Pippin bit his lip as he knelt, gently placing the back of his hand against Frodo's forehead for some sign, some reassurance that perhaps things would be alright after all. "I'm so sorry, Frodo," he murmured as he quickly withdrawn his trembling fingers; the icy sweat pouring from his friend's forehead was both unnatural and unnerving. He pulled his cloak tightly around himself, shivering as the cool night air swirled around them and looked to Merry, whose hand was ready at the hilt of his small blade as they waited.
"Should they be taking this long?" Merry continued to stare out into the darkness, his eyes scanning the trees visible by the glow of the firelight. His voice was quiet and soft against the unfamiliar sounds of the night, so different from the crickets and bird-song of the Shire that they both were accustomed to. Pippin moved to stand beside him, watching his friend closely out of the corner of his eye as he softly replied. "Strider knows what he doing. I'm quite sure he and Sam will be fine." He attempted a faint smile that was lost on Merry, who anxiously began to pace back and forth under the shadows of Bilbo's trolls.
"This is my fault."
Pippin stood silently, taking note of the anguish in his voice before carefully stepping to place a hand on his shoulder. Merry looked up and swallowed hard, his eyes glistening in the firelight. "Don't blame yourself, Merry. Frodo will be fine, you'll see, and he'll back us buy for him every time we see him in the Dragon." He smiled gently, biting his lip to force back the tears that pricked his own eyes. "I promise."
Crack.
They both froze, slowing meeting each other's eyes as they listened. Pippin watched Merry's hand tighten further on his blade, slowly drawing it from the sheath and moved his own hand to grip the unfamiliar hilt in reply. Frodo groaned from the forest floor and Merry quickly looked down to him, and then shifted his focus once more to the darkness when a crunch resounded from behind them.
Pippin whirled around, awkwardly drawing his blade as terror coursed through him, imagining the dark cloaks of the Riders swirling through the midnight forest just beyond where the light of the torches fell, their faceless hoods blending with the shadows as they strode towards their prize. Their blades would gleam as wickedly in the pale moonlight as they had only two days ago, forged in distant flames. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself as he searched for any remnant of courage he had left, and opened his eyes as he prepared himself to be faced with the Riders.
There was nothing. Pippin glanced towards Merry, who was biting his lip in concentration as he slowly turned to scan the surrounding darkness. His voice was low as he spoke, breathless with fear. "There's something out there." Pippin was silent. There was no need to agree. "No matter what happens," Merry shifted his gaze and gave a small, curt nod towards him, "Protect Frodo." Pippin glanced towards Frodo for a moment, who had become eerily silent with wide, seemingly blind eyes, and silently vowed to protect him to the death. "We will, Merry."
"It should seem you have done a poor job of that already."
Pippin whirled around instantly to face the soft voice that had suddenly appeared from the shadows, gripping his blade with a trembling hand. Merry let out a small roar and bounded towards the dark, hooded figure that stood only a few feet away. Pippin cried out for him to stop, watching in horror as his friend swung his small sword clumsily towards the creature. It effortlessly moved to the side, dodging the strike gracefully as the cloak swirled in the night air. Merry lost his balance and staggered as it watched, seemingly bored, as it held up a gloved hand. Once again, the soft voice echoed through the glade. "Withdraw your blade, friend. I mean you no harm."
Merry growled and swung again, clasping the hilt with both hands as he attempted a wide slash. A blade appeared in the figure's hand from the shadows, seeming to appear from nowhere, as it gently parried and flicked its wrist. Pippin watched in horror as Merry's sword flew through the air, glittering in the moonlight as it landed with a soft thud in a bush. He cried out and ran, his heart beating in his ears and mind as adrenaline coursed through him, drawing the blade back to drive it toward the waist of the creature before him. The figure gracefully parried the attack, speaking lowly, "I mean no harm. I am here for the Ringbearer."
"Protect Frodo!" Pippin cried out and wildly began slashing through the air, gasping for air as the weight of the unfamiliar weapon burned through his arm. The figure deftly blocked his attacks and Pippin suddenly noticed the sword was different from those of the wraiths; where theirs had been harsh and tempered with cruel edges, this was beautifully understated with some sort of writing he was unable to make out curving down the blade.
He focused on his attacker's sword for a moment to long and suddenly felt his own twist from his hand and land clumsily a few feet away. He drew his breath, shaking as his eyes slowly traced the length of the blade at his throat towards the black, faceless hood that towered above him. "An admirable effort, though you should focus on your parries on the left." Pippin blinked as the figure strode swiftly passed him, sheathing their strange blades and leaning over Frodo. Pippin overheard a soft gasp and a murmur in a language he could not identify, something that seemed very old to him.
Merry cried out, "Get away from him!" The figure glanced up and Merry angrily ripped the hood back as a growl of protest was uttered. Pippin, standing behind the stranger, saw a wave of dark hair fall over its shoulders, but he quickly moved as he watched Merry's jaw drop, his own eyes widening in surprise as he finally glimpsed the face beneath the dark hood.
A young woman glared at him from a moment before rolling her sleeves and pressing a slender hand to Frodo's forehead, biting her lip as she once again muttered something unintelligible. A lock of her hair fell into her eyes and she absently flicked it aside, moving her hand towards his chest. Merry growled and stepped forward, cutting her off from a groaning Frodo, "Who are you?"
