Yay! It wasn't too bad for this chapter. :D I just had to make sure I didn't leave anyone out. At one point I was writing their flight from the Nazgûl and completely forgot to write Bill in. :0

So some things have changed, of course, which was unavoidable after preventing Frodo's injury at Weathertop. So….yea. Rock on.

Chapter 38 – On the Open Road

Every time she closed her eyes she saw the swirling, undulating points of light. The heat of his eyes had caught on the pointed teeth, making him some nightmarish spectre that existed to torment her dreams. She did not rest well even when they stopped. Everyone was on edge, expecting each shadow to rise up to meet them. Night was stressful, and they kept watch in pairs of two, with Cerena or Aragorn alternating between one of the Hobbits.

They did not hear or feel any signs of the wraiths the next day after Weathertop, but they heard several far off screeches the second day.

"I cannot tell if they are following, now, or just searching," Aragorn said honestly. Merry looked at Cerena.

"What are they going to do, Lady? You are a Seer," he said. Cerena sighed.

"I can only See what visions Irmo gives me. My vision saw them attack at Weathertop. After that I am as blind as anyone else, unless I'm given another vision," she said. And she sincerely hoped that she didn't get another vision, especially if she was going to be seeing the Dork Lord.

Aragorn disappeared for a bit, leaving Cerena with the Hobbits. Sam watched as the tall Ranger walked off from their group, his face pulled slightly. He was clearly having doubts about Strider, and Cerena did not blame him. A Man and an orc traveling together? Unheard of in men of character. And then there was the matter of Sam also being suspicious of her. And she definitely did not blame him for that. Sam was a lover of elven lore, and was expected to be quite star-struck when they arrived in Rivendell. As it were, the elves were well-known haters of all things Orc, and so she believed Sam would hold to that ideal by default.

She let them stop for an afternoon rest when it looked as though Pippin would fall over from exhaustion. They were taking the trails hard in order to try and avoid the Nazgûl, and she had no doubt that the Hobbits, who were not used to such toil, were quite tired. Even Bill, who had been driven nearly to starvation by his previous owner, was looking rough around the edges.

"Lady, will you tell us a story?" Pippin huffed as they sat. Cerena looked at him and gave him a short smile.

"What kind of story?" she asked.

"A love story!" Merry interjected. Cerena laughed.

"Okay, then. How about the story of Cinderella?" she asked. They agreed and she began the story, pausing occasionally for emphasis and smiling at the sappy parts. She had enraptured the two youngest Hobbits, and even saw Sam watching her as the story progressed. Frodo even spared a few smiles at different intervals, and it made Cerena feel warm to know that he could smile, still.

Just before the climax of her story there was movement in the brush. The Hobbits were at arms immediately, though Cerena already had her elf-blade across her knees. She tried not to think about the vision of Burzskag lying in pieces on the dirt.

Aragorn emerged from the brush and looked at the fierce Hobbits with a hint of amusement.

"I am not a Black Rider, nor am I in league with them. You can put lower your weapons," he said.

"Must we leave this moment?" Pippin complained lightly.

"I have been trying to glean some information of the Riders' movements, but they appear to be biding their time away from us. We should move more and complain less," Aragorn admonished gently. And so they went on.

Murazor glared at the smaller wraith, so much as he could without a face, and the form of his head hidden by a shroud.

"Murazor, they are taking paths I am not familiar with," Uvatha deferred.

"I am not impressed. If you cannot follow on horseback, then get your lazy carcass off the beast and pursue them," Murazor growled.

"It's such a hassle to walk on two feet," the wraith whined.

"Very well. You can be the one to explain to Master how we let his Ring slip from our grasp because you felt it was too hard to walk on your own damned feet!" Murazor shrieked. Uvatha quailed at the thought. The Master would score his bones with a whip if he did something so foolish…

"I will try harder," Uvatha promised.

"You will do it or not. There is no trying in Sauron's service," Murazor growled, before turning his horse and cantering away. Adunaphel walked his horse beside Uvatha.

"I notice he didn't get off his horse at any time other than to get lit on fire," he pointed out. Uvatha was as close to pouting as a Nazgûl could come.

"He hates me because I am the youngest," he said.

"No, I hate you because you're useless!" Murazor's voice called from ahead. Uvatha made an unsavory gesture at the Witch-King's back. The large horse was stopped short, tossing its head and stomping its front feet in attempt to keep from rearing. It was too well trained to do that in all but the direst situations. Then the horse was turned around and took several steps towards Uvatha. The wraith screamed in terror and bolted off to the side.

