#ningeryn

Baugarch was dead, to begin with.

The warg-father, minion of sorcerers, and fell-guardian of the Blackwolds was finished.

And so was Ningeryn, daughter of Nirondil, Ranger of the Dunedain. She lay under the corpse, still holding one sword in her hand as it pierced the heart of her enemy. The other was lodged in the beast's back. Not enough to have killed it the first time.

It hurt too much to cry properly so she let the tears stream down her face. Her first assignment... and her last. At least she'd done it. At least she'd found the warg, even if she didn't have enough time to track it to its den, or warn Andreg. She was supposed to get backup before she faced the beast in combat. She hadn't had enough time.

The warg was now too heavy to lift. She tried, but she was well and fully pinned. She'd scared birds in the otherwise silent Chetwood when she cried out. It wasn't how she wanted to die, in the silent, empty forest. Alone. She tried to put a brave face on it. At least she'd done a good turn for the people of Combe, Archet, and the surrounding towns. Farmers wouldn't get eaten. Woodsmen neither.

And she'd put down the sorcerer's beast. The minion of the one that took Amdir from them. And Mundol and Toradan. And Reniolind... Reniolind had been her friend, and they'd ensorceled Amdir until he'd been stolen from them completely. Until he couldn't see friend and foe.

The tears came faster now that she thought of her friend. She'd die not far from him, maybe have her name etched next to his. But she'd wanted to live. She'd wanted to avenge him as she could, and keep the lands they'd promised to watch over safe. But she'd lashed out too hotly. Swung her swords with no thought of defense, only destroying the warg that represented everything horrible in Breeland.

Everything became dimmer for a bit. She wasn't sure how much later it had been when a horse whinnied in protest. Boots crunched in the leaf litter and then Baugarch's corpse lurched on top of her. She cried out again. The dead warg rolled into the grass and a blurry face filled up her vision.

"Ningeryn! Hang on. Hang on..." It was Andreg! He'd made it... She never thought anyone would. "You had to go and challenge the beast yourself..."

But the rescue had come too late. She squeezed his arm once and all went dark.

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Ningeryn woke up screaming. She hadn't meant to, but the warg was clawing her again and that had already killed her once. She didn't want to do it again.

"Help her, Amlan!"

But that was Saeradan, and Saeradan would rather die than let her get torn to shreds. Well, if he could help it. And if Amlan was there too, they would be more than a match for some scruffy warg of Angmar.

On instinct she pressed her shoulders and head into the surface she was laying on. Wood. A floor maybe. There were hands on her arms, and she could feel them wavering as if they were actively afraid they'd hurt her. Someone was laying across her legs with equal hesitation. Saeradan needed her not to kick and roll. She would do it- anything- for him.

Ningeryn reached out for a hand and found one quickly. Heedless of the fact that there were bones under the skin, she squeezed it for all she was worth.

"Ningeryn?" It was Amlan this time. Sounding pained. Likely, his were the bones being reduced to dust. "Can you hear me?"

She nodded. It was all the motion she could stand, rigid and tensed against the pain as she was.

"Can you drink something? Saeradan can't stop now, you've lost too much blood. You were asleep before, but now--"

Now she knew. They were trying to save her. Ningeryn had fought to be here, in Bree, in the ranks of the Rangers. She would fight, but not fight Amlan and Saeradan and Andreg. That warg wouldn't kill her twice.

She managed to nod again, and to swallow something sweet and heavy. It went down bitterly, but it stayed down. Saeradan was muttering something soothing as he went to apply a different salve over what she presumed was a section he'd already sewn. Or, just maybe hot lava, as something like liquid flame touched an open cut and she screamed again.

She held Amlan's hand until it went dark once more.

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Next she awoke, she was in the middle of drinking something freezing. She sputtered and that lit a fire in her torso. It was dulled, red embers maybe, but it was still there and it still hurt. The drink had been moved and someone was drying her face with a towel.

"You're safe. You're in Saeradan's house. It's me, Andreg, and you've been asleep for almost a day. Nestadam is on her way from Nen Harn, and she'll be here soon."

Ningeryn didn't respond as gently and eloquently. "Whahappen?" Her mouth felt dry- probably the reason for the offered drink- and she felt like her head was wrapped in wool.

"Do you remember anything? What was the last thing we talked about?"

She wanted to curse his protocol and his probing questions. But, she was still leaned up against him where he'd helped her to drink and she was very comfortable. One arm hugged supportively around her shoulders, the other lost to the void or possibly still holding the towel. Ningeryn was unfortunately familiar with being nursemaided, but it was still a safe feeling. A good feeling.

"I killed it," she said at last, "I killed that warg."

Andreg sighed. "Without backup. What possessed you--"

"Don't rile her up, Andreg." That was Saeradan. All gentle admonishment. "You think she hasn't learned her lesson?"

