AT THE SIGN OF THE PRANCING PONY
They had abandoned the boat, there was a series of rapids that Merry was more than uncomfortable navigating, that and Pippin would have expelled the contents of his stomach if they had even tried. They left the boat, covered it in ferns and kept close to the road following it near enough toward Bree. The night was broken by the lights of the town, it was a small thing most of the buildings constructed from cheap stone or timber at the base of a low wooded hill. That said a thick lining of hedges surrounded the town in a bid to keep it 'cleaner'. Yeah that seemed to work well didn't it? The town was riddled with lowlifes and drug abusers. The hedge all connected round to the large iron gates that remained closed. What was it a medieval town? Frodo leant heavily on a tree, his hood pulled up over his head. The rain pissed down on them now-great they were drenched, shaken and uncomfortable about the approach into Bree. The four teens were crouched behind the cover of the trees terrified someone would spot them. Everyone they had seen had been an instant no go. Who was nice? Who were those men on the motorbikes?
"Let's go already-I need to have a shit," Pippin whined.
"I told you to go in the bush," Merry scolded.
"I'm not a bloody animal!" Pippin retorted with a snort of annoyance. Frodo cast a look over his shoulder before nodding and lifting himself up darting across the road to the town, the others following. There was a light in the small lodging to the left of the gates, the smell of smoke spewed from its windows. Someone was inside.
"Hello?" Frodo called. He was ignored. "Hello?" He called-louder this time. There was a disgruntled mutter of 'fuck' before a stooped man appeared, he wore an old fisherman's hat that dropped down his face in the rain, and a rain poncho. He was a surly looking thing he shone the flashlight straight in Frodo's face. He was puffing on a cigarette.
"What do you want?" The man choked.
"We need to get to the Prancing Pony hotel." Frodo nodded.
"The hotel? What's kids like you doing down these parts?"
"We want to stay at the hotel. The rest of its our own business."
"Alright then-no need to get offended. Didn't mean anything by it," The man grumbled flicking back the ends of his poncho and producing a ring of rusty old keys and shuffling toward the chained lock of the gate. "It's my job to ask questions you know? Talk of strange folk abroad, can't be none too careful." The gatekeeper muttered as they quickly left the gate behind. Frodo quickly entered the gates, heaving a sigh of relief as they left the road behind.
The streets were narrow, people leered in the darkness of the alleys, some scuttled down the streets in a bid to avoid the pouring rain, others couldn't care less. Was that guy chewing on a carrot? Frodo kept his eyes down. He didn't want to encourage conversation with any of them. The Prancing Pony-that's where Gandalf had said. He would go there-only there and wait for Gandalf. Frodo's mind wondered where the old fool had gotten to. They quickly wound in and out of the streets.
"Follow me," Pippin urged striding forward.
"You know where you're going?" Sam scowled at the teen hidden away under his sodden beanie.
"Sure I do-come here all the time for...things."
"Things?" Sam cocked a brow, "What things?"
"I'm guessing you don't realize how cheap beer and fags are here," Pippin put his head down and continued on. Frodo cast a look after his cousin and rolled his eyes before jerking his jacket closer around him and following Pippin. They wound their way forward, following after Pippin and soon they found what they were looking for. A sign hung limply off a metal bracket of one of the buildings. The Prancing Pony. Frodo could hear the music, shouting and ruckus from streets away. It wasn't exactly the 'hotel' he had thought they would find. It was more like a shitty little motel with moulding walls and cockroaches crawling about, out the front was a large beer garden filled with people even though it was pissing down. People were milling all around the beer garden out front-people in groups tucked to themselves, smoking and guzzling alcohol. Laughing and whispering. All eyes turned to the four teens as they scuttled forward attempting to wind their way through the beer garden avoiding the people within. They finally reached the front doors. Steeling himself Frodo shuffled into the reception, the others following. The reception itself was much quieter then the bustling garden out front-but still packed. Frodo had never felt more like a teenager then in the presence of the people around him now. They all seemed to tower over him, and he was tall for his age, eyes watched with intrigue. Once inside the heat instantly began to seep into his bones and dry his clothing, Pippin reached up and pulled the hat from his head shaking out his rusty curls. Frodo spied the main desk and quickly trotted toward it.
