My sister, who does NOT have an account, by the way, has been bugging me to update because - I quote - "You haven't updated since the FIFTEENTH! Don't you know how LONG AGO that is?!" So yeah, I'm updating to get her off my back. I don't get it - she's my proofreader/editor, so she's read it all already. But for some reason she decided that she's going to die if I don't update right now. And she thinks that SHE'S the mature one! :D What would I do without her?
Akka, I know you're reading this. You'd better review, girl!
Previously...
Then switching back to the common tongue she said, "But now we must be going. Dawn is upon us, and we must be far into the wilds by full light."
"Where are you leading us?" Frodo asked cautiously.
"Into the wild." Aragorn said grimly.
They had been traveling quite some time now, and it was fully light Aragorn had just announcement that they were leaving the road. He intended to travel through the wilds to save time, instead of following the long winding road to Rivendell.
"I don't like this." The fourth hobbit, who by this time I knew was called Sam, muttered to Frodo. "How do we know we can trust them? And where are they taking us?"
"To Rivendell, Master Gamgee, to the house of Elrond." Aragorn called over his shoulder, letting Sam know that he could still hear what was being said.
"Did you hear that Mr. Frodo? Rivendell! We're going to see the elves!"
Adara chuckled and asked softly, "What tales have you heard about the elves, Samwise?"
For the next several hours he told stories about the elves, many of which were not true. She would tell him what was accurate and what wasn't, and his admiration of elves seemed rather to grow despite the fact that much of what he knew of them was fallacy. Listening to the tales also helped to put the other hobbits more at ease, and Merry and Pippin would now and again but into Sam's story and correct him, add something he missed, or just plain finish it. He didn't seem to mind.
Aragorn glanced back at her and they shared an amused glance. The story Sam was currently telling was complete and utter nonsense. Suddenly she tensed, the hobbit's voice fading in her mind as she focused on a distant sound. A ghostly scream rang out somewhere miles behind them, too far away for any of the others to hear, even Aragorn. But Adara heard it.
{"They follow."} She hissed.
Aragorn jerked his gaze to her eyes. {"How close?"}
{"Far enough that you couldn't hear them. I'm not sure how close – but still too close for my comfort."}
He nodded grimly, and they trudged on, thankful that the hobbits hadn't noticed their new tension.
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Several hours before they reached Weathertop, Adara felt the presence of the wraiths. They weren't too close, but far closer than she liked. She touched Aragorn's arm.
{"They are closer. I will take shadow-form and scout about."}
{"Be careful."}
She could see the worry in his eyes. {"You know that nothing can touch a shadow, right?"}
{"Another shadow can, and they are half in the shadow world. Amala, be careful."}
Adara nodded soberly. Aragorn rarely used her formal name, when he did it showed how worried he really was. {"I truly do not think they can harm me, but I will be careful. You be careful too, El."}
El was the nickname she had given him a year ago – it was short for Elessar. Or Estel, whichever she preferred right then… She never told him that in Astî El was a girl's name – they weren't in Astî now were they? Anyway, to return the favor, he often called her Ad. That was another thing she didn't tell him – Ad was very close to her family's nickname for her. She wouldn't have been able to handle it, except that Peter hadn't called her Ad; he'd called her Ara. So she was ok. He really had picked up a lot of her quirks; nicknames were just another one of these.
With that, Phantom vanished. All four hobbits jumped; they had been paying attention to the conversation, even though they couldn't understand what the Rangers were saying, because Strider sounded worried. Now they were doubly concerned, remembering what Strider had said the night before about Phantom taking shadow-form to fight the wraiths.
"Why did he go into shadow-form?" Pippin questioned fearfully. "Are those wraiths near?"
"That is what he is going to find out." The remaining Ranger answered grimly.
"Then they might be close?" Sam asked, trying to sound brave.
