Chapter Twelve
The grey haze engulfed Frodo once more. However, rather than the shadows that were usually seen, there standing in front of him were five aged men who appeared as phantoms. Each one of the five men wore ornate crowns atop their heads, signifying their status as men above men. Their faces contorted into images of constant suffering and remorse over their cursed fate.
The Nazgul who marched towards Frodo stopped mid-stride and just stared at Frodo. Then, with his phantom hand, he reached out for the ring now on the Hobbit's finger.
In his mind he could feel it, the ring pulling its self towards the outstretched hand of the Ring Wraith. He was doing his best to fight it, but the ring's will was much stronger than he had anticipated. The ring inched ever closer to the phantom hand. He could feel the air grow cold as the little golden circle dragged Frodo's hand towards the dark entity. Fearing the worst, Frodo, in a fit of panic, gave one final burst of strength and yanked the ring back towards his body and away from the evil creature.
The Ring Wraith was taken aback by this sudden burst of will from the small creature. In its dark and twisted mind the Nazgul understood that, if given the chance, that small being could become even more powerful than his master, and he could not have that.
With a swift and sudden thrust, the Nazgul plunged its sword deep into Frodo's shoulder. The pain of the sword wound was unlike any suffering Frodo had ever experienced - the searing burn that came with its stab, combined with a bitter chill that felt as though nothing in the world would keep you warm. Frodo reached for the ring and pulled it off his finger.
"Gahhhhh!" Frodo roared in pain.
"Frodo!" Sam bellowed, feeling as though all was lost to these demonic beings.
Hearing this cry Achilles awoke from his forced sleep. As his eyes slid open he heard two more cries, not of pain but rather of the all-too familiar, war. From his downed position all he could see was a blurry image of a man holding a torch fighting off the shadowy phantoms, shortly after he was joined by another image of a younger looking man and a woman also aiding in the fight. As his mind began to comprehend what was happening he discovered that the three people fighting the Ring Wraiths were none other than Strider, Patroclus, and Ninniachel.
"Achilles, can you hear me!?" Patroclus shouted at Achilles. To Achilles it sounded as though he was listing to a conversation in the ocean, however that soon began to fade and Achilles slowly got to his feet.
"I am fine cousin; these damned things will not kill me." Just as he finished getting up the last of the Nazgul fled the ruined tower engulfed in flames.
"Odysseus!" Patroclus ran up to the wounded king of Ithaca.
Through gritted teeth Odysseus did his best to send Patroclus away. "I am fine, it is only a scratch. Check on the little one. His wound is deeper."
Strider went over to Frodo and knelt down. While inspecting the wound he noticed the sword lying on the ground next to the Hobbit. "He has been stabbed with a Morgul blade. This is beyond my care to heal. Ninniachel can you heal him?"
Ninniachel walked over to the violently shaking Halfling. "I cannot, I may be able to slow down the poison but I am no healer. My kin in Rivendell are much more proficient than I at such a task."
"Very well, then we must make haste to Rivendell. I will get the horses, you will ride with Odysseus, and I shall ride with Frodo." Turning to face Achilles, Strider gave him a deathly serious gaze. "Achilles, King of the Myrmidons, can you ride in your condition?"
Achilles gave Strider a puzzled look. "Of course I can. I am fine." Achilles turned to face Patroclus who still looked at him with concern. "I am fine, cousin. You worry too much. How is Odysseus?"
Strider said nothing, he just turned around and walked over to the Ithacan king and helped him up. "He will be riding with me to Rivendell along with Ninniachel and Frodo. The two of them need elvish medicine in order to survive. The blades they were inured with contained a powerful poison that, if not treated quickly, will turn them into Shades of Saruon."
Achilles just stared at Strider as he walked away with his friend and the Halfling. Turning around he looked at Sam, Merry, and Pippin. "Well? What are you waiting for? If we are to keep up with them we must leave immediately. Go and pack your things, we are leaving within the hour." As two of the horses whinnied, Achilles walked over to the edge of the tower and watched both Strider and Ninniachel ride away.