"Excuse me?" He said loudly trying to drown out the music with his words. There was a man stood behind the counter with a balding head, thick beard and red face. The man spun now and cast his eyes to the four that now stood before him.
"Good evening," He nodded, "If you're seeking accommodation, we've got some nice, cosy rooms available, Mr...ahh...?" The man trailed off a mouldy rag in his hand was wiping at a large tankard in his massive fists. He was looking for a name...
"Underhill...my name's Underhill," Frodo said confidently. Merry and Pippin looked at him aghast.
"Underhill...?" The barman cocked a brow. Of all the names!
"We're friends of Gandalf, can you tell him we've arrived?"
The man behind the bar frowned, lips pursing in thought as he searched his memories. "Gandalf...Gandalf..." The man mumbled absent minded. Then a look of realization finally dawned. It sent a wave of relief over Frodo. "Oh yeah! I remember now. Elderly chap, grey bear, nice car-uses a cane." Thank heavens. "Not seen him for six months."
What? All the relief that had build up inside him was stripped away in a matter of seconds. 6 months? That couldn't have been right.
"What do we do now?" Sam whispered from behind him. What did they do now?
They had rented a room for the weekend in the hopes maybe if they lingered enough that Gandalf would walk through the door. Frodo kept his eyes firmly fixed on the doorway that loomed at the other side of the bar. Frodo toyed with a can of soda as he watched the door. Sam was growing increasingly uncomfortable with every passing second. He was shift uncomfortably, toy with his own bottle of coke before munching on a bag of chips.
"Sam, he'll be here," Frodo said reassuringly, his eyes never leaving the door, "He'll come." Frodo really truly hoped. His gaze was finally drawn from the door when there was a loud clap on the table. Frodo turned to see Merry plonking himself down, a large grin on his face as he tossed his fake ID onto the table. In his hands was a large pint of alcohol. Pippin turned astonished, and irritated.
"What's that?" He demanded.
"This, my friend, is a pint," Merry watched the pint longingly before heaving it to his lips and guzzling on the golden liquid. Sam and Frodo exchanged glances between the pair.
"Really?" Frodo cocked a brow. Pippin spun now and snatched at his backpack shoving his can of soda away.
"I'm getting one!" Pippin produced a matching fake ID before rushing off toward the bar.
"Great-now he's going to end up pissed!" Sam sighed rubbing at his brow. "I don't like this place-and that guy hasn't done nothing but stare at you since we arrived." Sam gestured across the bar to a far away corner where a man sat. The man was distorted by the peak of a baseball cap that was dipped low across his face, a coating of stubble on his lower jaw, puffing on a cigarette. His clothing was like something out of a movie-all black. Black cargo pants, heavy boots, black t-shirt, a windbreaker thrown next to him and black gloves on his hands. The only thing that was missing was a tactical vest and guns. Frodo cast the man a wary glance. Instantly he thought of the people who had chased them in the woods. He noted the barman not far, about to pass their table.
"Excuse me?" Frodo said drawing the man's attention. "That man in the corner, who is he?"
The barman cast a look over his shoulder toward the corner before he dipped low and spoke in a hushed tone. "He's one of them rangers from the outlands, dangerous guys them. What his right name is, I never heard, but round here he's known as Strider." Quickly the barman shuffled away as though he'd be reprimanded. Frodo scowled. Why would a grown man be afraid of him? Strider? What kind of name was that?
"Strider..." Frodo mummbled under his breath..unbeknown to him he had found the ring from his pocket and began to toy with it. Turn it in his hands, touch it...it had to be close to him. Then..a voice. A whisper, a deep whisper that spoke to him...did anyone else hear it? He could feel damp droplets on his brow...he wasn't warm though...Baggins...Baggins...