The hand she could feel tightened around her shoulder. "No, of course not." Not a true retort. Andreg was uncommonly quiet. But she was sure about why now, as she was coming out of the fog. He'd even warned her about it before she left. He couldn't lose another of them so soon. Not after Reniolind.

"I'm fine." Ningeryn said. If she sounded sure enough she might convince them both. "I'm tired, and it does hurt a little, but I'm fine."

"No you're not."

Ningeryn groaned and tried to roll over. Quickly she stopped. Any motion at all put her head on a tilt and sent it spinning. And spinning. Whatever else was going on- damp, chill, injury- was forced to secondary concern. Right now, she just had to get the swirling to quit. 

She tried opening her eyes. Maybe if she could see that the world wasn’t, in fact, spinning- if this was the case- then her poor head would be able to accept it. Everything was still wet, spinning, and somewhat detached, as if she wasn’t really here at all. 

The world around her was dark. All of that wet grass and moss was inside of a cave, which she could just make out in the almost non-existent light. The walls sloped upward, suspending curtains of moss and vine. Above her, in a distant opening in the ceiling, Ningeryn could see stars. 

Despite her best efforts, she groaned. She didn’t know how she got into this cave, or what she’d been doing before. Hopefully, this was a friendly hideout and she’d just been rescued from a fishing accident. Something probably spooked Nadfaron or Bronagir and one of them upset the boat. They were antsy types. Might’ve been startled by a big fish. 

Still aching, Ningeryn sat up. The rest of the cave wasn’t much to look at, although now that her vision was clearing, she could see more light than she’d anticipated. A low, greenish glow illuminated the walls of the main room, where she was, and lit a path deeper into the cave. Or, with a start she realized, back to the cave mouth. There was no other exit from this room. Presumably, she was as deep in the cave system as she could be. At least, for this branch. What that meant for her, her rescuer- or her captor- she didn’t know. But this place was unfamiliar to her. If she wanted to see the isle of Tinnudir in daylight again, she needed to act. 

Ningeryn stood. 

Hasty thanks could always be given as she left. A quick nod, an excuse about finding her companions, and she could away. Squelch back to the shore on full boots, follow the sand to a place she knew, or a boat she could borrow. It would have to be a dire situation indeed, but Ningeryn prepared in the back of her mind for the chance she’d have to try and swim for it. There was only one path out. She set her shoulders and started walking. 

Motion did nothing to ease the ache in her head. She reached out a hand to steady herself as the floor threatened to move ahead without her. The moss-covered walls, at least, were solid. Yet even as the rocks bolstered her way, Ningeryn was not quite sure as to their… reality. Periodically, blue crystals jutted from the walls and bathed the moss in a soft glow. They were like earthen stars, illuminating dozens of mineral specs hidden in the dark under the moss. 

“You are far from your home, child.” 

Ningeryn stopped. 

Her feet stood in the shadowed side of an archway at the mouth of another cave. This one was broader than the one she had found herself in, but was just as empty as the last. Her rescuer, her captor, whoever had brought her here seemed to have spoken to her from somewhere beyond this empty cavern. Light from another hole in the ceiling poured onto the mossy floor. It rippled back and forth, perhaps blocked further up by billowing vines. This caused her surroundings to shift more than ever. 

“Am I?” Ningeryn replied at last, stepping into the swaying light. “Where is here, so far from home?”

There was one other exit to the room. Ahead, a shadow moved back and forth across an opening in the wall. Perhaps a tree? Perhaps the outdoors? Perhaps still, more vines and more moss and more rocks for her to crawl over. 

“You walk where few of your kin dare, and fewer still return from.”

That gave her pause. Riddles were more Bronagir’s idea of fun than hers. She didn’t like mystery and shrouded words. Double-talk and mixed meanings hurt her head about as much as… as much as whatever hit her had. The owner of the voice was still out of reach, its origins folded somewhere in the cave beyond. Ningeryn moved forward. 

At the mouth of this cave sat a realm almost beyond comprehension. Water poured from the sky above. Mist gleamed under the light of the stars as the cave’s vaulted ceiling opened up to the heavens. Droplets floated through the air and rained down on a half-circle of trees, anointing each leaf with glittering gems of water. The mist landed on Ningeryn as well. She was no more wet than before, and at the same time no more dry. 

Mingled with the sounds of the waterfalls were the sounds of life. Beyond the rustling of the trees, snakes and frogs bustled in the emerald courtyard. Some entered the bounding pool surrounding this isle of green, while some basked in the misty spray. They did not react to her arrival. Each little creature went about its business as if she was another crystal in the wall. 

