Author's Note: Well I've finally come to it. This is my longest chapter so far, so I hope you enjoy it.


Chapter IX: Of the Breaking of the Fellowship

The Fellowship traveled down the Anduin for three days without much incident. Aragorn paddled with Frodo and Sam, and Boromir shared a boat with the other hobbits. Legolas paddled his own boat and Cristiel sat in front of him, while Gimli rode at the prow staring gloomily into the dark water as it passed around them. His quiet grumbling eventually gave way to an uncharacteristically softer voice that took both Cristiel and Legolas by surprise.

"I have taken my worst wound at this parting, having looked my last upon that which is fairest," said Gimli. "Henceforth, I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me."

"What was her gift?" Legolas asked curiously.

Gimli gazed up at the clear, blue sky, choosing not to answer right away. He seemed unusually forlorn to Cristiel.

"I asked her for one hair from her golden head," he said finally. "She gave me three."

Legolas smiled. "The Lady was very gracious indeed, and to all of us I might add, for I received from her a fine bow of the Galadhrim." The elf lowered his voice. "And I hear that you, Estelwen, received a new blade of unmatched Elven craftsmanship, no?"

Cristiel raised an eyebrow as she turned to meet the elf prince's dancing blue eyes. Wishing she could outright scold him, she barely managed to keep a calm demeanor. "How would you know of this?"

Legolas gave her a small smile. "I have my sources."

Gimli attempted to stifle a chuckle in his glove. She opened her mouth to protest, but the elf continued.

"To be serious though, I think it would be wise for you to have someone who will watch your back."

Cristiel turned again to face the bow of the elvish boat. "I have Boromir," she said, feeling confused.

"Yes, but he is weak, as are you and most of your human kin."

She blinked and turned again, being careful to keep her balance and not rock the boat. "Are you saying that Aragorn is—"

"No." Legolas retained his soft smile that was quickly beginning to irritate her. "I am merely pointing out that you ought to be accountable to someone other than your father and Boromir, given that you are young and sometimes overzealous in everything you do."

Cristiel was listening now, even if she was incensed by Legolas' words. "So for example, if I came to you with . . . a proposition," she offered leisurely, "which perchance I wanted no one else to know of, would I have your complete and utter confidentiality on the matter?"

Legolas was silent for a moment and she turned to survey his expression. The corner of his mouth leaned upwards and he gave her a piercing look that made her wince. "Perhaps," he said finally. "That is, if it doesn't involve putting yourself in possible danger. In that case, I might reconsider my confidentiality."

She bit her lip and turned away again. She had been hoping for a more satisfactory answer, but leave it to an elf to have her hanging on edge at every word, never knowing what he would really do should such a situation arise.

--

Their fifth night on the river quickly fell humid and cold, leaving a blanket of mist to settle low about them. The Fellowship beached their boats in a small clearing on the western bank that was sheltered only by a large rocky outcrop, and by the forest further beyond. Sam went to fix plates of cold sausage for Frodo and anyone else who was hungry, while Legolas moved further towards the forest, his suspicious gaze watching for the first sign of trouble. Cristiel sat on the hard ground, leaning against the craggy rock face that caused her to shiver as it emanated cold. She was thankful to be able to stretch her legs after sitting in the boat for most of the day. She stared up at the black sky, noticing with disappointment that there were no stars. She had wanted to look at the stars because they were so familiar to her, always the same as in Rivendell. They were a piece of home she could always have with her. But now clouds covered them, leaving the sky as a black abyss.

With a sigh, she looked back towards the river. Boromir was peering cautiously around the ruins at something on the water. A log floated nearby, seemingly against the strong current. A skinny, frog-like hand came up and wrapped itself around the log, as two glowing orbs appeared above it. Boromir murmured in alarm, staring at the creature in the river.

"It's Gollum," Aragorn said quietly, standing nearby. "He has tracked us since Moria. I'd hoped we would lose him on the river, but he's too clever a waterman."