"Cousin, how are we to find Rivendell now? They were the only ones who knew the way." Patroclus did not enjoy the idea of letting Ninniachel leave with Strider.
"Do not worry, cousin. I am sure that an envoy from Rivendell will come to guide us the rest of the way. Besides, Ninniachel cares too much for you to cause you any pain." Achilles winked at Patroclus.
Patroclus, discovering that his cousin knew about his love for Ninniachel, felt his face become warm as he turned a bright shade of red. "H-how long have you known?"
"Don't take me for a fool, Patroclus. I have lived with you since you were eight; I know you as well as I know myself." Achilles turned back around and went with the Hobbits down the stairs to where the horses were tied up.
It had been a day since Strider and Ninniachel had started riding. The two of them rode as fast as they could until they came to a small stream. Sitting on a horse on the other side of the stream was a beautiful elfin woman. Dismounting from the horse, Strider walked up to the woman.
"Please, you must take this man and the hobbit to Rivendell with Ninniachel. The two of you are faster riders than I could ever hope to be." Strider smiled at the elf woman.
"But what of you? I have located six of the nine; they seek the four of you as we speak. I fear for your safety, for I know not where the other three are." Her eyes met with Strider's.
"I will be safe; it is not me whom they seek, but the ring-bearer. Take Frodo. Ninniachel will follow with Odysseus. The two of you must reach Rivendell soon, lest they both be lost to the shadows." Strider looked right at the elf woman; his gaze reverting to its usual serious visage.
"Arwen, ride hard, and do not look back."
"All right. May the Valar watch over you on your journey back to the others, my love." Arwen placed Frodo in front of her and galloped away, followed closely by Ninniachel.
After an hour of riding Ninniachel began to notice shadows in the forest. "Do you see them?"
Arwen nodded. "I do. let us hurry. Noro lim, Asfaloth!" She whispered in the horse's ear.
"Noro lim, Haldamir!" Ninniachel hummed to the horse. With those words both horses began running as fast as their powerful legs could carry them.
Just as the two women came to a clearing, all nine Ring Wraiths came charging out of the forest pressing closely behind. The Nazgul screeched at the two elfin women with their twisted form of the common tongue. "Give us the Halfling! Hand over our kin!"
One of the Nazgul rode up next to Arwen and tried to pull Frodo from atop the horse.
"No!" Arwen cried as she pulled on the horse's reins, getting him to make a sharp movement to the side, putting both the horse and the Halfling just out of the Nazgul's reach.
The world moved about Frodo in agonizingly slow motions. However despite this slowing of events things seemed to move faster. At one moment Frodo noticed that he was sitting on a horse with Strider, and in the next he was galloping through a stretch of open ground being chased by nine noble kings. The world began to fade again, and time seemed to speed up drastically until he felt the light drips of water on his face. The world came back into view. Frodo could see the river Bruinen flowing steadily towards its final destination.
"Go Ninniachel! Take both of them to Rivendell!" Arwen picked Frodo up with one hand and handed him over to Ninniachel who turned around to gallop away.
The Witch King screeched at Arwen. "Give us the Half-ling she-elf!"
Arwen drew her sword in preparation for the battle to come. "If you want him, come and get him!"
All nine of the Ring Wraiths drew their swords. Letting out a blood-curdling scream the phantoms charged forward.
Understanding her situation, Arwen began to chant in Elvish. "Non o Chithaeglir, lasto Beth daer: Rimmo nin Briunen Dan in Ulaer! Non o Chithaeglir, lasto Beth daer: Rimmo nin Briunen Dan in Ulaer!" As she chanted the river slowly begin to rise. In the distance the sounds of water rushing downhill grew ever louder. Then, from behind a mountain bend, a torrent of flood water came rushing down from farther up the small river. The wall of water appeared looked like a stampeding herd of white horses. Despite their existence as shades the Ring Wraiths could still feel fear. As the flood waters washed over them their inhuman screams could be heard fading under the deluge.