"Baggins? Sure, I know a Baggins...he's over there!" That was Pippin's voice. Frodo looked across to the bar where Pippin was sat chatting with some of the locals. No. No. His name was not to be known! Frodo leapt up from his seat and rushed forward. Pippin was holding a large tankard of beer.
"Frodo Baggins. He's my second cousin once removed, on his mother's side and my third cousin twice removed on his father's side..."
Frodo could hear Pippin's words-they seemed to echo all around him. He pushed past people, spilling drinks, knocking food out of people's hands.
"Pippin!" He barked reaching out and attempting to grasp his cousin. He managed to grab his sleeve only. Beer rained down from Pippin's tankard.
"Steady on!" Pippin scolded pushing back at Frodo. Frodo stumbled back, knocking into someone behind him before bouncing off a table and tumbling to the floor. Everyone's eyes were on Frodo now with the disturbance he was causing. The ring! It had been knocked from his grasp. His eyes searched desperately for it-only to find it tumbling through the air. No! Frodo reached out. The ring tumbled. He snatched at the air only to have the ring slide onto his outstretched finger. There was a scream-sharp and loud that made him wince and close his eyes firmly. Who had screamed?
Frodo opened his eyes. He was no longer in the bar. The world looked like he was peering through an old photo negative. Everything had an eerie silver grey look, everything around him had slowed, the voices were no longer clear, the sound of wind howling filled his ears. He wasn't outside. Frodo attempted to force himself to stand but there was a great weight that wouldn't allow him to move. The ring. All his movements were quick. What the hell was this? What had happened. Then he heard it...a voice...You cannot hide...it shook him to the core. He spun to see a bright light flaring through the darkness. It was burning brightly and burned through the silhouettes of everyone around him. It was an eye-like that of a cat wreathed in flames. It was coming closer. There is no life here in the void...only cold...only death...the voice continued to taunt him. What the fuck? Frodo scrambled back as the eyes drew ever closer and closer...his back met a solid surface and he could no longer move away. It was coming. He reached to his hand, the weight of the ring lingered. He clawed at his hand-tried to pull the fucking thing off! The eye was burning closer-he could feel the heat of the flames-the voice taunted and jeered him. His heart raced. Snatching at his hand he finally pulled the ring from his flesh.
The grey world vanished. The heat of the flames lingered but the sound of the bar and the people within returned. He sat with his back against a table leg. His chest heaving. He looked around the bar. Everything was how it was. Inhaling deeply he rested back and gave a relieved sigh. What the hell had just happened? He sat a moment trying to make sense of it all. That couldn't have been real..could it? He hadn't drank anything so why was his mind playing tricks? A force grabbed his shoulder-hard and solid it jerked him from the floor and back to his feet. Frodo gave a squeal of surprise as he was thrown against a hall, a fist clutched the front of his hoody and jacket. Frodo noted it was the man-Strider. That was who had hold of him now. He had to have been with the other guys! They were near the rear of the bar now, near the stairwell that led up the motel rooms above. Through the dimness Frodo tried to see more of his face but it was still concealed by the baseball hat.
"You draw far too much attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill," The man had a gravel like whisper. Roughly he pulled Frodo away from the wall and toward the stairs. Frodo collapsed up them attempting to find his feet. Where were the others? Frodo dared to try and look but he was only ushered further up the stairs. Shit. They made their way up the stairway, along the corridor of rooms until they reached a far door. Frodo was pushed into the door, which easily swung open. Frodo collapsed onto his knees, hitting the carpeted floor hard before quickly scrambling to his feet. Spinning he saw the man follow him in. He wore the jacket now, a small patch on the arm had the words 'DUNEDAIN RANGERS' with an emblem comprised of a sword, bow and spear in dark greens and brows at its centre.
"What do you want?" Frodo asked.
The man turned away from the door and marched across the room now, "A little more caution from you...that is no trinket you carry."
"I carry nothing," Frodo lied. The man was scolding him like a child. He was no child.