"It is possible. Phantom has highly developed senses, more so than the elves. He can see things a great ways off, and hear things at even larger distances. He also… I'm not sure how to describe it. He just senses danger."
"So he sensed danger and thinks it is the wraiths?"
"I do not know specifically. He told me several hours ago that he heard them somewhere behind us, but they were far away. Now he said that he thought they were closer, and was going to scout around. He did not say why he thought they were closer, and I did not ask. Their whereabouts are all I need to know."
Silence reigned until they reached Weathertop. As they climbed the hill, Frodo saw clouds to the south swirling as well as an orange glow, and odd flashes of light – or maybe odd flashes of darkness would be a better description, because it looked as though the light stayed the same, only being blocked out now and then by something dark.
"Strider!"
The Ranger whirled, saw what the hobbit had seen, and went white. "Ad, what have you gotten yourself into?" He muttered under his breath. "You can't take them on by yourself!"
Aragorn looked from the horizon to the hobbits and back again, clearly torn. He had to protect the hobbits – they were his responsibility, Adara had a better chance of fending off the wraiths alone than they did, and the fate of Arda depended on the burden Frodo bore. But… How could he abandon the one he considered his sister? Against the wraiths, she might easily face a fate far worse than death. They had the power to turn others into beings like themselves!
As he watched, the disturbance moved farther away, until it was on the edge of his sight – she was far out of his reach now. Then it vanished. She had stopped fighting, whether she had succumbed to the dark powers of the wraiths, fallen in death, or made her escape he could not tell. But he thought it most likely that she had fallen. She would fight to her death to avoid wraith magic (And he didn't know if their magic would affect her anyway, he comforted himself, since she held something far more powerful – the Dejen of her people. A tiny thought betrayed him by pointing out that she didn't know how to use it fully, but he quickly pushed that away. She had once said that her people would not fail as long as the Dejen survived, he reminded himself.) and he did not think it likely that she would escape them. Death seemed the only possibility. And there, in a small hollow on the side of Weathertop, with four small hobbits watching, four hobbits whom he was now solely responsible for protecting, Aragorn fell to his knees with a cry of grief and wept.
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~Several hours earlier~
In shadow-form, Adara moved away from the little group. Her senses of hearing and smell heightened when she took shadow-form, but her sense of sight dimmed. She heard the hobbits question her disappearance, fearfully asking if the wraiths were near. She guessed that they remembered Aragorn telling them last night that she would go into shadow-form in the wilds to watch for the Nazgúl. As she moved father and farther from the group, she heard Aragorn answer them grimly.
Seriously El? You could at least try to not frighten them!
She listened to the entire conversation, grinning when Aragorn couldn't find words to describe her awareness of danger. Just after the conversation ended, Adara passed out of hearing range.
Shifting from shadow to shadow, over the next couple hours Adara worked her way in several wide circles around Aragorn and the hobbits. Nothing. At least, nothing that she could see. She still felt the evil dread that announced the wraiths' presence, however.
And then suddenly, something changed. She no longer had a vague feeling of surrounding dread and evil intent. No, it was all coming from one direction – southeast of her position, almost due south of the group that was nearing Weathertop – and was coming rapidly closer. Instantly Adara sped off towards it, shifting shadow to shadow and choosing ones that were far apart in order to move more quickly. As she went Adara reckoned how fast Aragorn and the hobbits were going, and therefore when they would make it to Weathertop.
Although it wasn't much, they would be safer at the old fortress than anywhere in the surrounding country. An aura of goodness lingered there from the good men who built it so long ago, and the Nazgúl would avoid the place if they could help it. If she could distract the wraiths long enough, and lead them far enough away, the others might still have a chance. Adara was aware that she was probably going to die, but she was at peace. If she died, so be it. She would join her people. But she would have liked to say goodbye to the man she had come to see as a brother.
Within forty-five minutes, she reached the wraiths.
Aragorn should have them climbing Weathertop by now.
