The Morning Star of Rivendell
Chapter 11
Disclaimer: I don't own FOTR.
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With the Hobbits
When Frodo awoke to the voices of his friends and cooked food, he knew something was terribly, horribly wrong. Sitting up he spotted a crackling campfire and plates of meals.
"My tomato's burst." Merry stated.
"Can I have some bacon?" Pippin requested.
"Okay. Want some tomatoes Sam?" The Brandybuck offered.
"What are you doing?!" Frodo exclaimed in alarm.
"Tomatoes, sausages, nice crispy bacon." Merry answered.
He didn't find the quip funny.
"We saved some for you, Mister Frodo." Sam told him.
The dark-haired hobbit was anything but hungry. He couldn't believe his friends' stupidity. They were being hunted and they decided it was a good idea to start a campfire?! Why not just shout, yell and wave their arms about saying where they were while they're at it? Had they no common sense?
No, he couldn't blame them entirely. They'd never known how to act when being hunted, because back in the Shire there was nothing that hunted them. Bilbo had told him of the troubles that could be attracted to such a bright light like a campfire, especially at nightfall. He thanked his uncle for that knowledge.
"Put it out, you fools! Put it out!"
The Baggins stomped on the fire, dousing out the flames.
"Oh, that's nice! Ash on my tomatoes!" Pippin retorted sardonically.
Suddenly a Nazgùl's screech pierced the air, startling the hobbits and drawing them to the lip of the overhand, peering out from above. Five Nazgùl were closing in on Weathertop.
All banter, friendliness and chatter ceased, leaving nothing but an icy fear hanging in the atmosphere.
Drawing their small swords, they retreated from the overhang. Thangannas whinnied in protest at the approaching evil.
"Go!" Frodo shouted, running up to the highest level of the ruins.
The hobbits stayed close together, and the Baggins saw the oncoming Nazgùls unsheathe their longer, deadlier blades. Terrified, he stepped back as they advanced. Merry, Sam and Pippin turned to settle their eyes on them as well.
Sam brandished his sword angrily. "Back you devils!"
His blade clashed with one of the Ringwraith's, but the foe easily knocked him away. The copper-haired hobbit slumped against a wall.
This frightened Merry and Pippin even further as they dodged away from the enemies.
Frodo stumbled onto his back, foolishly bringing out the Ring for comfort. In that instant, the apparent leader of the Nazgùl drew his sword, stalking towards the hobbit.
The Baggins backed away until he was against a broken column. Unable to flee, he fearfully stared at the Ringwraith's raised blade. Desperate, he slipped on the Ring.
It was as if he was transported to another world again and the true forms of the Nazgùl were revealed to him.
White, ghostly forms of deceased kings with hollow eyes surrounded him. They appeared soulless, driven to serve only one purpose.
The Ringwraith shot up his hand, in effect forcefully pulling the Ring towards it. When the Ring was almost in its grasp, Frodo managed to yank it back.
Angered, the enemy skewered its sword into the dark-haired hobbit's left shoulder, resulting in a scream of pain that left his throat when there was a familiar voice yelling, redirecting his and the Nazgùl's attention.
The evil drew its blade out of the hobbit's shoulder, turning to fend off Strider, who had a torch of fire in one hand and his sword in the other.
Yáviën notched arrows, swiftly turning to embed one into the cloaked shoulder of another Ringwraith, protecting Merry and Pippin.
Frodo slid off the Ring, screaming in agony at his wound.
"Frodo!" Sam exclaimed, scrambling to help his friend as Yáviën and Strider valiantly fought the Nazgùl.
The elleth twirled, putting her bow and arrows away to draw out her twin Elvish blades with writing carved into the metal.
Swinging them professionally, she clashed with the Ringwraith's longer swords, a harmonic sound colliding with the dull ring of metal. She was blocking two separate attacks from either side of her, slashing the blades away and whipping around to try and kick the Nazgùl from underneath its feet.
Her enemies backed away out of her range, deciding to switch targets. However, she did not let them escape her.
Pursuing them, she slashed at their retreating forms, ripping the dark fabric that cloaked them. One took a swipe at her in protest, only for the elleth to bend backwards, in the process cutting at another Ringwraith attempting to stab her from behind in a single, fluid motion.