“Where am I?” Sometimes the direct approach was the best one. After all, she could not get an answer if she didn’t ask. Awaiting an answer- in readiness- was better than blindly rushing forth without bothering to inquire. She’d learned that lesson well enough after her sash ceremony. Saeradan, in his wisdom, had seen a resolve she hadn’t recognized herself. He’d offered her a choice as he did all the other Ranger initiates. She had chosen well. She then acted poorly. 

Ningeryn’s skin stung with ice as the mist continued. There was no silence in these halls. There was, however, a pause. 

“You walk within my halls, child. You stand at the edge of my court.”

Ningeryn studied the green in front of her. It was beautiful. It was unlike any space she had ever encountered- nothing like the Lune, nor Nen Harn. This was a place untouched. 

“Am I brought here to be judged?” 

Indeed, she felt like a trespasser. While she had not sought this place out she was now here. Inside someone’s halls. Before a court of trees wearing leaves of diamond, before a bed of spongy moss and a multitude of water creatures. They continued making sounds for a long while before she was answered. 

“No, child. You seek nothing. Nothing of you shall be sought.”

This in turn gave Ningeryn pause. Brought but not summoned. Neither seeking nor sought. Chance. Luck. An outcome devoid of fate. 

What is fate and what is not we may not decide for ourselves.The voice she heard now was not within the halls, but in her memory. She heard Saeradan far south. He had stood over a sobbing initiate and dressed her wounds. 

Far from him, in the present, Ningeryn clenched a fist. 

“But I do seek something!” She called into the court. Her feet did not yet approach the light of the stars. “I seek my home!” Ningeryn tried to force her mind to calm. She could only feel the ice of the ever-present water, not the burn of memories in her side. 

“You do not seek me?”

Ningeryn frowned. She did not know who it was out there that expected to be looked for. “I did not come here. You brought me here.” There was a tension in the air she couldn’t name, so she hurried on, “And if you did not bring me here, I know not what did. I am… confused. I mean no disrespect, but I did not come here of my own will, and I would not stay here if I am able to leave.”

There is quiet in the halls once more. She hoped she gave the voice something to think about. It felt all too much like a test, and she’d had quite enough of tests for a while. Tests of her mettle, hers and her fellow initiates’. Tests of knowledge- ones Astuil was a bit too eager to spring. Tests of her endurance… Tests of another sort that made the back of her mind itch. 

“You do not seek the knowledge here?”

Whatever this voice was, it asked very slippery questions. Many a scholar had stood by the old adage: ‘knowledge is a double-edged blade’. She had heard the saying time and time again. But knowledge was also a shield- one she could raise, and one she could extend. Tirnedhruith had given her a shield. She had felt as if she needed one, badly, and he had provided it freely. It felt… balanced, to have a sword and a shield. 

“In truth,” Ningeryn projected all the sincerity in her chest, “I do not know this place to seek anything from it. I search- my kin and I search for a way to restore our home. If there is something hidden here that will aid me, I would bring it first to those who are learned in such things.” She paused again. “I am wise enough to know I am unwise. If this knowledge is not to be given, all I ask is a way to return to my kin.” After a moment’s hesitation, she finished, “Please.”

As if in response, a wind began rippling through the trees of the court. Mist swirled overhead, and once more Ningeryn was bathed in freezing droplets. 

“You do not ask for knowledge, but you will have it.”

Something rustled, like the fluttering of many birds, behind her. Ningeryn turned, only for something small and fast to hit her full on in the face. 

“You do not ask for healing, but you will have it.”

She tore the thing away only to discover it was a piece of parchment. Impossibly old and dry as bone. Her fingers were soaked, but did not in turn soak the flimsy paper. It merely acknowledged her by staying well and dry enough to read:

We revisited the garden today. Now that the window shutters can be raised and lowered to weather any storm, we go about brightening the interior. There is still life in these halls. Even though the statues tarnish, they do so in shades of green, as if to mirror prevailing life in so lifeless a metal-

The fluttering was still loud in this cavern. With trembling hands, she clutched the ancient parchment and rushed forward. There, in the room she had passed through so quickly- Ningeryn craned her neck to the sky. No vines rippled between her and the stars. Only thousands and thousands of papers dry and tunneling into the sky. A library, a treasure trove, placed by a careful hand and preserved through the ages. 

“You seek to return, even empty-handed. That, I am well within my power to do.”

It was as if the voice was coming from just before her. But she saw no one. The wind rippled no clothes, no cloak, not even her own. She searched the cavern, and then looked back down at the sheet in her hands. It was bone dry. And she was soaking wet. 

With a start she realized, in all her time here, she had not remembered to breathe. 

The paper was torn from her hands as something hit her with great force. Droplets shot from her clothes and hair. Cold evaporated from her chest, replaced instantly by pain. 

“Wake, child, and seek your home.”

Ningeryn was buffeted by another blow and this time her lungs sought air. Water flew from her with the hammering within her heart and the pounding without. 