The Nazgúl had sensed her coming, and were waiting for her. Adara walked right into their circle, and drew her sword, Lorcán. The wraiths stood still, unmoving. She took first-form, raised Lorcán, and cried out in challenge (using second-form voice which she made dark and threatening).
"I am the Ranger of Rikku, monarch of Astî. I am shadow, water, and fire. I am Amator – the last of my people. Fight me, if you dare!"
As Adara had expected, the Nazgúl were ready for the challenge. All four – Where are the other five? – sprang forward at once, drawing their swords as one. Instantly she ducked, knowing that their blades were likely of Morgul. If she were pierced by a Morgul blade, Adara doubted that even her magic could save her from becoming a wraith like them.
She darted back and forth inside the circle, fighting her hardest, but was unable to break out of it. It didn't help her any, Adara though dourly, that she couldn't actually wound them. If she were to pierce a wraith, her sword would turn to ash and dust. Then she would be weaponless, and with at least three more wraiths to deal with. Yeah, not a good plan.
The Nazgúl were drawing their circle tighter, clearly thinking that she would not be too difficult to deal with. With one of the Rangers out of the way, they would be better able to get at the hobbits. The thought made her furious, and she answered it out loud.
"Not on my watch you won't." Adara growled. Time to pull in the big guns. What was it Aragorn had said in Bree? {"They fear fire."} She muttered.
With a loud cry, Adara put Lorcán in fire-form. The wraiths fell back with shrieks of anger and fear. She would have just gone completely to fire-form, but she didn't dare use that much energy, at least not this early on. When she saw that they were falling back in the direction of Weathertop, Adara shouted in anger (and elvish).
{"Oh no, you don't! Stay and face me!"}
With that she held up her hand and formed a wall of wind that blocked the wraiths' retreat. Let them just try to get through that in one piece! Adara was pathetically thankful that creating the wall used very little energy, and maintaining it virtually none. With new vigor, she attacked the wraiths.
For almost half an hour they battled, Adara calling on all the powers she could readily use that would be of any use to her. She used first-form for the agility and quick motion it was capable of, darkness to make her fire seem fiercer than it actually was and to confuse the wraiths' sense of direction, wind to keep the Nazgúl from retreat to Weathertop and focused on her (and occasionally to blow a stray wraith away from her), and fire to actually fight. She successfully set two wraiths on fire before one of the Nazgúl managed to wound her.
Somehow, she lost track of a wraith, and it got behind Adara without her seeing it. Just as she set the second wraith on fire she felt a searing pain in her chest. As she fell to the ground she saw the blade, now stained with her own blood, in the hands of the wraith that stabbed her. It was not a cursed blade. She was going to die, but she would not become a wraith. As her strength left her, her powers failed – the wall of wind faltered and then disappeared, Lorcán returned to sword-form, and the darkness she had created faded away. She would die under a free sky full of stars, in the defense of the innocent of Arda. What more could she ask for?
The world and wraiths faded; so did her pain. Everything went black.
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The four Nazgúl had finally accomplished what they set out to do. The powerful Ranger was dead. While two of the wraiths struggled to put out the flames the Ranger had set in their concealing cloaks (their anger smoldering at the intense pain of the burns they had received – few things can harm a Ringwraith, but fire is one of these) the unharmed Nazgúl started toward Weathertop, only to see the summit flash with flames as they drew close. Others of their kind came flying down from the old fortress, screaming in agony, wreathed in flames.
The two approaching wraiths shrieked in anger and fear, but their captain, the Witch-king, ordered silence. The hobbit that carried the thing had received a wound at their chief's hand, a wound that would force him to succumb to their will. Satisfied, and finally no longer on fire, the Nazgúl regathered and headed off into the night. They would bide their time.
Please don't kill me! I guess I should have warned you about character death or something, but still! The story isn't over yet - far from it! We still have to deal with losing Adara and see how her loss affects the rest of the story!