Author's Note: I should warn you now: if it seems like the last half of this chapter is a bit off, it was written while under the influence of Elvis Presley's 'A Little Less Conversation' (the song has been stuck in my head for days now.) Anyway, it's over with, and hopefully the next section will be better. Oh, and comments and criticisms are still greatly appreciated. – Elf Girl
P.S. I should add that there are comments for my fantastic reviewers at the bottom of the page. Now on with the fic.
Chapter 2: The Shadow of Dark Riders
It was in the dead of night that Frodo awoke, not to any one sound, though there were many, but rather to an immense dread which gripped his heart. He sat in horror for a moment, eyes darting about the small space. The fire had been reduced to embers, and in every shadow and at each corner of the room he saw the shifting shapes of black riders.
Only after several moments of careful scrutiny did the hobbit realize that it was merely his mind playing tricks. Yusraa and Strider still sat at their posts, and appeared unaffected by the fear which gripped the halfling.
Frodo moved gingerly to return to sleep, but a bone-chilling screech from without the room brought his companions to their senses, and removed any thought of rest from his mind."What are they?" The hobbit questioned, his voice trembling.
"Nazgul," Yusraa murmured, her gaze fixed on the street below.
"They were once Men," Strider explained, when it was clear that the Haradrim would say no more; "Great Kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will."
The hobbits drew the blankets tighter about their shoulders as the ranger continued. "They are the Ringwraiths: neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting it."
Another shriek filled the air, seeming to originate from the very walls about them. A moment later it was joined by heavy footsteps pounding through the hall. The hobbits held their breath, waiting for dark forms to break through the door and come for them. The pace of the steps remained unbroken, however, and soon faded off into the night.
"They are leaving," Yusraa noted, turning for the first time to look at the halflings; "We are safe for now."
Frodo could feel that she was right, already the burden on his heart was growing lighter, and he found himself succumbing once more to sleep.
When next the ringbearer awoke, it was to the sound of quiet discussion. Slitting his eyes, Frodo could see Strider and Yusraa bowed over the table, looking through the collection of packs. Although the urge to bolt up and demand an explanation was strong, the hobbit waited to hear what they spoke of.
"…Animals were scared off in the night," Yusraa whispered.
"We will not be much slower on foot," Responded the ranger, returning the bag in his hands to the pile, and reaching for another. "But the food and stores trouble me."
"We could hunt along the way."
Strider shook his head, "Gathering and catching is weary work on such a journey as this, and anything we do find will leave a trail of our presence."
"We could wait for Gandalf…" Yusraa's voice trailed off as she caught her companion's dark gaze.
"Even if he is well, we have no way of knowing if he will come this way at all," The tone was firm, but not unkind; and the girl gave a reluctant nod.
"What are you doing?" The fierceness in the unexpected voice caused the two to turn. Samwise had just begun to wake, and the sight of his new found guides rummaging through the collection of belongings was more than the stout hobbit could stand.
Strider and Yusraa exchanged glances, though it was Frodo who next broke the silence: "It's alright, Sam," The hobbit assured his friend as he moved to sit up; "They are trying to help us."
"Help us, indeed!" Sam grumbled to himself, but he seemed hesitant to contradict his companion outright.
The two in question gazed for a long moment at Frodo, as it became clear that the hobbit had caught a bit of their conversation. "I believe," Said Yusraa at last, a glimmer of amusement in her voice; "That we have underestimated the craftiness of our newfound friends."
"I believe you are right," Strider agreed, before moving to the beds. "Let us wake your companions," He said to the hobbits; "Provided they are actually sleeping, and not merely waiting to hear what more we have to say."
Once the others had been roused, the six set about preparing to leave. Sam and Merry were sent with orders to secure food and any sort of pack animal that had survived the fright of the previous evening, while their companions saw to breakfast and other last-minute necessities.
Strider and Yusraa soon returned to their work with the packs and, to Frodo and Pippin's dismay, the two were removing everything that would not be of use on their journey. Although the hobbits protested as fine teacups, extra cutlery, sticks of butter, and other hobbit-essentials were added to a growing pile, their guides paid them little heed.