"Indeed," The man hissed crossing the room toward the window pane on the north side of the room. He flicked a light switch on the wall turning out the main light of the room before reaching over to one of the bedside lamps and knocking that off too bathing the room in darkness, aside from the small old heater that glowed a dim orange. Frodo looked around the room...was this the one they had rented?
"I can usually avoid being seen if I wish, but to disappear entirely..." The man continued before reaching up and removing the cap from his head. He had dark hair cropped short but with a couple of weeks growth, dark grey eyes and a strong jaw. "That is a rare gift."
Frodo stood a moment and watched him. What did he want? "Who are you?" It was all he had the nerve to say.
"Are you frightened?" The man's brow creased now.
"...yes."
"Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you." The man growled again. Frodo noted there was nothing blocking his way to the door now. He eyed it carefully. The man noted this and his eyes narrowed. There was a crack from outside before the door swung open. The man across the room produced a pistol from the holster on his thigh. Sam, Merry and Pippin appeared in the doorway. Sam was baring nothing but his fists, Merry had an empty bottle and Pippin had somehow found a folded chair and was holding that above his head.
"Let him go or I'll have you, Longshanks!" Sam bellowed.
The man across the room bore a slight smile that played on his lips, before he slowly slid the handgun back into the holster once more.
"You have a stout heart, but that alone won't save you. You can no longer wait for your friend, Frodo. They're coming."
Merry snored loudly in his sleep from his crumpled position on the floor. Pippin was fidgeting and settling before continuing to fidget from his slumber on the chair in the corner. Sam was making an odd smacking sound with his mouth. Frodo sat on the edge of the bed staring toward the window. They were an awful noisy bunch when they slept. Frodo could hear a frenzy from the room they had originally intended to sleep in. Furniture being over turned, that strange shrieking noise. Strider sat at the window in a chair, his boots perched on the top of the table, pistol next to his boots. His grey eyes were fixed firmly on the window. There was a loud snap-four sharp bangs. Bullets? Then more shrieking. It was all coming from their room. Frodo turned his gaze away from the window and to the man sat next to it.
"What are they?" His voice remained calmer then he felt. Merry, Pippin and Sam stirred now shifting positions and waking.
"They were once men..." Strider said quietly. He looked briefly to the teen before turning back to the window, "Great men. Then Sauron the deceiver have to them nine rings of power. Blinded by greed they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will." What?! Frodo wanted to jump to his feet and point out just how incredibly ridiculous this all sounded but the sound of roaring engines silenced him. The blank SUV's sped down the streets of Bree vanishing into the night. Strider turned to face them all with nothing but the faint glow of the moon streaming through the window to light up his face.
"They are the NAZGUL. Failed government experiments...neither living or dead. At all times they feel the presence of the ring. Drawn to the power of the one...they will never stop hunting you." Frodo felt the dread rising in the pit of his stomach. "Get some rest, no use fretting now." Strider swung his legs off the table and stood, snatching up the pistol and tucking it back onto his leg.
"Where are you going?" Merry scowled. Pippin was wide eyed. Strider crossed the room in three swift strides before vanishing out the door into the hallway. The door locked behind him. Everyone turned to Frodo. It wasn't his fault!
"How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?" Merry looked to Frodo.
"We don't really have a choice but to trust him do we?" Frodo replied honestly.
"Did he lock that door?" Pippin scowled unfurling himself out of the chair and stumbling across the room. No doubt his legs were numb. He reached to the handle and in that split moment there was an ear shattering scream from somewhere in the building. Pippin froze before reversing from the door.
"Maybe we don't want to know what that was all about..." Pippin scrambled back across the room back to his chair.
The town was deathly silent the morning after the Nazgul had entered. Frodo hadn't slept much that night at all. He was terrified to. Between what had happened when he put the ring on and the attack the previous night...who would have been able to sleep? Merry, Pippin and Sam. Strider hadn't returned until the very early hours informing Frodo that the barman had been slaughtered. Police would be swarming the inn shortly no doubt. Strider had roused them all, they had descended out the back entrance of the Prancing Pony to the parking lot where a battered old jeep sat near the rear of the lot. Strider had paused briefly to gathered a backpack from it, some equipment and a rifle. What the hell was the rifle for? Frodo watched the man shrug on a tactical vest. There it was. He dared to look around the lot. It was empty and silent. Images of the Black SUV's kept returning to him, of the men dressed in black. The men you couldn't even see the faces of...
