Chapter Three – Weathertop

I stayed awake the entire night, keeping my senses constantly aware for signs of the Shadow or Darkness. Thankfully, there was no other evidence of evil that night, and morning came quickly after the climactic entry and departure of the Ringwraiths.

Rousing the Hobbits, however, was a task in itself. They were apparently unused to rising at such hours as Rangers did, and they grumbled amongst themselves about missing breakfast while they packed up their belonging. From what I'd heard in my travels and from reading literature, Hobbits ate at many intervals throughout the day, indeed, as much as eight meals.

As soon as we were outside the gates of Bree, I breathed a sigh of relief that everything had gone as Gandalf had planned: we had found the four Hobbits, and we were being led by Strider, the mysterious, though kind, Ranger. What I found strange, however, was the absence of Gandalf himself. Why had he been unable to meet us in Bree? I frowned as we walked down the road, hoping that he had not met the Nazgûl. I did my best not to worry about him, for I knew well that he could hold his own against the Nazgûl, as he had done many times in the past.

The day was the finest I had seen since my departure from the North: the sun was shining brightly, illuminating the dew on the grass and oak leaves. I was glad that we were no longer running, since I wasn't sure if I would be able to continue doing so without sufficient rest. If there was one thing I despised, it was running. Unfortunately, many instances in my life had required it. Unlike Elves, who can run for days without becoming weary, I was like many humans who preferred rest in between runs.

Although the Hobbits must have been weary from their previous travels before Bree, they were happy to share their tales with me. I listened with interest as their story unfolded, often told from one or more of Sam, Pippin, Merry, and Frodo's perspectives.

It had all begun at Bilbo Baggin's 111th and Frodo's 33rd birthday party seventeen years ago. Frodo had not known of the Ring's existence in Bilbo's collection before this day, when the older Hobbit slipped it on when he had made his closing speech. He had disappeared into the air, much to the shock of the attendees. At Gandalf's instruction, Bilbo then passed the Ring onto his adoptive nephew before he left for Rivendell. Throughout Gandalf's conversation with Frodo regarding the growing disquiet in Middle Earth some years later, Sam listened in for Merry, Pippin, and their friend Fredeger, since they had sensed something brewing with Frodo. Inevitably Sam was caught "gardening" beneath the window by Gandalf, but Gandalf took him into the room alongside Frodo and continued the conversation.

When the time finally came for Frodo to leave Bag End (which he sold), Pippin and Sam came along. Gandalf had promised to return before Frodo left, but he had not. To their collective surprise, Merry had then caught up to them by horse and they continued on through the Old Forest. One night they encountered the High Elves led by Gildor Inglorion and spoke to them around their fire, a story which Sam told with much enthusiasm, having taken a great liking to Elves in general.

Old Man Willow had caused them trouble in the depths of the Old Forest while they rode on, but the great Tom Bombadil had saved them from the tree's clutches and offered them rest in his home. I watched their eyes as they recounted the lovely meal and the company of Tom's equally lovely wife (Goldberry, daughter of the River), the songs which were sung, and the peace they had felt. It was Tom Bombadil who suggested they go to Bree, and from there, their journey then turned more frightening and dark. They had already fled once from the Nazgûl in Crick Hollow, they told me, where they had been given their short swords. When their tale came to an end, I remembered that these were no mere Hobbits, these were truly courageous characters!

Apple trees grew alongside the road at one point, and Strider stopped to allow the Hobbits to grab as many as they could hold, stuffing them hastily into their packs. I plucked a few for myself, offering one to Walker. She took it with a small "Thank-you" and I bowed my head, forgetting to stop myself. She just raised an eyebrow and bit into the apple's glossy skin, moving away from me.

When afternoon turned to dusk, the oak and apple trees had receded completely, leaving us in a land filled with grassy hills jutting with stones and endless fields of shimmering gold. Strider abandoned the road at this point, and began leading us along a ridge that ended at a rocky promontory of some kind.