Adunaphel shook his head.

"Sometimes I wonder why Master offered a ring to that one."

Cerena started when she heard the shriek of one of the Nazgûl. Frodo put his hand to his throat, paling slightly, and Aragorn froze like a deer, pitching his head into the air.

"Could you tell which way it approaches?" He asked. Cerena's large ears twitched slightly.

"The sound is bent somehow. Perhaps it is some of the Nazgûl's influence confusing our ears," Cerena said, frowning and canting her head.

They could hear the sound of hooves approaching from afar, and Cerena swore.

"Into the brush!" Aragorn said. They had no hope of outrunning a horse, but they might be able to hide from it. Aragorn pulled Frodo to his side and they ducked beneath the bush. Cerena crouched between Merry and Pippin, eyes narrowed on the way they had taken. Sam was not far from Frodo, taking Bill into a large bush to hide him. They were not on a trail, per se, but it had been wide enough for them to walk in a group with their pony, and was wide enough for a skilled horse to pass through.

The black horse slowed to a cant as it got closer, and they could see the Nazgûl tilting its head to and fro.

"I smell the stink of orc, girl!" the wraith called.

"It will find us!" Merry whispered in a panic. Cerena did not shush him, but merely put her hand on his shoulder. She could feel him trembling beneath her hand.

The taint of the Nazgûl was everywhere. It made the air so very cold. The hair at the back of her neck was prickling with nervousness, and her mouth had gone dry. The Nagûl tilted his head to where Frodo and Aragorn were, and the horse stepped forward slightly. Cerena's vision seemed to tunnel in on the wraith. There were two people that could not be harmed. Frodo for the burden he carried, and Aragorn because of his destiny. Then she realized something distinctly terrifying.

In the previous timeline, the Nine had left the travelers alone for the most part after Weathertop, because they were waiting on Frodo to become a wraith, too, and bring the Ring to them. They had only gotten antsy near the Ford, where they could not travel due to Elrond's power. As it were, Frodo had no Morgul shard inching its way to his heart. The Nazgûl had no reason to leave them alone, and they were still a fortnight from Rivendell at their pace.

"Come out, little rats," the wraith hissed. Cerena took a low, deep breath and bunched up her muscles in preparation.

"Do not move," she whispered lowly.

"What?" Merry asked, turning his head slightly. But then she burst out of the thicket they were hiding in, frightening the wraith's horse and running for all she was worth in the opposite direction. She heard a scream of frustration from the wraith and then the sound of a horse running behind her. This wood was not meant for horses to travel, despite the width between the trees at times, so she was dodging between trees successfully. As soon as she got far enough ahead of the creature she took to a tree with a low branch.

Whoever this wraith had been in life, he was not very smart in death. As his horse came under the tree Cerena swung down out of the leaves, stiffening up her legs in front of her and catching the Nazgûl in the chest with the force of a small horse. She heard a strangled yelp from the wraith and it was knocked cleanly off its horse and against another tree. It fell with the clanking of bones and iron.

"Eat shit, fuck-mouth!" Cerena yelled, before turning and slapping the rump of the massive black horse. She narrowly avoided being kicked before it screamed in anger and took off. Then with a grin she took off again. Sweet, Merciful Christ this was getting dangerous!

Uvatha dragged himself to his feet with a groan. That absolute bitch. He would gut her like a fish and roll in her entrails like a cat! He cursed aloud when he noticed his horse was missing and took off in the direction she had gone. Fuck Murazor and his pretentious attitude, fuck the little she-orc for leading him on a merry chase, fuck the little creature holding his Master's prize, and fuck this forest!

Cerena ran back through the thicket they had been taking refuge in.

"Let's go, boys, he won't be too far behind!" she cried, bending down to retrieve the pack she had left in the brush.

They ran along behind her as best they could, trying to avoid being struck in the face by branches or leaves.

"What did you do?" Aragorn asked her at one point.

"I kicked him off of his horse, and scared the horse off," she gasped. She couldn't seem to catch her breath. Aragorn was more surprised than impressed.

"You are going to be a target for them," he said unnecessarily. She gave him a look.

"Please! I have pissed off their Master too many times. I've been a target since Rohan. Saruman wants to hang my carcass off of Orthanc, and Sauron wants my information. Well, they can suck each other off!" she snapped. Aragorn made an uncharacteristically disgusted expression at the thought.

They burst from the tree line into a wide, flat expanse of tall grass. It sloped up into a tall hill on the other side, and they could not see anything beyond the crest of the hill.