Boromir glanced back nervously at the ranger. "If he alerts the enemy to our whereabouts, it will make the crossing even more dangerous."

Aragorn nodded, pulling back into the shadow of the ruins, closer to Cristiel. "I have tried to catch him once or twice over the past few days, but he is slier than a fox and slippery as a fish."

Boromir followed him into the shadow, out of sight of the river. "We must be more careful, Aragorn," he said keeping his voice low. "I have seen Mordor orcs patrolling on the eastern shore."

Aragorn said nothing, nibbling on a piece of cold sausage.

"Legolas' eyes have not missed them either," Cristiel said quietly. "I am sure, Boromir."

The Gondorian glanced for a second at the elf, who was perched on a boulder close to the tree line, then acknowledged her with a smile. Cristiel stared at him, if only trying to see his face in the thick darkness. She shivered in the night air and wished he would come sit next to her and hold her tightly like he had done so many times in Lothlórien.

"Aragorn, Minis Tirith is a safer road," Boromir said at length. "From there we can regroup, strike out for Mordor from a place of strength."

The ranger stirred from his silent contemplation beside Cristiel. "There is no strength left in Gondor that can avail us."

"You were quick enough to trust the Elves!" Boromir replied, ignoring Cristiel's sharp inhalation. To her frustration, Aragorn did not retort back, and Boromir continued.

"Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty," the Gondorian admitted. "But there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see it!" His voice rising suddenly, he grabbed Aragorn's elven cloak. "You are afraid!"

Cristiel's lips parted as she sat up straight, alarmed at his body language, his voice. His normally regal and respectful demeanor had become something fiercer, something she didn't recognize. A chill crawled up her spine.

"All your life, you have hidden in the shadows, scared of who you are... of what you are!"

Aragorn took a step back, readjusting his cloak, then he straightened and leaned in on Boromir. "I would not lead the ring within a hundred leagues of your city," he said, almost hissing. He turned away without another word, glancing at Cristiel as he passed.

From what she could decipher in her father's swift gaze, it was not approval. She pressed her lips firmly into a thin line and looked at Boromir. He leaned angrily against the rock face, one arm perched on his hip. His shoulders were rising and falling in his frustration, and she could almost hear him seething. Without hesitating further, she stood and carefully picked her way around two sleeping hobbits and a snoring dwarf.

"You are not helping with my father's approval of you, I think," she said quietly.

"He never really approved of me to begin with, love."

She could hear the irritation in his deepened voice. She reached for the hand that was pressed against the cold stone ruins and pried it from the rock, intertwining her fingers with his rough, calloused digits. "He is only trying to do what is best for Frodo."

He sighed. "What is best for Frodo is to strike out from Minis Tirith, where we can all be strengthened and refreshed. But he refuses to see it."

She reached up to stroke his jawline, feeling the dark stubble under her fingers. "I think he does not trust your people, just as you do not trust his."

She felt his jaw tense at these words, but his arms only reached gently around her, enveloping her in warmth and comfort. He pressed her body close and she shivered as his lips brushed her forehead.

"I would that my people become his people," he whispered, hot breath coursing over her face.

She looked up, barely making out two troubled eyes in the darkness.

"I would that my people become your people," he continued. He slowly planted soft kisses down her face, causing her eyelids to slip shut.

"When this is over?" she whispered, tangling her own fingers in his black hair.

"When this is over," he echoed.

He crushed his lips against her mouth, tightening his grip around her. To Cristiel, it was as if Gandalf's fireworks had suddenly illuminated the night.

--

Three days and nights passed on the river without any sign of orcs on the eastern banks, and though Frodo had kept a wary eye out, Gollum had failed to make his presence known as well. The wily creature had probably heard Aragorn's words to Boromir and decided it would be better to remain out of sight.

The night sky was clear, scattered with millions of stars and one thin crescent of a moon that slipped below the horizon soon after sunset. They rowed down the central current of the river, nonetheless keeping a steadily safe distance from the east shore.

