Midnight
by Leafy
Rating: PG-13 for scary imagery, violence, bad attitudes, and tense situations.
Author's Note: I'm in the process of writing a series of LOTR fanfics with titles that are also titles of some of the songs on the Trans-Siberian Orchestra album "Beethoven's Last Night". All of the stories are going to be linked. That's right, my first series! :o) Hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien or Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
Thanks for the great reviews, guys! :o)
Tbiris: Hehe, thanks for the review. It's just as hard in typing as in talking about Lego, huh? :o) I'm going to be keeping Faramir in mind for later stories, as well as the Galadhrim. Thanks again!
Anarril: Thanks for the review! I'm afraid I don't know the definition to which you're referring. What is it? I love my cliffies, and I must bulk up on cliffie knowledge! Ooh! Oh! I just saw that you posted the next chapter of WoW (I really have to get on the ball…), and you're requestiong me to look at some fictionpress.net stuff. WILL DO!! :o) Thanks again for the review. Hope you like this chapter. It's the final one…
Mariana Nimeneth: ::looks at all the ice cream:: Wow! Thank you! ::presses a button in the wall of the lair that sends a conveyor belt shooting out of it, running into the cave:: You like it? I just had it installed. Thanks for the compliment, btw. The writing op has steadily improved since I got a little laptop for Christmas, I think. :o) Anyway, you can have Celeb back. She's just finishing her notes on the next big story. ::turns around and whistles for Celeb, who comes running out:: Thanks for the loan. ::grabs Emblethor by the ear:: As for you, Mister, go in the cave and get the ice cream bowls out. Then run down to Anarril's profile and get me the next chapter of WoW. I'll read it to you all while we eat. :o) ::releases him:: Oh! A house in La-La Land? It sounds divine! I have to call my real-estate agent. He's a squid named Bob. (Bob: Like me!!) ::steps back, pulling Elven rope from behind back:: Must dash! I have a mini chapter to hogtie. ::opens cage and releases final chapter of Midnight:: Namaarie!
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Chapter 12
"No!" Frodo cried out helplessly, the ropes tearing at the cloth of his cloak as he pushed against them, though he took no notice, as he gazed on at Gandalf, well out of his reach, the orc looming over him, waving his blade downwards.
Suddenly, Gandalf leaped to his feet, his arms springing outward, a whirring noise sounding as a wind whipped up between the wizard and the orc, so strong that it blew the perspiration back on Frodo's brow, far back to their side. The orc's blade shot out of his hand, flying back at the tree behind him. This appeared to be the limit of Gandalf's skills at the moment, as the orc reached forward with his now-free hand, clutching the wizard's thin arm, slowly forcing it back to a safe (for him) position, with no more magical, and not much else what, further resistance.
There was a shrill cry behind them then, and Frodo saw Sam leap up from the base of the tree behind the orc, the rope coils that had been sliced through with the sword when it came down, falling away as he got to his feet. The newly found blade clutched in his hand, Sam ran forward, digging it into the orc's offending arm, then staggering back, yanking the blade out as the blood began to flow from the wound. The orc yelled in pain and surprise, as he hadn't even seen Sam come up behind him, but the wound proved an effective distraction. The orc whipped around with his cry, slapping Sam across the face, sending him flying back in Frodo's direction.
Frodo scooted up against the trunk of the tree as Sam hit the ground, to avoid letting the sword stick in his foot as Sam hit the ground, flat on his back.
"Sam!" he cried, leaning his upper half safely forward, toward his friend.
Sam turned his head slowly, then sat up quicker, coming to himself again. He looked briefly into Frodo's face, his eyes then dropping to the black ropes around his middle. He stood, shakily holding the sword out to Frodo.
"I can't," Frodo said, indicatively straining uselessly against the ropes. "You have to do it. It's alright," he added, seeing a look of anguish appear on Sam's face at these words. "Don't be scared."
Sam nodded with a gulp, turning the blade flat and bringing it gently against Frodo's chest, lowering it beneath the ropes, between them and the fabric of his shirt. Sam gave the sword a wobbly turn, making the blade diagonal as he drew it up, ultimately severing the ropes.