Unlike the beautiful morning we had been fortunate to experience, the rain returned again at this time, hurling down large drops of rain on us as we slogged on. A chilly wind began to blow, biting through my clothes and causing me to wrap my cloak around myself as we trudged along the ridge. The Hobbits had started to stumble and slip on the wet grass, exhaustion setting in. Sam's pony, Bill, was also finding the travel on the slippery grass difficult, but he was overall a quiet, amiable horse that I soon began to understand the Hobbit's affection for. Walker, up ahead with Strider, appeared unaffected by the toils of the journey, and I wondered how it was that she could remain so strong.

They stopped at the peak of the hill among the ruins of stones, and waited for the Hobbits and I to catch up.

"This is where we shall spend the night," Strider said, and I did my best to not show my enthusiasm at the prospect of a rest. I was as weary as the Hobbits.

"What is this place?" the taller Hobbit, Pippin, asked. He looked around the area with curiosity, as did the others.

"Weathertop," Walker answered slowly. "Much before my time, during the reign of Elendil of Arnor, this was a great watchtower. One of the three palantíri was placed here inside the tower, but the Witch-King of Angmar, the leader of the Nazgûl, destroyed the watchtower. Only the ruins lay on the hill now." With this, she gestured to the large stones that were scattered along the hill.

A howling wind whipped over the ridge suddenly, jostling all of us. Walker met my eyes, a lock of her dark hair falling across her cheek, making her appear abruptly younger. "We must find the shelter of the ruins."

"Come, there is a cave!" Strider called from nearby.

Following Walker's lead, I descended the hill with the Hobbits until we reached Strider.

"In all my days I've never felt so glad to see a cave," Sam muttered as the Hobbits and I entered the surprisingly large rock shelter: me stooping, of course. Grinning at Sam's words, I aided Strider in his effort to make a fire from some old firewood he had found, left behind by Rangers.

When the fire was roaring, I sank onto the floor with my back to the cave wall, rolling my neck to the side. There was something about this place, Weathertop, which made me feel uneasy. No matter how far I stretched my senses, I couldn't put a finger on what it was. Frowning to myself, I searched the area once again for what I was feeling, but it evaded me.

I looked up, and I saw that Walker had been gazing at me from across the fire.

"Is there something wrong, Amir?" she asked, and I sighed, frustrated at myself.

I shook my head. "I don't know...but there is," I paused, looking up at the cave ceiling, "something about this place making me uneasy-" I stopped abruptly, my eyes catching a carving on the far wall. Rising suddenly, I strode to the far wall, crouching down to peer at the writing. I smiled to myself, recognizing Gandalf's signature Elven "G", along with the number "2".

"Gandalf was here," I said slowly, tracing the marking with my finger. I looked up to meet Strider's eyes. "Two days ago he passed through," I finished, and Walker frowned.

Strider moved over to crouch next to me. "I wonder what made him fly from here?" he wondered aloud as he read over the symbols.

"The Nazgûl?" Walker offered, and I glanced at her, her words echoing my own thoughts.

"Yes..." Strider began slowly, rising. "That could be so."

Frodo spoke up from around the fire, his expression deeply concerned. "Do you think he encountered the Nine, Strider?"

The tall Ranger sighed, "I cannot know, I can only suppose that was what happened."

"He told us he would meet us in Bree," Merry piped up as I rose from my position and stood by the fire, "What was he doing out here?"

"Something chased him," Frodo remarked darkly.

I nodded, returning my gaze to Gandalf's symbols on the wall briefly. "Knowing Gandalf, he wouldn't want us to search for him. If there is something on his trail, then we can only hope to meet him in Rivendell."

Strider met my eyes, his weary face taking on a kindly expression. "I believe you are right."

I shrugged my shoulders, and Walker smiled faintly. "Come and eat, young one."

Sitting next to Sam, who was busy cooking something that smelled delicious, I attempted to help the Hobbit. He fended me off, insisting that I rest.

"I hope you like this," he said, "we have this quite a bit in the Shire."