"I am not familiar with these waters," Aragorn said to them. "We are approaching the rapids of Sarn Gebir, but I don't know how far it will be before we come upon them. The river has already become dangerous with eddies, but we cannot risk getting caught into the rapids. We must not press forward too quickly lest we come upon them without warning."

They drifted on the current, frequently laying down their paddles, but keeping sharp eyes out for white water and ears open for the rushing fury that would accompany it. Without the light of the moon, the darkness seemed impenetrable.

"Look out!" Sam exclaimed suddenly, pointing ahead of them. Pale in the night, white water rushed and swirled around rocks that jutted like sharp teeth out of the river.

"Back!" cried Aragorn. "Turn if you can. Paddle against the current!"

They thrust their paddles into the water and pressed against the stream, pushing their boats ever closer to the eastern banks on a calmer flow of water that went around the rapids.

"This is madness! We will be driven upon the bank!" Boromir shouted. The black shadow of the eastern shore of the river loomed above them on their left. Suddenly an arrow whizzed by overhead, splashing into the water on their right.

"Yrch!" Legolas cried in his native tongue.

"Orcs!" Gimli shouted.

A stream of black arrows shot from the shoreline, where black shapes could be seen running parallel to the river, silhouetted against the trees.

"Cristiel, take the paddle!" Legolas ordered.

She did and Legolas strung his bow, sending several arrows flying through the blackness towards the eastern bank. Two arrows whizzed by just behind her, one catching the hood of her cloak. She gripped the smooth elven paddle until her knuckles hurt, thrusting through the water with all the strength she could muster. More arrows bounced off of Gimli's helmet with a clunk or missed and landed in the river. She cringed and tried to crouch lower into the boat, gritting her teeth against the river, expecting at any moment to be pierced with a black arrow. She couldn't see a thing in front of them. The darkness encroached upon everything despite the millions of stars that hung in the sky. She heard Aragorn call out from in front of them so she pushed them onward. Her arms ached fiercely and she struggled to keep rowing.

They pushed the boats upstream around the rapids and made for the western bank. More arrows splashed into the water around them or flew overhead, but no more struck them and everyone came out unharmed. Cristiel's breathing had become labored and Legolas took back the paddle so that they moved upstream with more speed. As the river grew silent and the arrows eventually ceased, she breathed a sigh of relief. Following Aragorn, Legolas steered their boat towards a shadowed cove, if only to help them catch their breath. Then he lay down his paddle and climbed silently out onto the bank. He held his bow at ready, peering across the river towards the eastern shore, searching for a target. Harsh orc voices echoed in the distance, but they seemed to be moving further and further away. Cristiel looked up at the elf, a faint glowing silhouette against the night and completely intent on shooting something.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel!" he cried out suddenly.

She didn't know why until the stars disappeared. She could barely make out the sight of a huge beast with massive wings stretched out across the sky, turning the night into a black abyss, and hurtling towards them. A chill crawled up her spine as the shadow let out a horrible screech that grated her ears. Orc cries lifted towards it in greeting from across the river. Suddenly Legolas nocked his bow and sent an arrow flying straight into the creature. It let out a painful, gurgling scream and lurched backwards before tumbling into the woods beyond the eastern bank. The orc voices raged, then quickly dissipated into the darkness until silence took hold. And the sky was clear again.

Cristiel let out the fearful breath she had been holding and gripped the sides of the boat as Legolas jumped lithely back in. The company took up their paddles and pushed towards the shore behind them, staying silent as if they feared another attack. They made no fire but stopped on the shoreline, huddling in their boats. The night was too dark so they would have to wait until dawn to continue.

"That was a mighty shot in the dark, my friend," Gimli said to Legolas, breaking the cold silence. "A mighty shot!"

"I thank the Lady for her fine gift," Legolas replied. "The bow of the Galadhrim is strong and sure. But who can say what it hit?"

Gimli shook his head. "I cannot. But I am glad that the shadow did not come nearer. I did not like it at all."