Merry and Pippin, who had never witnessed a fight before, stared in awe at her movements that were so fast, fluent and graceful from their hiding places.
Strider was using the fire of the torch to his advantage, waving it around and forcing the Nazgùl to keep their distance to evade the deadly source of light and heat. Ducking to avoid a horizontal swipe, he jabbed his sword forward, followed by the torch.
Sam, in the meantime, reached Frodo and kneeled to his side.
"Oh Sam." The dark-haired hobbit whimpered. He was already growing faint from his wound.
A Ringwraith caught fire as another sent Strider to his knees while blocking a strike. Another was screeching as the flames hungrily ate away its opaque cloak.
The ranger was back on his feet, pushing the Nazgùl back with a fiery disposition.
Yáviën, unlike Strider, was calm and obviously confident in her abilities. She twisted her body to slice at two Nazgùl surrounding her, seeing as how the other two were panicking, getting consumed by flickering red and orange.
She kicked the stomach of one and stabbed the other, swiftly dodging their blows. Using the ruins to her advantage, the she-elf leapt up onto a crumbling pillar, then jumped down to stab a Ringwraith by its right shoulder.
The elleth received a shriek of agony as she drove her Elvish blade further, the fine metal doing its job. Then she wrenched it out, back flipping to evade a stab the other Nazgùl performed and slicing at the corrupted creature in the process. They retreated, fleeing from the ruins.
However, a single Ringwraith lingered, creeping up towards the fallen Frodo, who was surrounded by Sam, Merry and Pippin.
Seeing this, Strider swiveled around to expertly throw the torch at it, hitting his mark dead on. Fire sweltered and grew on the Nazgùl, resulting in pained screeches as it fled.
Sam whipped his head to the two rangers. "Strider! Blaze!"
The human and elf rushed over to Frodo, seeing his expression of agony. Strider plucked the broken sword off the ground.
Yáviën became grim and alarmed.
"He's been stabbed by a Morgul Blade. This is beyond my skill to heal," The ranger reluctantly admitted, lifting up Frodo who was groaning in pain.
"He needs Elvish medicine." Strider explained as he gathered the hobbit into his arms.
All eyes went straight to the elleth, who bit her lip. "Without the proper ingredients to crush and mix together, I cannot heal him. As effective Elvish medicine is, we use a special remedy that I do not carry. And using my spells alone will not be powerful enough..."
Faces fell with crestfallen looks.
"All hope is not lost, dear ones." She told them, bringing them to their feet.
"No one else is hurt?" Yáviën asked, meticulously checking them for injuries. They shook their heads.
The hobbits and elf followed Strider, with Yáviën diverting to mount Thangannas, easily catching up to them.
"We're six days from Rivendell! We'll never make it!" Sam protested.
The elven ranger sent him a warning glance. "Continue thinking like that and we won't."
"Gandalf..." Frodo murmured.
"Hold on, Frodo." Strider said, a determined fire blazing in his irises.
"...Gandalf!" The hobbit cried.
At Isengard
Giant caverns and crevices had been opened up, a forge now noticeable at the base. Hundreds, possibly thousands of orcs were laboring there.
Metal clinking filled the air.
Gandalf was still imprisoned up in the pinnacle of the tower. A small moth, colored a faded white, reached him after a struggle against winds, fluttering before him.
A hand shot out to entrap it, the weary wizard bringing it close to his face. It willingly remained on his palm as Gandalf murmured words in a different language.
He whispered a final command, "Gwaihir. Go, Gwaihir."
Sending it off, the moth flew away into the glittering night sky.
Down in the deep caverns of Isengard, the forging of weapons and armor grew in number, hundreds of swords and helmets piling up. Saruman oversaw the activities, a small smile of pride on his face.
Orcs tended to strange movements in the mud, groans issuing from within. A form was wriggling to escape.
A giant creature emerged, lashing out and viciously killing orcs that tried to help it. It was a towering thing, looming above the other orcs with jagged, large teeth and coated in slime.
Saruman gazed at it with captivated admiration.
With Strider and Co.
Back in the forest, Strider led the group of hobbits and the stubborn elf to refuge near three huge stone trolls. Sam tried his greatest efforts to keep Frodo conscious.
The hobbit's eyes were a brighter and richer blue than before, his face pale and slick with sweat.