Frodo leaped to his feet, looking at Sam favorably through the dark, before spotting the formidable scene that had erupted behind them.
The remaining orcs, totaling about ten or so, had surrounded the tree Gandalf had been positioned by, and none of them looked ready to ask any more questions. Without a thought, Frodo ran towards them as Sam ran in the opposite direction. He stopped short as a larger but lither (than an orc) figure ran up past him, then halted, spinning on his heels.
"No, Frodo!" said Aragorn, looking down at him in desperation. "Stay back! Free the others!"
"I can't--," Frodo began, but ceased as Aragorn turned quickly, pulling up the orc sword Sam had given him after freeing him with it and diving into the close fray. Frodo pursed his lips, looking back at the indistinct forms of the others in the fellowship, then back at the ground before him, frantically searching for the glow of the Ring. It was behind Smal at the edge of the crowd around Gandalf's tree, inches from his callused heels.
Sucking in his breath with a hiss that was lost amid the shouts of the orcs, Frodo dove for it, as he was close enough now to reach. He snatched at the area of the glow, scooping up the Ring in a handful of dirt and bits of leaves. It was warm like a blanket on a winter evening.
Frodo closed his fingers in an unyielding fist, the dirt falling through the cracks as it became more and more compact. The chain was pooled in the hole at the center of the Ring, and this was naturally cold as metal that has lain alone on the ground. Frodo forced his fist tighter, letting out a grunt of aggravation. The chain grew warm with his hand. Frodo clamped his other hand tight over the fist, and there was a sudden, swelling burning sensation in his hand, growing hotter and hotter. Frodo panted in agitation, finally crying out with the pain. He became aware of the movement ceasing in front of where he lay, sprawled, on the ground. He looked up hesitantly, unclasping his hand around the Ring and its chain, his eyes meeting Aragorn's. The ranger's face held vaguely distinct confusion, but this was suddenly blocked out in a world of solid white. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut, the lids blocking it out in a shade of pallid tan.
His ears began to ring with the panicked shouts of the orcs, and the ground beneath him shook with hurried, heavy footfalls. Frodo forced his eyes open, squinting against the too-powerful daylight surrounding him. The milky figures of the orcs plodded fleetly past behind his head, some of them swinging their weapons out unseeingly with one hand, the other trying desperately to shroud their eyes from the sunlight. Aragorn rushed into Frodo's view then, bringing a hardly-visible sword up, hewing an orc's head clean off. It landed with a reverberating thud next to Frodo's ear. Frodo turned his head in hazy revulsion, sitting up with difficulty, his eyes growing more used to the light, though the morning sky seemed still to glow an overpowering white. The rumbling of the orcs' footfalls now became distant, and Frodo turned to see what few orcs were still alive (perhaps four) were running away, off into the trees. Speechless, he looked back at Aragorn, who was kneeling with his back to him, towards the tree that had been enveloped in the fray. The ranger scooted back on his heels, looking back at Frodo and the others behind him in amazement. Frodo could make out Gandalf, sitting against the tree trunk again, the contrasting dark spots on his head, chest, and leg dwindling slowly, shrinking away. Suddenly regaining life, Frodo scrambled forward, looking on in amazement as the wizard's wounds shrank and shrank. Frodo clutched the now-cool Ring nervously in his hand, his burn nipping at him in protest at the pressure. Frodo looked down, opening his hand in time to see the shining, raw burn metamorphose into the pale pink normal skin of his palm, the cuts he'd received across his fingers above it, closing up as the dried blood vanished. There was a soft brushing noise behind him, and Frodo turned around to see Legolas kneel beside him, his fair hand laid lightly on the knee of his no-longer injured leg as he gazed at Gandalf.
"The light," Legolas whispered. "The light…"
Gandalf stood slowly, leaning first on the trunk of the tree for support, then slowly withdrawing his hand, looking about at the others. His eyes fell on Frodo and his outstretched hand and its contents.
"Frodo," he murmured. "What happened? Was it the Ring?"
Frodo nodded slowly.