"It reminded me of the Shadow in Moria," Cristiel said. "The Balrog."

"It was not a Balrog," said Frodo quietly. "It was something colder. I think it was . . ." He stopped then, unwilling to make his thoughts known. "No, I will not say. Whatever it was, its fall disappointed our enemies."

Aragorn nodded. "But where they are and how many, we do not know. We must not sleep tonight, and we must keep our weapons close."

Cristiel jumped when she felt a hand grip her shoulder, but turning, saw it was only her father. His concerned face was barely visible in the darkness, yet she knew he was there, and Boromir right beside. She felt for the hilt of her sword and drew in another deep breath in preparation for a long, sleepless night.

--

Morning came, warmer than the last. The frothing head of Sarn Gebir was visible downriver in the pale light. It was decided that the rapids would prove too dangerous to try and maneuver, even in elven boats, so they filed out onto the shoreline. The contents of the boats were brought up to a level place on the bank, then the boats were flipped and carried up behind. Cristiel supported the stern of her boat behind Legolas and Gimli, and led by Aragorn, they climbed up the bank a short ways into the trees, following the path that he had scouted. The terrain was rough and it was clumsy work, but she pleasantly found the boat to be strangely light. As they came to the top of the rise, the terrain suddenly changed, becoming thick with underbrush and rocky gullies, and littered with holes where water trickled from inland offshoots of the river. Boromir and Aragorn took up the task of carrying the boats over the land, one by one, while the rest of the company went after them with the supplies, picking through the rocky marshland on their own.

Then the land cleared and they were able to journey together. They followed the river, where the roar of Sarn Gebir was slowly dissipating on their left. A great cliff wall appeared to the south, so continuing on foot was deemed impossible. The day was drawing late and as it had began to rain, they stopped to rest under tree cover. Some hours later, they pushed their boats back into the water under a grey and dreary sky, the rainfall intensifying as if deliberately trying to dampen their morale. Night came and went, and the rain still poured heavily, but the company remained dry under their elven cloaks. The clouds drifted north as morning grew old, and the fog that had seemed to follow them lifted, allowing the sun to shine beams of warmth onto the river.

The quickly changing weather lightened Cristiel's spirits and she happily obliged when Legolas offered her his paddle. He had begun to bore of rowing, and the river was flat and smooth as glass, so he said she should have no problem. This time was different from the first, given she didn't have adrenaline rushing through her, but it was at first no more difficult than swinging a sword. After an hour of constant rowing, their boat had progressed noticeably less than the others, and Cristiel's arms screamed at her to be given rest. She decided she enjoyed rowing not at all as much as she thought she might, and promptly returned the paddle to Legolas, who smirked and pushed their boat ahead to pass the others. Cristiel leaned back and crossed her arms in displeasure at the elf's ability to handle the craft so easily, but she got over herself as the scenery swiftly began to change.

Ahead of them, rising out of the steep rocky banks of the Anduin, were carved two monstrous statues, one on each side of the river, leaving only a narrow passage of swift current between them. Cristiel lifted her eyes to behold the magnificent sight and a mixture of fear and awe came over her.

"I have seen drawings of these in Imladris," she said. "I never dreamed I would lay my eyes on them."

"Behold the Argonath! The Pillars of the Kings!" Aragorn called.

Cristiel grinned at him and watched as the monolithic structures passed by overhead. Whoever built these must have wanted to intimidate all who entered this place, she thought.

Formed in the likenesses of Isildur and Anárion, each statue held out one hand, palm forward, as if threatening those who came from the North. Their enormous sandaled feet stood exposed under long, billowing robes that draped from broad shoulders, and their faces were chiseled with the craftsmanship of ancient Gondor. Crowns rested upon their heads and birds nested within, but the Argonath stood unblemished and daunting, inspiring power against all the elements, both of nature and of Man.