"Look, Mister Frodo! It's Mister Bilbo's trolls!"
However, that did not quite keep him awake. Strange sounds came from him, like faint screeches of the Wraiths.
Yáviën shot the statues a glare. "Indeed they are. And if it had not been for dear Bilbo we would have been eaten seventy-seven years ago, bumbling fools..."
Strider took this time to observe her somewhat. He hadn't seen the she-elf since the last major quest she took part in, but she seemed to have a lingering glint of sadness and fondness in her eyes as she muttered about foolish dwarves.
He saw the copper-haired hobbit press a hand against Frodo's forehead.
"Mister Frodo?"
Turning to him and Yáviën, he shouted, "He's going cold!"
"Is he going to die?" Pippin asked them, his voice thick with dread.
"He is passing into the shadow world. He will soon become a Wraith, like them." Strider answered truthfully, shoving his sorrow down to remain strong for the hobbits.
As Frodo let out a gasp, the Ringwraiths cried out from a distance.
"They're close." Merry muttered.
The others silently and grimly agreed.
It did not affect Strider or unsettle him like it did the hobbits. He had experience on his side; he'd seen things in his life that made this unsurprising.
Unsurprising, but nonetheless alarming and terrifying.
A few feet ahead of him, the ranger could see Yáviën twitching with anticipation. She hated standing around doing nothing. She'd always been like that, always trying to do something to help. She was in luck-he had a plan.
His eyes practically burned into Sam's skull. "Sam. Do you know the Athelas plant?"
Out of his peripherals, Strider saw his elleth friend smack her forehead. "Athelas! Why did I not think of it?"
"Athelas?" The gardener repeated.
"Kingsfoil."
"Kingsfoil-aye, it's a weed."
"It may help to slow the poison. Hurry!" The ranger urged.
All of them spreaded out to search for the plant fervently in the undergrowth with keen eyes. Yáviën's sharp Elvish ones would definitely benefit.
She found a small patch around the same time Strider did, but she was not as unfortunate to have the cool metal of a sword press against her throat.
"What's this? A ranger caught off his guard?" A deep, melodic female voice spoke in amusement.
Strider tilted his head to try and see his attacker.
Frodo was still lying on the ground, feeling a white light near him. He turned towards it, seeing a beautiful Elf-lady with long, cascading dark brown hair gallop over on a snow-white horse, dismounting to gracefully approach him.
"Frodo... Im Arwen. Telin le thaed." (I am Arwen. I have come to help you.)
At that moment, Yáviën appeared in a heavenly light, her blue-grey eyes bright and glittering as her long silky hair billowed out behind her. Was it the effect his illness had for him to perceive elves this way?
Of course, in actuality the elf was utterly covered in filth and grime. Her hair had long before fallen out of its elaborate braid, though her warrior braids were still in-tact. Her clothes were caked with dirt, with a few grass stains accompanying them. She was in dire need of a shower, considering they'd been traveling for a week through varying terrain.
Her lovely face appeared even more beautiful to Frodo as she turned to look at Arwen.
"What are you doing here?" She demanded, her voice terse but her eyes showed tenderness and worry.
Arwen opened her mouth to explain, but the other she-elf simply redirected her gaze and focus onto the suffering Frodo, her voice half-quiet and relieving to his ears.
"Lasto beth nîn, Frodo. Tolo dan na ngalad." (Hear my voice. Come back to the light.)
Both female elves were on their knees at the hobbit's side. He moved his head away, whimpering weakly.
"Who is she?" Merry asked in an apparent enchanted state as he stared at Arwen, soaking in the image of her mesmerizing, lovely face.
Yáviën stroked the Baggin's head, concern washing over her countenance as Arwen did similar.
"Frodo!"
Strider had appeared, chewing up some Athelas and preparing to apply it to the hobbit's wound.
"She's an Elf." Sam answered in wonder.
The elvish ranger wondered why it was so awe-inspiring to meet Arwen, but that was a question to be solved another day. Frodo was her priority.
Strider applied the portion of athelas to the dark-haired hobbit's wound, though they were quickly losing him.
"He's fading!" Arwen exclaimed.
"Evidently." Yáviën retorted, her voice eerily calm.
But her eyes shone with panic in her wise blue-grey eyes as she moved Frodo's shirt away for Strider to apply the paste poultice.