The woman glanced up, as if in surprise and paused for a moment, Pippin noted, as if the question was of some difficulty. Her voice was soft and complimented by a strange accent, "My name is Amera. I am a friend of Gandalf the Grey," Her eyes glittered in the firelight as her gaze shifted to him, "I was sent to help Frodo Baggins along with my companion, though," She perked a brow, "I've no idea who you two are, but clearly your friend is in urgent need of aid." Merry narrowed his eyes slightly as he processed the information and Pippin strode to stand beside him. The woman sighed again and glared, clearly frustrated. "As I've mentioned frequently at this point, I will hurt neither you nor your companion."
They both were silent, Merry glancing around the edge of the glade for Strider or Sam. The woman suddenly drew her blade, shining beautifully in the moonlight, and before either could move, laid it aside and lifted up her hands. Her voice no longer held an edge, but grew desperate. "Please, let me be of what aid I am able." Her strange, lilting voice fell to a pained whisper. "I would not have you lose your friend."
Finally, after a long, uncomfortable moment, Merry turned towards Pippin and gave a small inclination of his head. He stepped out of the way and Amera quickly moved forward, "Where is the wound?"
Pippin spoke out as he watched helplessly. "Above his heart." She nodded and carefully readjusted the folds of his shirt to examine closer, biting her lip as she saw the extent of the wound. As Pippin carefully watched, retrieving his sword and holding it at the ready, she gently brushed the ring to the side as if a nuisance. Amera gently laid a hand on his chest and whispered softly in her strange, lilting voice. He was unable to understand the true meaning of her words, but he felt a gentle stirring of hope rising up in him, pushing aside the pain and fear for the first time in days. It briefly occurred to him in the back of his mind that she must be some sort of elf, though he chose to remain silent.
Just then, a rustling could be heard from the woods and three figures emerged, two of whom Pippin immediately recognized to Sam and Strider. The third, who immediately rushed to bend down besides Frodo, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She brushed her midnight hair away from her face, revealing pointed, slender ears. She spoke under her breath to Amera in that distant language, while Aragorn placed a few leaves in his mouth and began to chew, kneeling down beside them both. After a few moments, he carefully took the mixture from his mouth and placed it firmly against the wound as Frodo cried out, his back arching his pain.
"Who's that?" Sam asked in confusion and anger. Pippin opened his mouth to reply but Amera glanced over her shoulder and rose, brushing her robes with one hand as she moved the other to move her dark hair away from her face. "One who cares for the well-being of your friend." She offered a faint smile, but Sam loudly retorted. "I don't understand why you elves keep poppin' out of the woods when we need to be gettin' Mr. Frodo help!"
Strider quickly looked up in reply, his voice firm but kind. "Arwen and Amera are here to help, Sam, and have risked their lives in doing so." Sam grew crimson and looked down the ground, muttering something like an apology. Amera inclined her head slightly at his reaction, turning back to Strider and hurriedly speaking, waving an arm towards the dark forest as she moved to retrieve her strange blade, sheathing it with distinct care. Pippin watched her closely as she spoke, the flames of the torchlight dancing against her pale face.
She was beautiful like the elf, but in a decidedly different way. He struggled to determine the difference but decided that her features were somehow more feral, though certainly breathtaking. While the elf was stunning enough to steal the breath of any who gazed on her, Amera's beauty was lingering, more dangerous and less comforting somehow. Her cheekbones were prominent against the waves of hair that fell against her shoulders and down the curve of her back, her eyes glittering beneath dark brows as she passionately spoke.
The three appeared to be arguing, Strider shaking his head towards Amera as the elf watched silently, gently stroking Frodo's forehead and planting a soft kiss against it. Finally, Amera bit her lip in frustration but nodded, retying the laces of her gloves roughly and quickly. She whistled into the darkness and two horses trotted forwards, one a shining white and the other a dark chestnut. As Strider and the elf, whose name Pippin had already forgotten, carefully lifted Frodo from the ground and began to move him towards the white steed, Sam loudly protested, "Where are you taking him?"
Amera moved towards the other horse, carefully adjusting the elegant saddle as she glanced over her shoulder towards him. "To Rivendell, where he will be safe." Merry, who had long been silent, suddenly spoke out. "The Riders are out there! It isn't safe for you to take him!" At this, Strider turned towards the elf with concern in his eyes, softly speaking to her while Amera lifted herself into her saddle and pulled her hair back yet again from her face before lifting her dark hood over her head. Pippin watched helplessly as the elf mounted in turn behind Frodo, carefully cradling him to her as he sat limply, his head rolling pitifully to the side as he moaned.
Strider and the elf exchanged one last, long look before she turned and galloped into the dark forest with Sam angrily proclaiming the dangers. Amera turned to follow, but paused and lowered her hood, glancing over her shoulder towards the hobbits. "I will not let anything harm Frodo. I swear it to you."
"You can't help that! You're leadin' him straight into danger, can't you see that?" Sam cried out, tears springing up in his eyes as Strider laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Amera was silent for a moment, the firelight dancing over her, but finally spoke in a voice filled with quiet determination. "I will die before I let any touch him." Without waiting for a reply, she threw the hood over her dark hair and galloped away as Pippin watched her disappear into the dark of the forest.