The boats shot through the narrow passage on a swift current between the statues, and they came into a large, still lake. The sun had moved past the noon position, and in the distance could be heard the roar of the mighty Falls of Rauros, marked by the disappearance of the land and water into a cloud of broiling mist. From their course in the center of the lake, they could clearly see the two hills of Tol Brandur, Amon Lhaw rising on the eastern shore and Amon Hen to the west. They beached the boats on the west bank to catch a little rest, ate quickly, and went further into the night. As dawn came, they found themselves in the long shadow of Amon Lhaw. Aragorn called out to them, motioning towards the western shore of the lake, and Parth Galen. Wilderland behind them, they had reached the final stage of the quest. Rauros blocked their passage south, and they could now choose to turn west, or go east to Mordor.

--

Once they had beached the boats, they climbed out and onto the shore. The hobbits quickly set to work building a small fire on which to cook themselves a hot meal, and Legolas once again stationed himself close to the tree line, his piercing gaze learning every tree and shadow and ruin.

"We cross the lake at nightfall, hide the boats, and continue on foot," said Aragorn. "We approach Mordor from the north."

"Oh yes? There's just the simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil, an impassable labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks," said Gimli. "And after that it gets even better!"

Pippin glanced up from his meal with Sam and Merry, and for once in his life, stopped eating.

"We will have to find a way through the Dead Marshes, a festering, stinking swamp that stretches as far as the eye can see!" the dwarf continued.

"That is our road," said Aragorn bluntly. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."

"Recover my strength?" Gimli replied, settling on the ground with a grunt. He lit his pipe indignantly, growling to himself. "Recover my strength!"

Cristiel leaned against a tree trunk, fingering a bite of lembas bread and half listening to the conversation by the shore. She watched idly as Boromir pulled his shield strap off his shoulders and settled the armor against the base of the tree. He then straightened, cracking a warm smile in her direction that she returned. Content to remain near the calm of the river with the others, she watched him still as he ambled away into the trees alone, and thought nothing of it.

"We should leave now," Legolas said to Aragorn in a hushed tone. Cristiel turned curiously towards the conversation.

Aragorn shook his head. "Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness."

"It is not the eastern shore that worries me," the elf replied, peering back into the trees. "A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind."

Aragorn studied his friend's face but said nothing else and turned back towards the boats where he was unloading supplies. Cristiel glanced at him as he passed, her brow questioning, but he said nothing so she went closer to Legolas.

"What did you see?" she whispered.

Legolas' blue eyes narrowed as he scanned the woods. "Something draws near."

Cristiel bit her lip, feeling a tinge of nervousness grip her and went to grab some more lembas. A moment later, Merry returned with a small armful of kindling and dropped it beside the steady flames that Sam was cooking over. He brushed his hands off contentedly and glanced around.

"Where's Frodo?" he said suddenly.

Aragorn glanced at the hobbits resting on the ground, then looked towards the forest, noticing Boromir's shield propped against a tree. His jaw tightened.

He will try to take the ring.

Cristiel suddenly felt sick in the pit of her stomach as Galadriel's words came to mind. Looking into the forest, she wished she could see him. Or at least Frodo.

"I'm going for a walk," she said quickly. Aragorn acknowledged her with a nod, and she turned towards the trees. Legolas put a hand on her shoulder as she passed him.

"Be careful."

She smiled with lips closed and went into the forest.

--

Boromir had assured himself he was only going to collect firewood. Doing so would help him calm his mind, which at the present swarmed with contradictory thoughts, and that enticing voice. He wanted to take the ring, to bring it to his father so it could be used to save Gondor. Self-pity swirled in his heart at the knowledge that both Aragorn and Cristiel believed it better if the ring were destroyed, yet he knew that the ring was treacherous, and that it could destroy him and all those he loved.

'Your father would be forever indebted to you, Boromir. Take it and see the glory of Gondor restored.'

I would never put it on, he thought. I would take it to be used only in the direst hour of need. Why can the others not see that? Perhaps if I only asked Frodo kindly, he would give it to me. Surely, it is too much of a burden for him to bear much longer.