THUNK.
The trunk of the jeep shut. Frodo noted the bumper sticker on the rear. It read 'BILL'. Who was Bill? Strider spun, propping the baseball cap atop his head and hoisting the rifle in his gloved hands before slinging it around his shoulder.
"We not taking the car?" Merry scowled.
"The plates will have been marked when I came. So no, besides where we're going can't be reached by car."
"Eh?" Sam cocked his brows.
"We make for Rivendell. The house of Elrond."
"Who?" Pippin squeaked. Strider opted to ignore him before brushing past and striding across the empty lot. Frodo looked after him a moment before noting Merry come to his side.
"What do you think Bear Grylls or Daryl Dixon wannabe?"
"Just don't piss him off," Frodo hissed. Merry held his hands up and nodded. Pippin whined from behind them.
"I'm not dressed for hiking!"
"Just for robbing Farmer Maggot?" Sam scoffed. Pippin silenced himself. Frodo inhaled deeply before following after Strider leaving 'BILL' behind.
They spent the best part of the entire morning picking their way through the forest. They followed after Strider who was proving to be better than even Bear Grylls in movements. It didn't take much time before they all began to ache and tire. Strider on the other hand just kept moving. Pippin finally huffed before swinging his backpack off his shoulder and flopping down onto a stone at the base of a large tree, Merry followed suit. Frodo paused and looked back over his shoulder at them. Merry was busy tearing at his plaid shirt ripping strips of it off tying one around his sweating brow before shoving the rest back into his bag. Pippin unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and forced it into his bag before jerking the hat off his head and forcing that into his bag too. Sam was sat gnawing on a crushed sandwich he had dug out of his own bag.
"Gentlemen," Strider's voice broke the silence as he pulled the hat from his head and ran a hand over his brow. "We don't stop until nightfall."
"What about breakfast?" Pippin asked swatting at a number of midge that swarmed him.
"You've already had it." Strider pointed out.
"Okay...we've had one. What about second breakfast?"
Strider stared at Pippin. Pippin held his composure. Frodo cringed and closed his eyes. Second breakfast? He cast his eyes toward his cousin and cocked his brows. Strider ignored him entirely before turning away and continuing through the trees shaking his head.
"Think we're the only people who do second breakfast, Pip." Merry patted Pippin's shoulder shrugging on his backpack, tying his canvas jacket around his waist leaving him in his vest. It was incredibly hot out. Pippin leapt up from his seat on the rock and rushed past Frodo quickly muttering again. Frodo looked after the pair as they began through the trees before casting his eyes to Sam. Sam finished eating off the sandwich and looked up to Frodo heaving another long sigh. They continued on long into the afternoon. Trekking through the forest the air became close and humid and eventually the heaven's opened. Rain poured heavily from the skies, thunder rumbled through the world and lightning flashed lighting up the world. Merry had quickly regretted shredding his shirt. Strider seemed unaffected by the rain and wind. He merely trekked on-leading them further and further into the woods. Where the hell was this Rivendell and who the hell was Elrond? Another friend of Gandalf's? Was Rivendell even on the map?
They trekked and trekked. Pippin whined. Merry cursed and Sam puffed. Strider had taken the hat and jacket off hooking them onto his belt. Had he seriously used the downpour to wash? Frodo just kept his head down to keep the wind out of his eyes. It whipped his face but after, what felt like hours, the storm subsided and left a cleaner clearer air in its wake. They had left the forest and continued on, hopping stone walls. Frodo didn't think he had ever been so deep into the countryside. He hadn't seen a car or road for hours! Strider didn't slow his pace whatsoever. In fact if anything Strider had moved faster. They crossed a large grassy plain...how had Frodo never discovered any of this? In the middle of the plain was a large earthy mound and atop it seemed to the an abandoned stone structure. Was that a tower ruin? Frodo had seen pictures of things like this in his history books. It was...kind of creepy actually.