Sam put his hand on Frodo's shoulder as he crawled up next to him, touching his fingers to his lips as the cut that had been there closed up.
"What's happening?" he whispered, his eyes falling on Frodo's right hand.
"The Ring," Frodo said vaguely. "It stopped the light."
"And, it was hurting us also?" Sam said.
"The orcs were what hurt us, Samwise," Gandalf spoke quietly. "Though, perhaps it was the darkness that brought them, and perhaps it is the light that now brings our fortune."
He brushed his fingers vaguely up to his temple, now healed and smooth, then looked back past Aragorn, at Boromir, rising shakily, tentatively leaning on the leg that had plagued him so long. A smile spread slowly across the man's face, and he strode back to the others, coming to stand next to Gimli, Merry, and Pippin, who had been cut free by Legolas after he'd been freed by Sam.
"We are free?" Boromir said softly.
"We are," Gandalf replied. "We are through here."
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Gandalf sat lightly on the rock, looking through the surrounding protective hedges at the yellow sky of late afternoon. The sun was setting slowly before his eyes, and soon, the fellowship would take off into the darkness.
Gandalf hadn't rested any more than he was now, all day. He had barely been able to shut his eyes, once they grew used to the light, for he found the light wonderfully heartening now. It was the search for comfort that mostly kept him looking at the now-sharply visible surroundings, though there was a sense of troubled curiosity in his mind that kept his eyes open as well.
Gandalf's right hand, balled into a fist, tensed sporadically as he sat and watched. In it, he felt the hard smooth form of Narya. Narya the Great.
The Ring of Fire, set with a ruby, bestowed on him as a secret. He knew that he had to keep it hidden at all costs. He couldn't tell anyone that it was in his possession, and he could not wear it freely. He had followed these guidelines well for a long time, but in these past vexing hours, he had finally broken from them. And now, he wished he hadn't.
Narya was a very powerful ring, and, aside from the One Ring, was one of the three most desired by Sauron. And like the One, it had to be kept out of his hands. The possibility to use it had not occurred until after he'd woken from being battered into unconsciousness by orcs, but when it had, Gandalf had soon refused it in his mind, though it hadn't been pushed out at all. The picture of the Ring, with its ruby shining red, had stayed on the edge of his thoughts since then, and when he'd raised his head slowly and looked up through the trees, seeing Frodo's flailing, desperate form held up between the burly orcs, the One Ring being torn from his possession, Gandalf had felt that he had no choice. For, if Sauron got the Ring, all would be lost.
Gandalf had lifted his hand, unrestrained by his captors because of his previous condition, and snatched out Narya, putting it on his finger, extending his arm. He was prepared, he was ready--but nothing happened.
He had not been able to use Narya at all. It was as if the power had been drained out of the ring with the darkness coming. He'd brought his hand back down quickly at the time, slipping the ring out of sight, but he was greatly rattled, and slightly careless with his movement. One of the orcs guarding them had turned, coming back over and giving him a good blow to his shoulder, stunning him a bit and scraping the back of his head against the tree he'd been sitting against. But he hadn't forgotten.
The ring he now held in his hand held power. He could feel it. It seemed to have come back with the light, just as their own health had come back with it, too. The others seemed to think that the light was all good, the darkness, the only evil. But this evidence with Narya forced Gandalf to reason that the curse of the darkness had not at all been merely a slight hindrance on the part of the orcs, or even Saruman, or some slight enemy. It took more than a whim to stop up a ring of power.
Though the light may have been a reward of a kind, a liniment to their situation, Gandalf knew that these troubles were nowhere near an end. Their enemy was greater than a bang of ragtag orcs, even perhaps led by Saruman. And it was not finished with them yet.
Gandalf blinked in surprise at his suddenly-blue surroundings. The sun had gone down, and he hadn't even seen it happen. He rose noiselessly, leaning on his staff more for security than support as he turned to go and collect the others.
***The End***
Author's Note: I've put up Fate, the next story in this series, along with this chapter. There's an important announcement at the end of it, and as always, I'd love some reviews. :o) Thanks everyone who review this story. I've loved the reviews, they've fueled me in times when I might not even have fired-up the computer. :o)