She laid on Saeradan’s floor and she cried. Only, the water poured from her mouth and not her eyes. And Saeradan staunched the blood flow in the wrong place, for the warg had gouged her side--

“Ningeryn!”

The cold stayed on the outside while she coughed up water. The channels within her head and throat burned as she fought to banish the water within. Even as someone held her up, she knew she ought to be afraid, but was far too busy trying to breathe before she could feel anything else. And as she breathed she wanted to cry, for this was almost more pain than she had ever known. Almost. 

“Ningeryn, try to breathe evenly.” A sincere but unhelpful voice directed her. There were two sets of hands on her shoulders, one helping her sit up, and another holding on as if she meant to try and go somewhere. She had no intention of doing anything, least of all moving.

“We have to get moving.”

Of course they did. 

“Firinhad, get in the boat with Ambadanir. Eirieniel, help me carry her. We have to get back to Tinnudir at once. Echad Garthadir is due for a resupply in any event.”

Ningeryn spent the next hour being prodded, poked, and lightly slapped back into a wakefulness she did not like. She was made to lean and to heave, to count fingers and whistles and number of times Dínhaleth asked if she knew where she was. Which was twelve. And the answer was always ‘in a rowboat’. She was not sick as many times as that, and she had to be grateful. Her body ached enough without adding any more complications. 

They collided with an empty rowboat at the dock, and Arfirion was very displeased. Someone broad-shouldered carried her from the boat to the Keep, up the steps and past the swimming braziers into the heart of their fortress. Ningeryn was made to keep awake for Uiriel, who bandaged her well and made no comment as she cried a little more. Uiriel also had a heated argument at the door with a deep, insistent opponent before sweet Cannasgam appeared to take watch. 

“I’m sure Uiriel told you you’re going to be fine already.” Ningeryn’s lungs wished to writhe within her, it seemed, but she merely nodded. 

“She said-” The words were too difficult right away. She ended up coughing, which was a mistake, and against all instinct allowed liquid back into her body in the hopes of dulling the pain. Hot tea was always more bitter in a healer’s potion. 

“She told me Tirnedhruith was not allowed to visit until he could relax a little.”

Ningeryn nodded, understanding. Seeing him worry would make her worry. She took a few bracing breaths before trying to speak again. 

“What… happened?”

This question seemed to seal Cannasgam’s lips and Ningeryn groaned inwardly. An enemy you survived was an enemy you could face again and wiser than before. Saeradan had let her know she had killed her great warg, but should she (Valar forbid) ever face another of its like she would do so with her eyes open. 

Her piercing look got through Cannasgam’s apprehension eventually. “Your patrol went looking for a missing scout. Bronagir, I think.” Ningeryn’s blood ran colder but Cannasgam carried on, “You and Firinhad were captured. From what Dínhaleth said, the Angmarim threw you in the water and Firinhad was stabbed breaking free and jumping in after you. Do you remember none of it?”

Ningeryn’s brow scrunched with the effort of remembering. “I…” She remembered hearing Firinhad, and someone else. She remembered it had been dark. And cold. “I… saw something… green. And a frog.”

At this Cannasgam couldn’t suppress a laugh. “A frog? By the halls, Ningeryn, anything besides your frog?” Ningeryn shook her head, and she pressed on. “I suppose it is for the best. By the look on Firinhad’s face, you’re not the poorer for forgetting. But, I am not here to pester you, I am here to make sure your sleep is restful.” 

She bit her lip and spoke before the subject could be entirely changed. “Firinhad? And Bronagir?”

“Both out of danger. They are not well- as you are not well- but they are here. And safe.” Cannasgam made a show of folding and refolding the thick woolen blanket. “Dínhaleth is keeping an eye on Firinhad now that his wound is bandaged. Bronagir… may have taken a head injury. But overall his condition is better than either of yours.”

“Lucky.” Ningeryn coughed again but breathing seemed slightly easier. Bronagir had disappeared, and they had been worried. The things the Angmarim did to prisoners… She shuddered. They were alllucky. 

Cannasgam saw more than enough to warrant a frown. “You’ll need more rest than the pair of them. They think Firinhad cracked a rib- your rib- even though he did get the job done. Just sit back. I’ll take care of everything.”

Ningeryn simply nodded and relaxed as Cannasgam helped fluff the pillows. She retreated to the door once to ask for something and came back just as swiftly. The tea had dulled the pain, but it was not so powerful as to aid in sleep. 

Cannasgam had a mischievous look on her face, and seemed intent on boring Ningeryn to sleep. “You know, Astuil will be crushed that you didn’t bring anything back for him to study. He’ll be sulking for weeks.”

Ningeryn gave her a small smile. “Oh, but we didn’t come back with nothing. We did more than… burn the rowboats. We came close to something.”

“You remember now?” Cannasgam leaned forward.