Boromir shook his head at himself.

No, I cannot! What am I been thinking? Aragorn would have my head as soon as he realized what I had done. No, they both would!

'The ranger from the north knows nothing of Gondor's troubles.'

That bloody ranger! He thinks he is some heir of Isildur, come to claim the throne as Gondor's savior. He does not even realize how powerful the ring actually is. Gondor does not need a king if the ring will save us!

He stopped in his tracks, stunned at his thoughts.

Am I going mad? The ring betrayed Isildur himself to his death! I too cannot risk my life for such a small thing.

'Such a little thing it is, surely. It is nothing but a trinket…'

That is true. It has no power over me, and I am the son of the Steward. The blood of Númenor flows in my veins! I will take the ring, for Gondor's sake.

'For the sake of Middle Earth, you must do this.'

And nodding to himself, Boromir stepped confidently up the hill in search of Frodo.

--

The hill that rose towards the peak of Amon Hen was littered with relics of some great civilization past. Massive figures stood like sentinels, watching the land and the river below. Cristiel walked slowly past the remnants of a stone face that was chiseled in the same manner as the Argonath had been, and an awe-inspiring feeling took hold. She lingered for a moment, thinking of how Gondor's domain had once stretched all the way to where she stood now. The trees thinned out as she crested a rise and suddenly she felt something brush past her, stirring up leaves in its wake. It had been something of substance, as she had felt it brush against her cloak. She turned quickly but saw nothing. Curious, she went back in the direction it had come from. She slowly went a few paces back down the hill, then stopped in her tracks. Someone was crying out in the distance.

"Frodo! Come back! I'm sorry, Frodo!"

Her lips parted with alarm. It was Boromir.

--

Boromir lay in the leaves upon the hillside of Parth Galen, his chest heaving with heavy breaths and tears streaming through the dust on his face. His mind whirled, playing back all that he had just done. Frodo's wide, frightened eyes were seared into his memory. He didn't even want to imagine what he himself must have looked like.

"What have I done?" he said to himself ashamedly. He raised himself up slowly on shaking arms, glancing up as he heard footsteps coming up the hill. Something inside him winced.

"Boromir?"

Cristiel hurried towards him, her brow knotted.

"Boromir, are you alright? What happened?"

He stood to his feet as she grabbed his arm, her eyes searching his face. He hesitantly lifted his eyes from the ground, his gaze flitting over her own face.

"I— I'm sorry— I tried—" he stuttered. Swallowing, he wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to steady himself. "I tried to take the ring," he whispered. He shuddered as the words passed over his lips.

--

Cristiel tensed as he embraced her. Her heart thudded against her ribcage. He smelled of sweat. She braced her hands against his chest and tried to stand back from him, gazing up at him nervously. His black hair was littered with leaves and dirt, and tear streaks broke the layer of dust on his cheeks. What had he just said?

"You tried to take the ring," she repeated in disbelief.

His grip around her loosened. She stepped back, blinking, staring at him.

"Forgive me, love," he pleaded. "I made a terrible mistake."

She swallowed. She felt as though she had been punched in the gut. "I didn't think you would. I really didn't. I tried not to believe it. Galadriel even warned me."

"Cristiel, please!"

She backed away, shaking her head. Anger jumbled with confusion, but she bit back her words. He reached for her and she lurched backwards. "Don't touch me!" She watched him with a wary glint in her eye.

"Cristiel, I am sorry, love. I truly am."

Her brow drew tight as tears stung her eyes. Desperation haunted his features. "Where is Frodo?" she asked quietly.

He tensed again. "I— I think he went away up the hillside."

She didn't tear her disbelieving gaze from him, even as she turned in the direction he motioned. She choked on a sob.

"I love you, Cristiel!"

"I know," she whispered, wrenching her fingers. "You— You should find Frodo."

"No!" he cried. She winced at the edge in his voice. "No," he said again more softly. "You must find him. I can't bear to."