Handing me a wooden bowl filled with steaming food, I accepted it with a slight bow of the head and a "thank-you". Sam blushed, turning to serve Walker, who had been watching us in amusement.

The dinner was wonderful, and I was amazed that the Hobbits could conjure up food out of almost anything: roots, leaves, stalks, berries, small fruits and vegetables. Leaning back against the wall, I thanked Sam once again, and he ducked his head, insisting it was a pleasure. Although I did not know many Hobbits, these ones were certainly likeable and polite, and full of stories as well. Merry and Pippin, the most robust of the group, carried on a fine tale of one of their escapades in the Shire while we all sat before the fire, glad for its continuous warmth.

When night had fallen completely, Pippin stretched, and said: "Well, I don't know about you lot, but I think I'll turn in for the night..."

"Me too." Merry piped up, "I feel the journey's toils in my limbs." He rose alongside Pippin, going through their small packs for bed rolls.

Once the Hobbits were all settled toward the far end of the cave, we three – I, Strider, and Walker – were quiet as we listened to the crickets, the cracking of the fire, and the wind in the long grass.

Although the sound of the wind was soothing, something about it had me feeling uneasy. Looking out past the fire and into the inky darkness which had so quickly descended, I watched for a danger I sensed would fall upon us.

Walker seemed to read my thoughts. "What do you see?" she asked softly from beside me, and I frowned, unsure of how to answer her.

"I see nothing," I admitted, "but there is...something; a danger lurking somewhere."

Strider straightened, his brow furrowing slightly. "What is this?"

"She has sensed a danger around Weathertop." Walker answered, and from the corner of my eye, I could tell she was looking at me intently.

"I am not sure," I corrected, and then the feeling stirred again; closing in. "But something dangerous lies in wait outside, I believe."

"I feel what you feel." she said quietly, "It is 'the sense found deep in the bones'..." I nodded, recognizing the common Dunedain saying.

I glanced at Strider, who was now standing, with his hood pulled over his head again. "I will scan the area, and see what danger I may find. My own bones tell me we cannot be less careful."

Walker rose as well, "I will accompany you."

I cocked my head to one side. "And I will stay here?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

Both nodded. "We will be back shortly," Strider said. And without a sound, the two were gone, leaving me alone with the sleeping Hobbits. Or so I thought.

Turning around, I heard Pippin whispering animatedly. "There ought to be more food, you think?"

"I am as hungry as a bear." Merry put in, and Frodo groaned. "Oh you two, if there was more food, Sam is likely saving it for tomorrow. Think of other things than your hunger."

"Go back to sleep," Sam suggested.

"How can one sleep with hunger gnawing at his stomach? Surely a little bite won't hurt." Merry commented, and I heard Pippin agree. In the next moment, the two Hobbits were next to the fire.

I narrowed my eyes, "I thought you two were asleep."

Pippin shrugged, "We were..."

"But now we're hungry!" Merry finished, fishing through the food pack.

Sighing, I made a quick decision. "Well, eat a quick bite, but be sure to leave enough for tomorrow." Pippin and Merry nodded, munching on uraka root as they sat before the fire.

And that is when I felt it: an icy cold darkness stealing over the cave. Rising suddenly, and startling the Hobbits, I looked toward the entrance as I threw on my hood and drew my sword. It glowed a very dark green; like jade. Immediately, I was certain the blade spoke of the danger I had sensed and now felt closing in terribly.

"Find your swords." I said tersely to the two Hobbits, "And wake up Frodo and Sam." Wide-eyed, they dropped their food and ran to the back of the cave.

Walking past the mouth of the cave, I was greeted first by the sweet night air, and then...I knew. The putrid scent of the Nine met my nose, and I nearly reeled backwards in disgust. Even in the inky darkness, I could still make out the terrible outline of the five horse-less Ringwraiths, their gleaming black swords drawn as they advanced toward me.

Casting aside my fear, I gazed at them, calling upon my reserves of courage.