"Shit," Cerena growled. There was no cover here whatsoever. Her chest was burning from their exertions and she had to take several bracing breaths when they finally stopped.

"Agreed," Aragorn muttered. The Hobbits were gasping and having trouble keeping up, and even Sam could not get Bill to go faster.

"We have to stop a moment," Frodo choked.

Against Aragorn's better judgment they stopped and the Hobbits wheezed. Bill, though the days had been kinder to him than his treatment with his previous master, was also struggling to keep up. The Pony's sides were heaving.

"Strider," Cerena said suddenly. Aragorn looked up and Cerena could almost see the resignation in his face as they spotted the Nazgûl come over the top of the hill, their silhouettes stark against the sky.

"Merciful Eru," Aragorn groaned. He turned back the way they came and saw the hooded cloak of another wraith walking on two feet behind them. The hair on the back of his neck prickled at the sight.

The tallest wraith had dismounted, holding his sword casually at his side he approached the travelers, leaving the others on the hill.

"I do not appreciate having my time wasted," the tall wraith growled. "I do not appreciate little rats fingering my Master's possessions," he added. Cerena, her heart thumping wildly, could not help the slightly hysterical snort that escaped her lips. The wraith cocked its head.

"What's so funny, girl?"

And before her brain could catch up with her mouth, she quite promptly replied:

"Morgoth fingered your Master's possessions,"

To which the wraith took offense.

And so did Aragorn for that matter, for he grabbed her arm in a crushing grip and shook her once, his face starkly white as the tallest wraith gave a shriek of fury and started forward, lifting its bone-colored sword.

"Shut your mouth!" he hissed. Cerena winced at the bruising grasp he had on her arm.

The pony was started to stamp and toss its head in terror the closer the wraiths got, before it eventually tore itself out of Sam's grasp and ran for it. The wraiths had no use for a wretched creature such as Bill, and so it passed by them unmolested, save by terror at their aura.

Cerena drew her remaining blade and stepped in front of Frodo. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might thud out of her ribcage, and it was making every breath she took agony.

"If this is our last stand I will die defending you all," she said breathlessly. She heard the hiss of Aragorn's sword leaving its sheath.

"Stay between us, little ones," Aragorn added.

There was suddenly the screaming shriek of a Nazgûl on the hill and the shrill neigh of an angry horse. For a glorious moment time stood still, and then it was as if a legion of suns rose over the hill and bared down on the wraiths with fury. Even the wraith coming up behind them turned its head away and cried loudly. The bright figures were calling out loud blessings in Elvish, and Cerena heard the wraiths hissing and spitting. Even the tallest one was not unaffected, though he turned to meet the newcomer head on. Cerena gasped when she recognized the pure white horse at the head. It was Asfaloth!

"Glorfindel!" Cerena exclaimed.

Indeed, the golden-haired elf-lord was approaching the Lord of the Nazgûl with terrible determination in his face, even as several other figures pinned down the others.

"Flee now, darkspawn!" he called in a loud voice.

"Not without my prize!" the Nazgûl hissed.

"You are outnumbered, wraith. Outnumbered and under Anor's bright rays. You will not avail in this. Flee now!" Glorfindel spoke again.

But the wraith was not interested in fleeing when its treasure was so close. With a shriek the other Nazgûl rallied, though Glorfindel could see them quailing before the light he was emitting. This was the light of Valinor, and a gift carried by those who had seen the Blessed Land and walked in the presence of the Valar. It was a draining power to use, but it was quite effective against anything with darkness in its soul.

Aragorn threw up his sword to deflect the blow from the Nazgûl behind them, parrying it back even as another wraith came at Cerena. She could see two pinpricks of light beneath its hood, like dim stars shining through nothingness. Being so close to these wraiths was terrifying. They were tall, even the smaller ones, and had an aura of freezing fear that made the air cold around them. Face-to-face with another one Cerena began to question how she had stood up to one to begin with.

Then she remembered what was at stake, and a chilling calm overcame her. If they could not protect Frodo from the wraiths then there would be no hope. If the wraiths got hold of the One Ring it would only be a matter of time before they took it to Mordor, and then it would be the end for the Free People. No council could overcome that amount of Power. It would take the intervention of the Valar themselves, and likely every sword arm among them to bring Sauron to his knees. Sauron, mightiest of Morgoth's army, trusted to his service and betrayer of Ëa and all therein.