"But—"

"Leave me!"

She turned swiftly away. No more words could come. Defeat and vexation had destroyed them. Swallowing through the nausea that shivered its way into her mind, she ran up the steep hillside in search of Frodo.

--

Frodo fled up the hillside, running through a swirling mist that blinded all others to his whereabouts. He ran until he reached the top of the hill, and fell upon a set of stone steps. Cowering behind a ledge in the structure, he peered over the top.

The fog began to shrink. His churning world closed in around him, and he could see clearly places that were hundreds if not thousands of miles away. Ships with billowing black sails on the southern oceans, orcs spilling from their dark tunnels in the Misty Mountains, flames rising from the forest of Mirkwood. The forces of Sauron were moving.

Frodo stared as he turned towards the east, sweat beading on his face. Over the Ash Mountains his vision flew, and across the plains of Gorgoroth past the mountain of fire. The dark tower of Barad-Dûr came into clear view, rising from the fractured ground like an impenetrable iron fortress. It was the very stronghold of Sauron himself. Sharp pillars of adamant and obsidian projected upward like spikes from the black rock, and rivers of lava flowed around the base of the fortress, a boiling, scorching moat.

His view of Barad-Dûr suddenly disintegrated, as if blown away by a mighty wind, replaced by a roiling mass of cloud and fog. Thunder sounded and lightning flashed, and one by one, the faces of the Fellowship appeared. They gazed at him with untrustworthy and venomous eyes, then turned their backs and disappeared into darkness.

Suddenly the Eye of Sauron filled his vision. Blazing yellow, orange, and crimson flames surrounded the black abyss of a single vertical pupil, and a voice more dark and treacherous than he had ever heard before sounded around him.

They will fall.

Frodo leapt from his seat and tumbled down the stairs. As he hurled himself off the precipice of the seat, he wrenched the ring from his finger in a last desperate attempt to hide. He hit the ground with a thud and the mist cleared as if nothing had ever happened. The sky was cloudless and all was quiet but for a flock of birds that had scattered with his entrance into the world again. He sat up and cleared his head.

He started at footsteps coming up the hill, and scrambled to his feet. Aragorn appeared from the trees and ran towards him.

"Frodo!"

"It has taken Boromir," he replied sadly.

Aragorn edged closer, his voice full of urgency. "Where is the ring?"

Frodo quickly moved back against a pillar of stone. "Stay away!"

"Frodo, I swore to protect you," Aragorn reminded him.

Frodo slowly opened his small hand, his blue eyes shimmering with tears. "Can you protect me from yourself?"

The ring lay in his palm, shining in the sunlight, unblemished and golden, drawing in Aragorn's gaze.

"Would you destroy it?"

Aragorn paused, as if caught in a trance. The One Ring drew him in slowly, and his fingers stretched out to touch it. An eerie, distant voice seemed to call to him:

Aragorn.

Elessar.

He took in a breath and peeled his hard, gray eyes from the ring; He knelt down to Frodo's height, taking the hobbit's small hands into his own.

"I would have gone with you to the end," Aragorn whispered. "Into the very fires of Mordor."

"I know. Look after the others, especially Sam." Frodo's voice trembled. "He will not understand."

Aragorn nodded slowly, his eyes close to tears. Suddenly, he noticed a faint blue glow coming from Frodo's sword sheath. "Frodo," he said, motioning to the hobbit's sword.

Frodo drew his blade a little ways and blanched at the blue blade. Aragorn flew to his feet, drawing his sword. "Go, Frodo!"

Frodo hesitated. He wasn't ready to leave his most trustworthy companion to an unknown fate.

"Run!" Aragorn ordered. "RUN!"

Frodo backed away, slowly at first, then turned and sprinted down the hill into the trees and towards the river and the boats below.