"We'll rest here tonight," Strider called over his shoulder before trotting through a shin deep bog of mud.
"Wait...we're going toward that thing?" Merry piped from behind Frodo struggling through the mud. Strider made no response just kept trudging forward. Frodo sighed heaving the backpack on his back before just following on. He thought he was fit but this countryside hike had proved otherwise.
They eventually reached the summit of the large hill and found a alcove in the mound before finally deciding to throw their things down. Frodo allowed the backpack to slide off his shoulders-felt as though a ton of bricks had been taken off him. He flopped to the floor, Pippin quickly following suit and inhaling deeply.
"I think I'm having a heart attack," Pippin heaved. Merry dropped down next to him followed by Sam. Strider was stood at the edge peering out over the plain that extended before them. It was getting dark now. The sun had bleached the horizon a pale gold, the dark clouds rolled in attempting to shut out all the light. It was silent. Nothing but the howl of the wind and echo of the rolling clouds. Frodo felt a kink in his back attempting to stretch it out. He looked down to his trainers which were now mud covered, the blue color they had once been hidden behind a slick coating of brown. Bilbo had bought him these. Well they were certainly worn in now. His socks were sopping and damp..so much so he thought there was mushrooms growing on his feet. Did none of this bother Strider at all? Frodo could smell something...shortly realizing it was them. Sweat. Strider turned now and approached them. He ducked low in front of them and swung down his backpack, unzipping a front compartment and throwing it open. Frodo gaped when a number of handguns were revealed. What the fuck?
"These are for you," Strider muttered nonchalantly reaching down and plucking one of the handguns from the bag, quickly assessing it before flipping it in his hand and extending it to Sam.
"I've never held a gun!" Sam sputtered receiving the weapon. Merry was handed another. Frodo leant forward and plucked one of the handguns from the backpack studying it closely. It was a small thing, heavier then it looked and square. GLOCK 19 was printed on the side of the barrel.
"What do we need these for?" Pippin squeaked.
Strider ignored him, "Keep them close. I'm going to have a look around." Strider re-zipped the backpack shut before slinging it around his shoulders once again. "Stay here." With that the man stood over them turned, slung the rifle from off his shoulder, checked it before turning and leaving the area.
"What. The. Fuck!" Merry gaped after him. Sam clutched the handgun awkwardly. It didn't suit Sam at all. Frodo tucked the gun onto his jeans belt...that's what everyone usually did wasn't it? In the films?
Somehow. Someway. Frodo had managed to find sleep. He was curled up on the hard ground with his jacket thrown over him while the wind threatened to tear it away. His backpack was beneath his head-what a great pillow it was. The eerie howl of the wind was shattered by hushed voices and the clatter of...a pan? What was that smell...? He spun and looked around to see Sam, Merry and Pippin sat around a small fire a small frying pan was perched over the flames.
"What are you doing?" Frodo looked to them all. Pippin was currently munching on a sausage. Merry was cooking and Sam seemed as though he had been caught robbing.
"Tomatoes, sausages, and nice crispy bacon," Merry grinned turning some more sausages in the pan.
"We've saved some for you, Frodo," Sam grinned lifting a plate full of food. Although the smell made his mouth water it was not something they should have been doing! They were on top of a mound with a fire! Anyone would be able to see it? Where was Strider? Frodo quickly unfurled himself from his jacket and darted to his feet.
"Put it out, you fools!" He rushed toward the fire, "Put it out!" Frodo kicked at the earth and dirt kicking it on top of the fire.
"Oh, that's nice!" Pippin scolded, "Ash on my tomatoes!"