It was not long before Merry and Sam returned, and Butterbur with them. Seeing that the ranger had come to join the hobbits' company upset the innkeeper, and at the sight of Yusraa he lost any pretence of civility. "You!" He cried, "I told you not to return here!"
"She's here with my leave," Frodo suddenly spoke up.
"Noble of you, Little Master," Barliman retorted, never taking his eyes off the girl; "But there's no need to be sticking up for the likes of these. Every day that passes brings more Southrons to Bree, and not a one of them is up to any good!"
"If you'd like her gone," Noted the hobbit firmly; "You had better see to getting our supplies. She will be coming with us."
Butterbur sputtered for a few moments, trying to save the halflings from what he was sure would be a horrible mistake. In the end, however, it was clear they would not see his reason, and the innkeeper finally trudged off to see what he could do for the group.
The sun was high overhead by the time all preparations had been made, and they had given up any hope of setting out quietly. Butterbur had been able to find a pony for the travelers, but the poor beast was so malnourished that they hadn't the heart to burden it with the number of supplies they had hoped to bring.
Strider decided that the company would leave by the main road, since any attempt to set off cross country would raise suspicion among the Bree folk, and bring unwelcome meddlers along at their heels. It was not until late afternoon, once the six were well away from the town, that they broke from the beaten path. Their guides led the way east, to make for Weathertop Hill by way of the Midgewater Marshes.
The first few days flew by uneventfully. Their path was clear, and the gentle slope of the land as it dipped down to the marshes made the hobbits feel that they were traveling with a good bit more strength than before their arrival in Bree.
By noon of the third day, however, their journey grew less pleasant. They had reached the valley's bottom, and footing became unsure amid boggy pools and dense rushes. Navigating the marshes was disorienting, and at times downright treacherous as quagmires threatened to swallow careless hobbits. It was there that the midges began to plague them. Swarms of them circled the small group, undeterred by any attempts to keep them at bay.
If the day was bad, the night was insufferable. Everything they possessed was damp, and between the insects that bit and those that chirped there was no rest for any of them.
Things were little better the following day, and by the fifth of their journey the hobbits were on the verge of despair when, at long last, they broke through the marshes and onto dry land. From there it was a steady walk that brought the company to the skirts of Weathertop, and the setting sun saw their arrival at the watchtower of Amon Sul.
Though from afar the ancient stronghold appeared a welcome refuge in the midst of their journey, the hobbits found it less than promising. "Well here we are!" Noted Merry, "And very cheerless and uninviting it looks! There is no water and no shelter to be had."
"Aye," Sam agreed; "But it's still better than those marshes."
Their guides offered neither agreement nor apology, and the group soon began to make camp.
In the gray shadows of twilight, Frodo began once more to feel the weight of fear which had gripped his heart in Bree. Looking about frantically, he questioned: "Is it safe here?"
Both Strider and Yusraa paused in their work to eye the halfling. "As safe as it is anywhere for us, why do you ask?" The ranger responded.
At once, Frodo felt somewhat foolish, like a young hobbit who has awoken in the night to tell of goblins he saw dancing about his bed. "I–" The Ringbearer began, before stopping himself. "It was nothing."
The answer was not good enough for Strider. Clasping the hobbit's shoulder, the ranger dropped to his knees to meet Frodo's gaze. "There is still hope, you are not alone," He murmured to the halfling, before rising to speak to the others. "Let's gather wood. There is little shelter or defense here, but fire will serve for both."
Yusraa shook her head, "We stand on the pinnacle of this land. Even the smallest fire will be seen for miles in all directions."
"Fire is our friend in the wilderness," Strider responded. His voice was curt, as though giving a lecture rather than making a point; "The black riders do not love it, and fear those who wield it."
The southron still seemed unconvinced, but gave no further argument as the hobbits set about gathering wood.
By the time they had set a fire, the dark of night was upon them, and spirits improved little as the flames cast dark shadows all about the camp. The hobbits huddled tightly around the flickering light, wrapped in every cloak and blanket they possessed. Yusraa and Strider sat opposite one another and back some from their small companions. Each gazed out absently into the darkness surrounding Amon Sul, as if the next moment would bring friend or foe under their watchful gaze.