Arwen sheathed her sword, turned back, and rode off towards Rivendell.
Frodo was surrounded by a bright light. The light seemed to chase away all shadows that dwelled within his mind. As he slowly stirred, he mumbled under his breath. He was not sure what he had said but to his surprise he got an answer.
"You are in the house of Elrond. It is ten o'clock in the morning on the twenty-fourth of October, if you must know."
Opening his eyes Frodo looked at the source of the voice. "Gandalf?"
Gandalf, who was sitting in a hand-carved wooden chair, smiled at Frodo. "Yes, I am here. You're lucky to be here too. A few more hours and we would have lost both you and Odysseus to the shadows."
Frodo was about to jump out of the bed he was lying in to hug his old friend, but something else came to his mind. "Gandalf, what happened? Why did you not meet us at the Inn?"
Gandalf had a troubled look on his face as he watched Frodo. "I am sorry, I was delayed."
"Gandalf? Is everything alright?" Frodo gave Gandalf a concerned look.
"I'm fine Frodo, everything is just fine." At that same moment Sam came into the room.
"Oh Mr. Frodo, bless you you're awake!" Sam came up to Frodo and sat on the bed next to him.
"Sam!" Frodo laughed, overjoyed to know that his friends were safe. "Tell me, where are Achilles and Patroclus? How is Odysseus doing? What of Merry and Pippen? Is Ninniachel safe?"
"Slow down." Gandalf was laughing at Frodo's sudden outburst of questions. "With the help of Lord Elrond you are beginning to mend." Elrond came into the room and stood behind Gandalf.
A couple of hours later Frodo was up walking around. The beauty of Rivendell was far greater than he could have ever imagined. The stonework was so natural that it appeared to grow from the earth. Each and every column, every trellis was covered with ivies of all sorts. From hanging pottery grew plants that shined like silver in the growing sunlight. While Frodo was out experiencing the sights, he was ambushed and tackled to the ground by two Hobbits.
"Merry? Pippin? It's so good to see your safe!" Frodo embraced the two of them.
Merry returned the embrace. "We are glad to see you up and about as well. However, there is someone here who would like to see you even more than we do." Merry pointed behind both him and Pippin. There sitting on the bench was a much older-looking Bilbo.
"Uncle!" Frodo said ecstatically. Frodo ran over to his uncle and hugged him. He could not remember the last time he had seen his beloved uncle.
"Hello, Frodo, my lad. It is so good to see you again." Bilbo returned the hug. Frodo went with his uncle to the room that he was staying in. While sitting on the bed, Frodo was flipping through his uncle's book.
"I meant to go back...wander the paths of Mirkwood, visit Laketown, see the Lonely Mountain again...but age, it seems, has finally caught up with me." Bilbo went and sat down next to Frodo.
"There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale by Bilbo Baggins. I am glad you finished it, uncle. When I was young I always imagined that I was off with you on one of your adventures. My own adventure turned out to be quite different." Frodo looked at the red leather-bound book reminiscing about his past.
"Rarely do we travel the same path as another. You can never know where you might be swept off to." Bilbo rested his head on Frodo shoulder.
After Bilbo went to take a nap, Frodo went out and began to explore Rivendell some more. While exploring Frodo came upon Sam, who was hurriedly packing his bag, trying to stuff as much as he could into the small pack.
"Oh? packing already?" Frodo jested at Sam. "I thought you wanted to see the Elves."
"I do." Sam said as though he was trying to verify what Frodo said.
"More than anything in the world." Frodo continued to quip Sam.
"I did… but Mr. Frodo, we did what Gandalf asked, we got the ring to Rivendell. Seeing as to how you're on the mend I figured that we would be on our way home." Sam was a little saddened by this, albeit he was also relieved to know that the whole issue would soon be over with.