"What you seek you shall never have, as long as I draw breath!" I yelled, and the Witch King threw back his shaggy head and laughed, the crown glowing terribly under the moonlight.

"You may not draw breath for much longer, Ranger," he hissed. Then he thrust his sword at me, resulting in my hasty sidestep. Throwing all my weight into the blow, I aimed for the Witch King's shoulder. A second Ringwraith caught my blow with his sword, and the Witch King, seeing that my sword was tied up, jumped forward toward the cave.

"No!" I cried, and twisted the Ringwraith's sword away from him, vaguely hearing it land in the grass nearby.

I ran full-on toward the cave, grabbing an end of a log in the fire, the other side spouting flames. Lifting it, I waved it at the other Ringwraiths, who recoiled as their black robes caught on fire. Screeching, they backed away, allowing me the space to grab my bow from my shoulder and fit an arrow onto it.

I quickly glanced around me, and saw that Merry and Pippin had caught on to the fire trick and were waving burning logs at a Ringwraith, who screamed as its cloaks were lit afire. Spinning around to avoid the blow I sensed was coming from the Ringwraith in front of me; I loosened my arrow in its face, hitting it square in the mouth. Howling, it staggered backwards, allowing me to search for Frodo, who was nowhere to be seen.

"O Elbereth!" I heard his brave voice cry from an invisible location, "Githoniel!"

"Frodo!" I called in desperation, dropping my bow and running toward Sam, who had been suddenly backed into the cave wall by a Ringwraith. Chopping at the undead warrior's back, I grabbed the terrified Hobbit and pushed him toward Pippin and Merry, who had succeeded in holding off another Ringwraith. Sam saved me from a blow from another Ringwraith, but a movement to my left caught my eye. Sam's Ringwraith, having regained its composure, threw a savage blow in my direction, catching me off guard. I barely had the time to block his sword, watching in the corner of my eye as the Ringwraith Pippin and Merry were battling ran screeching down the hill, its body aflame.

Pushing out hard, I forced the Ringwraith in front of me back a few steps. I twisted away from its answering jab, my breathing heavy. Grabbing another log, I was about to retaliate when I heard it.

Even the Ringwraiths paused as the scream, bloodcurdling and terrible, cut through the night air. The cloud that had momentarily hid the light of the moon passed by, and in the hazy light I saw the Witch King's sword retracting from a spot in the air. In the next moment, Frodo appeared, collapsing in a heap as he pulled off the Ring.

"Frodo!" I called, feeling panic set in. I began running toward him, but my movements seemed slow, as though the air had turned to water.

Shadows came from the hill and I saw that it was Walker and Strider, their swords drawn and slashing at the Ringwraiths, who were retreating with horrible screams of their own. The Witch King turned and fled after the four others. I watched, frozen in place, as Strider bent over the dark haired Hobbit.

"No..." I gasped, and Walker moved beside me.

"You are hurt," she murmured, and I followed her gaze to the hand which was clutching my side. My eyes widened in shock. I had not even noticed I had been injured, let alone that I was holding myself in that way. Moving my hand, I sheathed my sword quickly.

"I'm fine," I ground out, feeling the burning pain for the first time. Stumbling toward Frodo, I bent to my knees next to Strider, who had exposed the wound on the Hobbit's chest. It was a dark blue, almost black, colour and it seemed to glow with the evil that lingered from the Nazgûl blade. My heart fell at the sight and I looked to Strider, who was focused on his task.

"This is beyond my skill. The blade shattered and left a piece deep within the wound," he breathed at last, leaning back. I swallowed thickly before speaking.

"I do have healing abilities, Strider, but never have I tested them with a wound such as this..." I trailed off, listening to Frodo's shaky breathing. I touched his forehead, feeling how warm it was; too warm. The fever from the black blade would come soon enough, and from there...I shook my head.

"Do what you can," Strider said, moving back. I leaned down by Frodo's ear.