Time passed, and brought with it no sign of any being or creature. Strider turned back to the fire, and began to sing the tale of Luthien Tinuviel– an elf maiden who captured the love of Beren, a mortal. Luthien was fairest of her kind, and when Beren stumbled upon her dancing at the edge of the river Esgalduin he gave her the name Tinuviel: Nightingale. Both joy and sorrow filled their lives, and together they reclaimed one of the three Simarils of old.
"What happened to her?" Frodo questioned, as the ranger dropped into silence.
Strider's voice was cold: "She died."
"Chose to die," Yusraa corrected abruptly, her dark eyes shining as she added to the tale. "Beren was slain by Carcharoth, a wolf from the gates of Angband; and Luthien gave up her immortality to follow him, in death, beyond the stretches of Middle Earth." She paused, before adding; "Some say it was the greatest act of love."
"And some say no mortal deserves such an act," Strider countered, watching Yusraa intently.
A slight smile graced the girl's lips, "Luthien did not seem to think so."
The hobbits looked on in confusion. It was clear that the two spoke of more than the ancient tale, and yet they could not begin to guess what it was that conflicted their guides.
Any further argument or speculation was cut short by a cry from Pippin. In an instant the company realized what had captured the hobbit's fear. Shadows, so dark that the night about them seemed to pale in comparison, were standing at the edges of the watchtower. In an instant, the camp was half overturned as the companions sprang to defend themselves. Strider and Yusraa urged the hobbits closer to the fire, grabbing makeshift torches to brandish at their dark enemies. Sam, Merry, and Pippin fumbled to draw the daggers at their sides, even as tremors of fright shook their small forms.
It was Frodo alone who did nothing. The foreboding terror which had come to him when they reached Weathertop now multiplied a hundredfold as he gazed upon the Ringwraiths. Yet, even as they slowly advanced, the hobbit felt an insufferable desire to put on the ring. Its weight became unbearable about his neck, and the Frodo felt that no other action could be taken on his part until the ring was on his finger.
He could feel the eyes of his companions bearing down on him, and hear their cries as they tried to persuade him to move, yet the halfling had hardly the strength left to breathe. It was then that another thought gripped him: they would not let him use it! These 'comrades' would steal the ring for themselves rather than watch as he took command of it. With that, Frodo slipped the ring from its chain and onto his finger.
For a moment the remaining company froze even as the Nazgul, now sure of their target, rushed forward. "Frodo!" Sam screamed, but there was no sign of the hobbit.
A sudden cry met their ears: "O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!" It broke whatever spell seemed to bind them, and the five bolded forward to aid their companion.
A battle against five black riders was exacting under the best of circumstances, and nearly futile in the dark night while attempting not to stumble over an invisible halfling. Yet, after only a few short moments of melee the Ringwraiths retreated from the small company and escaped into the dark.
"Yusraa! Strider!" Merry's call brought the two back from the watchtower's edge.
The hobbits were encircled about something on the ground, and it took both ranger and southron a moment to realize that the broken shape was that of Frodo. The halfling's eyes were glazed over, and his breathing came in short gasps. A deep gash in his left shoulder was forming a puddle of bright blood at the halfling's side, and into this Strider dipped a finger, drawing it to his lips. He spat the liquid out a moment later: "Poison."
"Strider," Yusraa's voice trembled slightly as she held aloft a dagger. As the other's turned to watch, the blade crumbled to dust.
"A Morgul blade," Muttered the ranger. Scooping the injured hobbit up, he started toward the edge of Weathertop. "This is beyond my skill to heal," He stated, glancing back for a moment at the others. "He needs elvish medicine. Hurry!"
Yusraa moved to obey, and the hobbits followed suit, hurriedly gathering their packs as Strider disappeared over the watchtower's ridge. Sam darted off to grab the pony, and the solemn company was soon off on their silent journey through the dark.
DoomsDavDevice: Thanks so much for being the first to review my story! Half the reason I wrote this was to explore what it would be like if the fellowship was joined by an OC who wasn't elvin or royal.
FebruarySong: I'm glad you're enjoying it so far, hope this chapter didn't disappoint!
Me and Funeralfairy: I'll take the chance to respond individually to you two when I post Chapter 4, but for now I just wanted to say a huge 'thank you' for catching my mistakes and giving me feed back on them. You have no idea how much that sort of thing helps my writing. :)