Otherside

A Tolkien Fan Fiction By

Raven Usher

A/N: I thought about this lying awake in bed that night (clearly the presence of the Halls of Mandos eluded me in thought - as I decided to dedicate one of my early fics to it). But I'm starting to see a pattern in my writing which is: big tragic death scenes. I was also in the mood for something EXTREMELY darker than what I usually write. Ah, don't expect very frequent updates, it's kinda' a side project. Ah, and I'm afraid they'll be short as well… as I am lazy, and… it IS a side project. Ok, I'm just a bum. We'll put it that way. So here I am with "Otherside" which reminds me…

DISCLAIMER: I didn't even come up with the TITLE (how lazy am I?) I actually named it for one of my favorite Chili Peppers song. Also, I do not own ANY of the characters that follow, they come from the rich imagination of the great J.R.R Tolkien. (WE ARE NOT WORTHY). I think that's about it. That'll be enough rambling… for now.

=-=-=-=-=-=

Aragorn bent low to the ground, his eyes closed and his mind securely intent on listening for any disturbances. He exhaled slowly, his breath clear on the cold December air. The man's sharp eyes slowly opened, surveying the land in front of him. The forest outside of Rivendell was quiet. Far too quiet. Not a bird calling. Not the rushing of water. Nothing. Needless to say, this rendered the Ranger extremely uneasy.

He stood up slowly, careful to level his weight so that minimal sound was made when he moved. Something was not right at all with his surroundings. Aragorn loosened his sword in its scabbard; the man was brave, but he was no fool. Resolving that returning to Rivendell and conversing with Elrond was the best course of action at the moment, he began to make his way back to the Elven haven just snowflakes began to fall from the overcast sky.

The Ranger wrapped his cloak tightly around him as the winds began to pick up. Aragorn bowed his head as it became more violent, his dark hair whipping about his face. The man tried to keep his senses alert as possible between the snow and wind, but what he heard next required no heightened senses. There was a distinct growl from not that far behind him.

It sounds like there's only one, he thought to himself, keeping a steady pace so that whatever was following him wouldn't detect a difference. He could hear the creature's footfalls quicken, causing Aragorn to do the same. He was at least a day from Rivendell, his stalker would overtake him before then. Knowing he had only one choice, he unsheathed his sword and spun around, planting his feet in a defensive stance.

But there was nothing there. What kind of ill trick is being played, he thought, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the forest around him. A second later the Ranger was tackled to the ground as a large body hurtled onto his shoulders from behind. Aragorn cried out in pain and frustration as he felt his left shoulder blade crack horribly. He gasped out as his attacker put more weight on him, making it near impossible to breathe. The Ranger got a firmer grasp on his sword and swung it around to find a mark.

It reared back and let out a howl of agony, giving Aragorn enough time to scramble out from underneath what he found to be a warg. The warg, now incredibly aggravated by its wound, growled threateningly and charged towards the man at full speed. It leapt up on its hand legs, but Aragorn was ready, he drove the sword through its throat and stepped aside to watch it fall. The warg lay on the forest floor, writhing in pain.

The man retrieved his sword and stabbed the warg one last time; it whimpered pitifully, then was silent. He bent down briefly to clean the blood from his sword on the grass, the snow now biting at his bare skin.

"Wargs never travel alone," he muttered to himself. The day was waning - which he needed now, more than ever. It felt like sand slipping through his fingers all the more rapidly. A shudder raced down his spine at the sound of several more warg howls lacing the air. Aragorn sheathed his sword and continued towards Rivendell.

But the Ranger's situation didn't improve. Those first two snowflakes had evolved into a full blown storm. It was becoming increasingly harder and harder to keep at his steady pace. In a few hours it had become so dark and cold that he had completely lost his bearings. He stumbled into a clearing in the forest, hearing something moving on the snow's surface. On the opposite side of the clearing he saw a tall, cloaked figure step forward.

Aragorn held his hand up to guard his eyes from the merciless wind and snow. "Who's there!" he demanded harshly.

The cloaked figure continued moving towards him steadily. It's breaths coming in rasping, and its body remaining in shadow. The man drew his sword, prepared to attack at a moments notice. The figure apparently began to speak, but its words were not Elvish or common, nor any other tongue that belonged to Middle-Earth. It sounded though as many chill voices spoke at once, enrapturing Aragorn as he tried to concentrate on keeping his focus.

His hands felt numb around the sword's hilt and his shoulder felt oddly heavy. He was vaguely aware of the figure coming closer, a skeletal like hand sweeping forward. The Ranger's legs buckled and he went to his knees, the snow about him no longer seeming as bleak..

"It's time to let go, Aragorn…" the voices cooed. "Isn't it painless?"

"Yes…" Aragorn murmured, it was becoming more difficult to hold of the desire to completely subdue to the spell this figure was weaving. Finally something snapped, it felt like blanket had been lifted off him. With a loud yell he gripped his sword and swung at the figure through the middle, which dissipated into a mist.

Aragorn whipped around on his heel and began running in the opposite direction. There was no point in staying there, it could come back for all he knew. Whatever it was, it had been by no means friendly. He ran for maybe an hour before tripping over a rock and falling headlong into a stream that he had failed to see through the raging storm. He crawled out of the stream, shaking violently from the freezing water.

He pushed his drenched hair out of his eyes only to realize he had forgotten something in his flight from the clearing. The wargs were still tracking him. He could see them now, a pack of maybe seven wargs stepping out from the trees, their hungry growls becoming more and more distinct. Moving slowly he removed his sword from the scabbard, ready to give the wargs a bitter fight. Climbing to his feet he gave the sword a good practice swing then grinned roguishly as the first warg advanced on him.

"Elendil! Elendil!" he roared, leaping over the stream and driving the channels of the blade through the warg's heart. If only it all could have been that easy. Two came at him at the same time. The first clawed at his arm, causing him to instinctively slice into its side. This gave second assailant a chance to sink it's teeth into Aragorn's leg.

The fight went rapidly downhill from there, making it all swiftly becoming a blur. Blood seemed to cover every inch of the man's body as he hewed the head off one of his last adversaries. He heaved a sigh, trying to catch his breath. The only thing making him uneasy now was that he couldn't see the seventh warg. Aragorn slumped against a tree, trying to use his sword to support him, when he heard the rasping breathing and the numerous, chilling voices.

"Let go, Aragorn… It's painless."

The sword fell from his hands and the world seemed to fade out as the snow-laden ground rushed up to catch him. Aragorn's eyes ultimately closed as the familiar skeleton-like hand passed over his gaze.