There was an ear splitting shriek that shattered the quiet night air. Everyone froze. Frodo had just managed to douse the flames...but it was too late now. No...he knew what that noise meant. Frodo spun and rushed to the edge of the alcove peering out into the darkness. That's when he saw it, figures creeping through the darkness toward the ruin. Frodo could just make out the faint glimmer of lights from the ends of rifles gripped in the grasp of the oncoming Nazgul. Five in all. The others rushed to his side and peered out into the darkness too. Where was Strider? Frodo reached to his belt and jerked the handgun free. It was so much heavier now in his hands.
"Go!" Frodo barked. They all spun and began to climb up the hill, heading further and further to the summit. There was nowhere else for them to really go was there? Frodo kept the handgun clutched tightly in his hands as he ran. What the hell. This was not meant to be happening. What would Bilbo say? Did Bilbo know about all this? Is that why he left? They ascended a stone stairway carved into the hillside before finally reaching the summit. The raced quickly...when they reached the time they were amidst a ring of broken stones. Where to now? Hide? Where was there to hide? Vines were hanging from the stone pillars that had once served as support for a roof. There was no roof. Leaves, grasses and dirt all sprung through the cracks in the stone floor. Frodo spun now feeling his back pressed to the others. They all retrieved their handguns. Frodo dared a glance down to his own and noted a small switch on the side. He flipped it. What had that done? He didn't have time to think on it anymore. They waited. Wind howling. They tried to look everywhere and anywhere. The Nazgul were black...how were they to see them through the black of night? All they had was the faint silver glow from the moon above. Frodo spun when he heard a snap. The darkness moved, shifted and from it melted a man-one of the masked men that had chased them before. The man was clutched tightly to a silver pistol in his hands like the one from the Walking Dead. A huge thing with a long barrel. Frodo stared wide eyed. It put his own weapon to shame. He stepped back as the man clambered through a broken window beginning toward then. Frodo's heart was pounding. What should he do? Four more shapes melted from the darkness-all the same. The Nazgul. How many were there? Strider had said nine right? So where were the other five? Frodo and the others instantly tried to back away from them but the men only continued their advance. All had the same large silver gun all aimed at them. Were they going to shoot them? This was too weird. It had to be a dream right? Frodo was surely still dreaming...or well...having a nightmare! Without warning Sam roared.
"Back you devils!" He raised his pistol and aimed firing blindly. Not a single shot met a mark. The man at the centre ducked low before reaching out and slamming the heel of his gun against Sam's jaw. The teen toppled to the side with an ungraceful thud. One of the other Nazgul kicked away the handgun from Sam's clutches. Merry and Pippin jumped in front of Frodo only to be quickly thrown to the side with a swift swipe each. Frodo stared up at the man descending on him. He could see nothing past the dark goggles and mask. He stared into the black pits where eyes should have been but he saw nothing. He raised the gun in his hand and aimed at the man in front of him. His hands were clammy and shaking. Just pull the trigger. He couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. His hands shook before finally the gun tumbled from his grip and hit the floor with a clatter. That was his only defence. He stumbled back, tripping ungracefully on a number of vines stretched across the floor. Shit. Shit! Then it spoke to him...that venomous whisper swirled inside his mind...it was there. In his pocket...Frodo fumbled and finally managed to draw the golden ring free of his jeans staring at it. Was this seriously...calling to him? He looked past the ring to see one of the figures staring at him. Without pause it stepped daringly forward, reaching to its belt and drawing a knife. A small slim blade gleamed in the moonlight. Frodo scrambled back across the floor, clutching the ring tightly. He scrambled back until his back met stone. The figure above him continued toward him rising the blade high with will to drive it down on top of Frodo. He couldn't take it. Frodo unfurled his hand and looked to the ring. It drifted closer and closer until...the gold wrapped itself around his finger again.