She knew a spell that, applied with athelas, could heal Frodo. But the wraiths were still after them, and she needed a bowl of some kind with water to apply as well. They didn't even have enough time for her to inspect the wound to see if a shard of the blade had broken off.
The ranger shot Yáviën a warning glare for a brief second as Arwen appeared momentarily wounded, but she recovered swiftly. Now was not the time for mulling over slightly harsh words.
Frodo gasped, causing the elven ranger to grip his hand in comfort. "He's not going to last," She began with the other dark-haired she-elf carrying on her words.
"We must get him to my father. I've been looking for you for 2 days."
'Maybe he didn't want to be found.' Yáviën thought, though she knew those words were far too harsh to voice.
Strider hoisted Frodo up into his arms and started walking with Arwen and Yáviën flanking his sides.
"Where are you taking him?" Merry demanded as the male ranger mounted the hobbit onto Thangannas, who was closer than Arwen's white horse.
Yáviën gave the concerned Brandybuck a reassuring gaze, sending him a curt nod.
"There are five wraiths behind you. Where the other 4 are, I do not know." Arwen informed them.
"Dartho guin perian. Rych le ad tolthathon." (Stay with the hobbits. I will send horses back for you) Strider told her.
"Hon mabathon. Rochon ellint im." (I will take him. I'm the faster rider) The dark-haired elleth argued, motioning towards her horse.
"Arwen, estelio enni." (Trust in me) Yáviën spoke, catching her attention immediately.
"Andelu i ven." (The road is too dangerous) Strider disagreed, siding with the female ranger.
"What are they saying?" Pippin queried, partially frustrated he didn't know Elvish.
"Frodo fîr. Ae athradon i hir, tur gwaith nin beriatha hon (Frodo's dying. If I can get across the river, the power of my people will protect him)." Arwen defended, earning a hardened but almost approving glint from the other elleth's eyes.
"Em gwaith." (Our people)
The lovely elf stared at her in surprise, as if the notion of her siding with her was shocking in itself. Perhaps it was. The hobbits could see there was some sort of...connection, between them. Whether it was good or bad they had no idea.
The Elvish ranger remained calm with hardened features as she said, "Gwaem." (Let's go)
Arwen edged a grateful smile as she dipped her head in appreciation. Yáviën added, "Thangannas is faster than Asfaloth, but not by much. You carry a sword; I have arrows. Since I have long range weapons, you will take Frodo and I will cover you."
Strider still seemed reluctant, refusing to move the hobbit. When both she-elves sent him a pleading gaze, he eventually relented, gently picking Frodo up and setting him onto Asfaloth.
Yáviën gracefully mounted Thangannas and held her bow with one hand.
The dark-haired elf locked eyes with Strider.
"I do not fear them." She reassured the ranger. Their hands clasped tenderly, which caused the elleth already on her horse to scowl.
They were wasting precious time as it was.
Strider gave her a tired, gentle smile. "Be iest lîn." (As you wish.)
Yáviën passed them and the wheezing, delirious Frodo on Thangannas, impatiently waiting for the dark-haired elf as Strider stepped aside for her to mount Asfaloth.
"Arwen, ride hard. Don't look back!" The ranger warned her.
The female ranger sent him a curt nod, also reassuring him she'd protect Arwen to the best of her abilities. He knew she would not fail.
"Noro lim, Thangannas!" (Ride fast!) Yáviën urged her steed as he suddenly took off at a surprising speed at her request.
Arwen murmured the same plea. "Noro lim, Asfaloth, noro lim!"
The two horses dashed away at breathtaking speeds, though Thangannas seemed to be moving faster. Thinking back Strider regretted allowing Arwen to take Frodo.
"What are you doing?! Those wraiths are still out there!" Sam exclaimed to the ranger, who was already well aware of the dangers the two elves had yet to face.
"That is why Yáviën went with her." He answered, though he offered no other moral support.
The copper-haired hobbit seemed to calm down a little at his statement, considering he'd witnessed first-hand how well the elleth could fight.
All they could do was wish them luck.
A/N: So, how was it? I realize Arwen didn't play that big of a role in LOTR, and for a while I considered making her join the Fellowship for a more active role, but that would be illogical considering she's never been on such a strenuous journey and would probably just slow them down.
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