking something in half, she tried to ask for assistance. He said nothing and shook his head as if to say he didn't understand. She pretended to wrap it, wincing as she moved. Something clicked and she saw his eyes dart to their makeshift camp.

He motioned for her to follow him and led her back to the group. He barked out an order and one of his men, a tall, bald man, brought him cloth from a saddle bag. The leader handed it off to her, watching to see what she was going to do with it. She dropped the cloths to the ground and sorted through them until she found one to her liking. She put one end of the cloth in her mouth and fed the rest of it behind her and then across her arm. She tied the sling with her mouth and left hand, pulling it tight.

Picking up the other cloths, Coran handed them back, nodding her head in gratitude. Taking a big swig of his water, she was grateful for the cool soothing it offered. After giving his skein back, she allowed him to help her up into Suldal's saddle. His small kindnesses confused her. She was a prisoner, yet he had been quite gentle with her. I am something to bargain for. The thought took her so heavily, she had to brace herself against Suldal's neck. Of course they would treat her well. They would get a better price for her. They would want to claim she was clean and unsullied, getting top price for a virgin. She was sure her Dunedain coloring and accent would only increase their profits. A woman that was bruised and crying would not sell well.

A darker thought crossed her mind. She was cousin to the true King. Did they know? Could they know? They could hold her for ransom. And Aragorn would pay anything for her return. He would abandon Frodo in a heartbeat for her. Coran swallowed hard at the thought. What wouldn't Aragorn do for her? Did he not see himself as a father figure for her, especially at the absence of her own father? He would want to give his all for her.

Or would the wise council of Legolas and Gandalf call him to stay? Would they make him see that Frodo and their quest were integral to the survival of all of them? Would they not say she would hate him for leaving them, for giving into ransomers? Surely, someone would say that she gave her life for a noble cause, that she would be lost to the world. They would say, become king, that is how you avenge her.

So she resigned herself to be a bride traded for gold, like any other bride. She would be a wife and this time actually serve her husband. The thought of being traded amongst vicious men was more palatable if she thought this way. She would serve and be dutiful and useful. Is that not what wives are supposed to be?

An avalanche of thoughts overtook her. Her first thought was of the women she knew. Lhun, Calithil, Eryniel, and Gilraen all fought back at that. They were all fierce women who had never bent so willfully for any man, even their husbands. Lhun was Telthedir's partner in everything, and Coran was sure that he had never made her feel lesser in anyway. Calithil would have scolded her harshly if she could hear those thoughts. That was not who she helped raise. And her mother, Eryniel, would have given her a look to make nations tremble. Her daughter would never bend her knee to a man, husband or not. That was not their way. It would never be their way. Gilraen, the Blessed Mother, strong and modest, had always been the symbol of a Dunedain wife, strong and kind and devout. Coran would diminish them all if she would bend to her captors, in any way. And she could not do that, she could not dishonor them in such a way.

Her second was of Feredir and how much she wished that she could just leave this all behind and be his wife. Her heart hurt at its desperate beatings as the image of a family with him, of growing old together, of having a marriage of love, happiness, and devotion took her. It was a beautiful dream with beautiful children in a lovely place without war and sickness and hate. But it was just a dream and it would always be a dream.

Choking on a sob, she tried not to think about how totally different her life will be as a servant to Dunlendings or any other horrible, wild men. At her sniffle, the leader turned his eyes to her. That gentle gaze was gone, replaced with eyes that leered and a smirk that only confirmed her fears.

She wasn't safe. She dragged her sleeve along her cheeks and under her nose, wiping away her tears and snot. Pride like fire burst in her veins. Determination soaked through her bones. Loudly, she proclaimed to Suldal in Sindarin, "We will liberate ourselves. A daughter of the Dunedain will not fall so easily." She met the eyes of the leader with the fire that now consumed her. "We still have work to do."