Stella, or the Nuzgul are Eating Warg Alive
1. First Meeting
A/N: Wow... I hadn't expected any feedback to this fic at all. It's appreciated. As for this new update, it covers a little more of her time in Rohan. There's still too much that I need to decide whether or not to tweak in Fellowship era. Besides, it's mostly the gapfiller nugzul that are biting for this fic. (Well, them and the genderbender- and almost-but-not-quite-slash-because-I'm-still-unsure-of-my-het-writing-skillz-bunnies...)
As for translations, Hraefn is the old english for Raven. Cilched, I know, but at least researched. As for this "Boromir," I see him named after a certain Steward of old, whose son happened to have a certain Red Arrow handy...
As for this new update, it covers a little more of her time in Rohan. There's still too much that I need to decide whether or not to tweak in Fellowship era. Besides, it's mostly the gapfiller nugzul that are biting for this fic. (Well, them and the genderbender- and almost-but-not-quite-slash-because-I'm-still-unsure-of-my-het-writing-skillz-bunnies...)
There had been a time when I thought myself strong and fit. Had I not run with my elder adoptive brothers and hunted everything from quail to wild boar? The Rohirrim had changed my perceptions of my supposed ability to keep up with the men. I could handle the forms, at least the first twenty times in a row, but I had neither the weight nor strength of my trainers, or even that of my fellow students. It had been humbling, as world shattering as Elrond's relevation of my hertiage. That, at least I had felt I could do something about, even if some of the clansmen looked at me askance when I chose to pursue my claim. This new relevation, beaten into me daily, left me too weary to deal with those who would dismiss my efforts to deal with it.
"Rohan has depended upon her daughters to be able to care for themselves upon the field of battle as well as her sons do, but there are some that say that we are approaching a more peaceful age and this training is no longer required. There are others who may not agree with this, but think we should certainly not be passing on our training methods to outsiders who might leave our country as quickly as they came," my unwanted companion continued, undaunted by my silence. There was a rising twinkle in his grey-green eyes, though he attempted to keep his face serious. "And I say that's all a load of horse shit. We need every warrior we can get. The name's Boromir," he said, placing a pair of heaping plates upon the table, easily within my reach. "Eat up; you look like you need it." He gave my slumped shoulder a hearty slap, shovelling a fork into his own plate.
"Thanks," I managed at last, picking over the bread, cheese, and soup from the soldiers' mess. I wasn't sure I could handle meat at this point. I felt as if I'd been more tenderized than the beef.
"You going to finish that, or just play with it?" He motioned with his fork towards my cut of steak; his own food quickly had been dealt with.
"Go ahead, if you want it; you brought it out," I offered him.
"No, you need to eat if you want any muscle on you. You're fast, and I don't think I've seen anyone with your balance, but all that won't do a damn thing for you if there's no power behind it."
"Yessir, Captain," I saluted, smiling wearily in return. Who was this fellow, and why had he taken an interest in me?
He snorted. "That's Lanceman Boromir to you, Shieldmaid. Or just Boromir, if I might get your name in return."
"I didn't think that new recruits were supposed to get too friendly with each other. You might go easy on me in the practice ring," I evaded. I didn't want to give away my real name. Elrond and Mother had not hidden it from me for twenty years only to have me shout it out to every man who offered me a crumb of comfort.
"Who said anything about getting friendly? I might just as easily take pity upon a woman that I do not know as one that I know some history of." He waited my answer, but I pretended a renewed interest in my soup. It had grown cold. "All right, keep your secrets, Hraefn. But I think we could help each other, if you'd deign to teach me some of your balancing tricks and allow me to show you how to build your strength up. Now, eat your steak." He shook his head, giving my back another friendly smack, and stood from the table. Once he had retreated, I turned toward my meat.
* * *
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.