--

Cristiel's light footsteps crashed through underbrush and brambles as she sprinted up the hillside. Her jaw was clamped tight to keep tears from flowing freely. She felt betrayed, but even more foolish. She knew Galadriel had warned her that this would happen, but she had refused to believe it. She pushed through the forest and suddenly found herself on the top of the hill in a wide clearing. Aragorn walked swiftly towards her, his sword drawn.

"What are you doing up here, Cristiel? Where is Boromir?"

"I left him down there," she said quietly, pointing behind her. She followed him as he paced around the perimeter of the clearing, jogging to keep up. "Ada, he tried to take—"

"I know what he did! Was no warning heeded?"

She was about to reply, but her attention was stolen by a clamor that came from the western side of the hill. A mob of orcs, possibly over two hundred of them, was barreling up the hill towards them. They spotted Aragorn and Cristiel and their leader gave a blood curdling roar.

Aragorn shot Cristiel a hard look. "Stay behind me as long as you can."

She nodded and drew her sword, her eyes wide with alarm. These orcs were less deformed than the orcs of Moria, and they were huge, practically the size of men. She quickly backed away into the shadow of the ruins at the top of the hill, holding Hallamarth in trembling hands. She peeked around the stone pillar and saw her father raise his sword, touching it to his forehead as a sort of blessing. Then he gave a loud battle cry and lunged forward in the enemy throng.

She watched the battle for only a minute from her position of safety. As the orcs pushed Aragorn up the steps of the ruins, some of them spotted her and she had no choice but to charge at them. She blocked the first parry and grunted at her assailant's strength. These orcs were built like men too. She blocked and parried and finally struck down two orcs, then quickly retreated around the back of the ruins. She was already out of breath. She needed at least a few seconds to recuperate and rest her arms, but they surrounded her again. She ran around them like a child playing hide and seek, dodging and ducking blows that carried far more ferocity behind them than she was comfortable trying to fight against.

Aragorn was soon at her back, taking down more orcs than she could count on all fingers and toes. She gasped for breath and desperately parried another orc before it could impale her with its blade. When she felt she could no longer hold off the enemy, two arrows whizzed over her head, sticking themselves into her attackers' skulls. She turned and saw Legolas and Gimli come charging out of the woods.

Her attention distracted for a second, she turned and saw Aragorn's sword protruding through the chest of an orc whose axe was raised above her, ready to crush her skull. She gasped breathlessly as it fell in front of her, and Aragorn immediately grabbed her arm.

"You must get out of here. Find the hobbits."

She nodded, and swiftly turned and hurried into the forest. As she ran, she grabbed at tree trunks to keep from falling down the hill, but despite her efforts, she collided with an injured orc. One of Legolas' arrows protruded from its chest. With a cry, she drove her sword through its neck without hesitation, kicking its body with disgust. "Foul creatures," she spat. Behind her, one of the orc leaders was shouting out orders.

"Find the halflings, you scum! Find the halflings! Kill the rest!"

She swallowed and ran faster down the hill, giving no thought to her footing. Heavy footsteps crashed through the forest to her right and she blocked the blade that swiped at her legs. She glanced up the hill and saw three more orcs in hot pursuit. She parried and caught the orc in its shoulder. It roared and lunged at her. Her shoulders burned from the force they were suddenly subjected to, and after a final block, she turned and ran. She couldn't take on these creatures without injuring herself. And she needed to find the hobbits before the enemy did.

A sudden blast of a horn carried over the land, echoing off every hill, rising even above the roar of the Falls of Rauros. She stopped in her tracks and turned breathlessly. Her four pursuers also stopped, then they turned and charged towards the sound. Her heart pounded relentlessly. Boromir, she thought suddenly. Another blast sounded, more urgent than the last.

Without hesitation, she charged down the hillside after the orcs, her lungs gasping for air. She jumped over a fallen tree, landing awkwardly on a rocky outcrop. Her right foot buckled to the side and she gave a sharp cry as fierce pain erupted through her ankle, shooting up her calf muscle. She stumbled onto the rocks and stars clouded her vision. Then her head connected with a jagged stone, and she knew no more.