"Frodo, this may hurt, but I am going to try and heal you, if I can," I explained quietly, and he moaned a little.

I lay my hand over the wound, and the Hobbit's breathing hitched in pain, making my heart constrict. Focusing my energy on the wound, I poured what strength I could into the transfer. I felt the skin close up and cover the wound, but when I probed deeper, all I felt was the blackness of Mordor and I recoiled. Strider, who I hadn't noticed crouching next to me, put a hand on my shoulder.

"What is wrong?" he asked, and I realized I was shaking. On my forehead were beads of sweat.

I exhaled heavily, meeting his eyes. "This is beyond my skill as well, Strider. The darkness has run deep."

His jaw tightened, and he glanced at the shivering Hobbit. "You have contained the wound, Amir, and that is far better than I could have done."

I shook my head, brushing Frodo's hair off his forehead and holding my hand to his skin. "He is getting a fever, Strider. It will only worsen."

There was a long silence, as we gazed at the unconscious Ringbearer.

"As soon as the sun rises, we will fly to Rivendell, for that is all the choice we have," Strider said finally, his voice belying his inner weariness.

I nodded, feeling overly weary myself. The pain was beginning to descend heavily now.

"I will take him inside," he murmured, lifting the wounded Hobbit into his arms and walking him into the cave. I knelt on the grass for a moment longer, gathering my strength. Rising, I began to follow, only to bump directly into Walker. Strangely, I had not noticed her there.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, but she held me in place.

"You have done what you can, Amir...Do not blame yourself," she said softly, and I nodded.

"Come," she murmured, gripping my shoulder, "your wounds must be tended as well."

I shook my head, but the movement only made me dizzy. I halted for a moment, my eyes drawn to an object on the ground: the Witch King's blade! Crouching down, and ignoring the pain in my side when I did so, I picked it up by the hilt. Walker's eyes narrowed, and I watched as the blade seemed to waver and then, as though it had never been there, it disappeared with a small hiss. Recoiling slightly, I stood, the black hilt still in my hand.

My eyes met Walker's, and her face was grim.

"I will show that to Strider, but now, come!" she insisted, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the cave.

I vaguely remember being lain down on some relatively soft surface and feeling warm water on my side before blackness took over.

I suppose I must have fallen into unconsciousness, for when I awoke, it was near midnight and the Hobbits were asleep. Strider and Walker sat by the fire, staring into it in silence. I propped myself on one elbow. In the next second, I realized my side had been bandaged and I was lying on a bed roll. Walker glanced over at me, having heard the changed tempo of my breathing. She rose, stepping over to me.

"Are you alright?" she whispered, crouching down.

I rubbed my eyes, and met her gaze. "Yes, thank-you. I did not mean to fall unconscious."

She shook her head, "Of course not, Amir. You were in pain and exhausted."

"How is Frodo?" I asked, suddenly remembering my panicked concern for the Hobbit.

Walker sighed, "He is calm, but the darkness is taking all his energy to battle. Hobbits are hardy folk, but they are no match against a Morgul blade." She looked away, "You are lucky your wound is only a graze."

I frowned, "We cannot lose him, Walker." My voice had taken on a desperate tone, and I paused, clearing my throat. "Isn't there anything I can do?" I began to rise, but she held me down with her hand on my shoulder.

"The only thing you can do is rest yourself, for you will need your strength for the rest of the journey to Rivendell," she whispered, and I nodded.

"Sleep now, while you can," she intoned, and I lay back down slowly, feeling the exhaustion return...

And this is definitely where the action starts to climb…I have a bit of a tough time striking a balance between the content that was originally in the book versus things that were added in the movie: I have spent countless hours debating on whose version, Peter Jackson or Tolkien's, was more befitting for my own story. In the end, I think I have come up with some balance between the two, as well as some of my own twists that are thrown in. Please review and let me know how I am doing! Chapter Four will be uploaded soon…As I said before, I have all of these Sixteen chapters of Volume I completed, so do indicate if you think I should keep uploading.