Chapter Text
“Hold your ground! Hold the ford,” Nenthel heard her father commanding their small group of rangers as the five Black Riders advanced towards them. She gripped her sword tighter and clenched her jaw as they drew closer. For a moment, it seemed as if time stood still while the two opposing parties faced off against each other. Then everything happened at once.
The Black Riders gave a piercing shriek that had most of the men dropping their weapons and clapping hands over their ears. Even Nenthel doubled over in fear as she began to shake while keeping her hold on her sword. Then the riders charged and began to cut the rangers down.
Nenthel didn’t even get a chance to engage with the riders before someone was calling for a retreat. She turned to flee but as she did so, she watched her father fall to the sword of one of the Ringwraiths. “No,” she screamed as she ran towards him, but someone held her back.
“Do not be so foolish, Nenthel,” Halbarad instructed her as he dragged her back towards the east while the riders began to pursue them. “There is nothing you can do for him now!”
Nenthel nodded, though her heart was breaking. She could only hope that they would have a chance to return for the body of her last family member. Her mother had died more than two decades before from illness, and her older brother had been slain in an orc raid just three summers past. She gave her father’s fallen form one last glance before turning and sprinting away into the night.
With the rangers on foot and the Ringwraiths mounted on horses, there was no way to outrun their foe, but the Black Riders did not seem intent on their destruction so much as driving them from the ford. They pursued the rangers for several hours, toying with them. They would occasionally get close enough to engage in battle, but ultimately, they simply drove them east away from the river.
When the riders finally left off their pursuit, the rangers fell into an exhausted heap on the ground as the sun rose ahead of them. Nenthel looked over their small group and shook her head sadly. They had lost a third of their company. She ran a hand through her thick black hair. She had apparently lost her hair tie at some point during her flight. “What a nightmare,” she whispered as her legs buckled under her, and she collapsed to the ground. Tears began to run down her cheeks as she remembered her father’s body lying on the ground near the river.
“Nenthel, we need you over here,” Halbarad called to her as he approached. He held out a hand and helped her to her feet. “There are several wounded that need treatment,” he explained as he squeezed her shoulders in apology.
Nenthel nodded as she quickly held off any further tears. The Rangers of the North had no time for grief. Death found them all too easily and often. “Of course,” she replied emotionlessly as she gripped her bag of medicinal supplies that was still hanging at her side.
Halbarad sighed sadly as he watched the woman walk away. Nenthel’s father had been his friend and his second-in-command. He wanted to tell her that they would give her father a proper burial, that there would be time to mourn properly later, but he dared not make promises to her that would be almost impossible to keep. Still, perhaps he could give her a chance for peace and space to mourn. Someone would need to go to Rivendell and report the events, and Nenthel was both quick and one of the few who had not suffered injuries during the previous night. Halbarad nodded to himself as he made his decision. Yes, he would send her to Rivendell, and if she stayed there for a while, all the better. For, then she might see Aragorn, and he knew of no one else better equipped to help the woman than her childhood friend.