Once again the whole world began returned to that eerie silver grey, everything seemed to slow. The most alarming thing was when Frodo looked up to the figure looming over him he was met with what appeared to be a ghost! It's clothing was streaming and tattered, hair white and it's face pallid with a ruthless expression. Dark empty eyes peered down at him. All five of the figures were looming over him, but the one at the centre extended a hand. Reaching a haggard bony hand forward toward him the creature wanted the ring. Frodo, without meaning, felt his hand rise to meet it. He tried desperately to stop. They wanted the ring. He couldn't allow them to have it. He couldn't stop his arm from drifting forward. Frodo grit his teeth and growled in determination. No. They wouldn't have it. These things could get fucked. He ripped his hand back close to his chest. The figure above him snarled before springing forward plunging the blade in its hand down. The blade pierced through Frodo's shoulder with a silent hiss, like air being let out from a balloon. Pain ripped through every fibre of his body. Blinding white heat flared through his flesh like nothing he'd ever felt. He screamed. A small object flared through his vision hurtling through the air to the feet of the Nazgul stood over him. There was a snap and bang as bright white light flared. Were it not for the unbearable pain in his shoulder he would have covered his eyes. A dark figure leapt forward followed by the snap of a gun. Strider. He stood over Frodo now, pistol at the ready firing toward the creatures. Frodo cursed loudly, shifting his body before reaching to the ring welded to his finger. He jerked it free.
He screamed as the world returned to its natural state.
"Frodo!" Sam screamed from somewhere amidst the ruins rushing toward him. Strider kicked out at one of the Nazgul agents sending it stumbling back before spinning and snatching a blade from his own belt and swinging it in a wide arc toward another of the flailing creatures. One of the Nazgul made a swing for Strider's head, only for the man to duck and raise the pistol sending a bullet straight into the Nazgul's abdomen. It shrieked madly. Another made a bit to strike but Strider was quick to react. He didn't falter in step nor aim. He had everything mapped and planned just right. As more gunshots ricocheted and snapped the Nazgul began to flee. Two rushed for the edge of the ruin only to have another device launched after them. It popped and sent a ray of blinding light after them. One remained. Frodo could seek it attempting to stalk across the ruin and remain unnoticed. It had been noticed. Strider spun to face it and raised the pistol. With one well placed shot a bullet snapped against the helmet of the Nazgul agent. The agent flailed wildly screaming before fleeing after it's fellow agents into the night. Strider accessed the surrounds.
"Strider!" Sam bellowed loudly. Frodo winced at the sudden noise. The flesh of his shoulder sizzled and burned. Should it hurt this much? It felt as though poison was flowing through him. Every inch of his body was seized and throbbing with pain. Strider arrived and dropped low beside them all.
"Help him, Strider," Sam pleaded looking down to Frodo fearfully. Strider's attention was drawn to the blade on the floor. The Nazgul must have dropped it. It was coated with blood. Frodo's blood.
"He's been stabbed with a Morgul toxin," Strider noted grimly. There was a sudden sizzle before the entirety of the blade melted away leaving only a handle. Frodo could barely contain himself-the wound...it burned! Strider threw the dagger handle away in disgust.
"Do something!" Sam urged.
"This is beyond my skill to heal," Strider pushed Sam away from Frodo and grabbed hold of the teen hoisting him up and over his shoulder. Frodo was limp as he was heaved up.
In minutes they had gathered their things and were now dashing through a dense forest. Strider was pushing onward, Frodo heaved over his shoulder, a torch in his free hand to guide his way. Sam, Merry and Pippin were struggling to keep pace with him. Each of them also had been given a flashlight to guide their way.
"Hurry!" Strider barked over his shoulder to them.
"But you said we're six days from Rivendell!" Sam pointed out as he scrambled through the undergrowth. Frodo moaned as he was jostled on Strider's shoulder.
"Hold on, Frodo." Strider muttered.
"He'll never make it!" Sam was panicked, terrified. They all were. For now they needed to get as far from the ruin as they could. The Nazgul would be lurking. Strider had to try and put as much ground between them as he could before they made another attack. Frodo was barely conscious. Barely clinging on. His head was lolling against Strider's back as he pushed through the undergrowth. It was a good thing the teen was skinny and light. His fever was already growing. Strider cursed.
"Gandalf..." Frodo moaned, "Gandalf!"
They were loosing him.