"You're right, Sam. The ring will be safe in Rivendell. I am ready to go home." Frodo smiled at Sam.
Unbeknownst to the two Halflings they were being watched intently by Lord Elrond and Gandalf. "He will carry that scar for the rest of his life."
Elrond looked at Gandalf. "Yet, despite his wounds, he has shown a surprising resistance to the Ring's influence."
Gandalf looked stunned by Lord Elrond's statement. "No, Frodo has done enough. We cannot ask more of him."
"Gandalf, the enemy is moving. Sauron's forces are massing in the east. His eye is fixed on Rivendell. And Saruman, you tell me, has betrayed us. Our list of allies grows thin."
"His treachery runs deeper than you know. By foul craft, Saruman has crossed Orc with Goblin Men...he is breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard, an army that can move in Sunlight and cover great distance at speed. Saruman is coming for the Ring."
"The ring cannot stay in Rivendell. Gandalf, the Elves alone cannot hold back this tide."
"There are others, Elrond. Frodo does not have to bear this burden."
"What others Gandalf? Dwarves? They care nothing for the outside world; they only wish to stay in their mines seeking riches."
"Men, it is in men that we must lay our hopes."
"Men? Bah, the wills of men are weak. I was there, Gandalf. I was there three thousand years ago. It should have ended the day we defeated Sauron but, evil was allowed to endure. It is because of men that we are dealing with this today. No, this is a fate that belongs to all of Middle Earth. They must choose how to end it."
Hearing noises outside Gandalf walked over to the window and watched Men, Elves, and Dwarves arriving through the main gate.
"There is no strength left in the world of men. They are divided, leaderless."
"There is one who could unite them."
"He turned from that path a long time ago. Now he chooses exile."
Strider sat in the shadows reading a book by the light of the sliver moon, when a man came strolling through the halls. The way he carried himself gave off the sense that he was a man among men. His ego reminded Strider of Achilles, in a way. While meandering about, the man stopped at a fresco of Isildur holding up the broken blade of Narsil.
"So this is it." The man walked up to the pedestal holding the fragmented pieces of Narsil.
"The blade that cut the ring from Sauron's hand." The man gently caressed the finely forged piece of Dwarven craftsmanship. While running his finger up the blade a small cut appeared on the man's finger. The man jumped slightly.
"Still sharp." Turning around he noticed Strider staring at him from the shadows. "It is just a broken heirloom." The man haphazardly set the sword down on the edge of the pedestal. As he walked away the sword piece fell off the silk covered plinth and clattered on the ground. The man stopped suddenly, as though hearing the sound of the sword strike cold earth sent a pang of remorse through his heart. However his pride would not let him return to fix what he had done and instead just kept walking away.
Strider closed his book and set it down. He walked over to the sword and picked it up. As though the blade was made for his hand it seemed to vibrate with his every breath. It felt like he and the sword were bound by blood. Just as quickly as he had picked it up Strider set the blade down again in its original position.
As if sensing his anguish Arwen walked in. Her silent footsteps cut only by the soft rustle of her dress as she moved. "Why do you fear the past? You are Isildur's heir not Isildur himself. His fate is not your own."
Strider refused to look at her, as though if he would look upon her beautiful face that he would break down into tears of rage. "The same blood flows through my veins, the same… weakness!"
Arwen wrapped her arms around him from behind and laid her head on his back. "Your time will come. You will face the same evil, and you will defeat it."
"Will I? I have had doubts about myself ever since I discovered my heritage." Strider placed his hand on hers.
"Perhaps you need to remember who you are." Arwen reached up and kissed him on the cheek. She then turned around and took him by the hand urging him to follow. Following Arwen he discovered that she was leading him to a place he had seen many times before. In her bed chamber the two of them embraced each other. The rest of the night was spent in each other's arms, enjoying the shared warmth against the cool night air.