Then from behind them rose a bone-chilling howl, one that at once made Cerena nearly leap with joy. She knew that howl! It was Lily, her beloved wolf-mount. With those claws and teeth and speed they could stand a chance to hold back the Nazgûl. And she would not delude herself into thinking they could do anything other than hold them back…

"Hey, Shadowfuck! You should bugger off now and reattach yourself to your Master's dick while you still have the chance!" Cerena taunted with abandon. The wraith was almost upon her and shrieked loudly. She raised her elf-blade to meet his coming blow, but this time the clash of their blades was not the same. He bared down on her with undead, unyielding strength, nearly taking her off of her feet just from the might of his blow. The swords met with such force that they sparked, and Cerena blinked rapidly in surprise. Then the wraith knocked her sword away as though it were a bothersome gnat.

"I underestimated you before, and will not make that same mistake again," the wraith hissed. She heard Merry scream as the wraith's gauntlet shot forward and grabbed her by the throat. She was lifted off of her feet by the gloved hand and brought nearly face level to the wraith. Beneath his large hood she could see the glint of an iron helm passing over its eyes and rising up around its face to crown him like the King he had been, once. Cerena's eyes widened at the sight of that helm.

"I see recognition in your eyes," he added. Cerena choked, trying to take a breath. He was pressing into her throat and had cut her air off. She kicked her feet in an attempt to find purchase, her vision going dangerously dark. There was a whistle and a thud as an arrow embedded itself into his helm. She heard a breathless sigh of annoyance as the head turned. She saw Oropher sitting astride a horse, a longbow notched and aimed at the wraith. His face and hands glowed brightly with beautiful, eldritch light.

"Let her go, Úlairi!" Oropher ordered sharply. The Witch-King of Angmar gave him a rough laugh even as he shifted a few steps back from the brightness.

"You want her? Very well," he said. The body twisted to get momentum and flung Cerena bodily at Oropher. He caught her, but was knocked off of his horse by the force of it, and it took a moment for him to recover.

The Witch-King looked down at Frodo, who was cowering back against Merry and Pippin. Aragorn was still engaged with the other wraith. The wraith did not ask this time, nor did he extend a thrall to entrap the creature, and reached for the Hobbit. It was at this time that Glorfindel reached them on Asfaloth. He launched himself from the horse and bodily tackled the Nazgûl captain. The wraith screamed in agony as he was bathed in the light of Amman. Then Glorfindel spoke a mighty word of power in a language no one around them could recognize, and the wraith screamed again, twisting itself out from under him and fleeing. Glorfindel then stood again, directing his sun-bright power towards the other wraiths, calling out another word of power. The wraiths could not abide by it, and the elves that had engaged them cheered as they turned with their captain and left. The elves knew there was no true victory against the creatures, but they also knew that they would reach safety before the wraiths could lick their wounds and regroup.

Cerena climbed off of Oropher, choking and gasping for breath. She would likely bruise around her throat where she had been grabbed. Grabbed by the Witch-King, mightiest of Sauron's army. Merciful Manwë dancing the tango through the Timeless Halls! That was the Witch-King!

"I fought the Witch-King," Cerena croaked.

"Fought? More like he bitch-slapped your sword away and flung you like a rag doll," Oropher tutted, borrowing a phrase from her. The glow was starting to fade from all of them, leaving them looking distinctly drained.

"Eat shit and die," Cerena growled, rubbing her throat. "Hey, am I bruised?" she asked, tilting her head up. Oropher clicked his tongue.

"You will be. He was squeezing you harder than a pubescent elfling alone on a weeknight," he said. Cerena's face twisted.

"What is wrong with you?" Cerena muttered.

"Too many things to list," Oropher grinned. Then Cerena turned and made her way back to where the Hobbits were standing.

"All right there, my dears?" she asked, blinking rapidly to try and clear the spots from her vision.

"That ghoul tossed you like a sack o' taters a' Farmer Maggot's! Are you all right?" Sam asked. Frodo looked at her solemnly.

"You faced him twice for my benefit," he said. She grinned, but it was ruined when the tender skin at her throat pulled.

"And I'd let him kick my arse again if it would protect you," she said, bowing slightly to the Hobbit. He looked flustered at that.

"I hate to break up this festival of feelings, but the wraiths are not cast down, nor are they particularly stupid. They will regroup and come back harder. We must get out of here," she looked up to see Gil-Galad astride a horse as well. At that point Lily galloped up to them, going down on her front paws playfully and headbutting Cerena's hip.

"Miss! You are all right!" Lily yipped.

"That wolf is talkin'!" Sam yelped. Cerena leaned forward and hugged her wolf. She had regretted that they had decided not to take steeds. Lily was as useful a transport as she was a companion and fighter.

"All right, all right, talking wolves, flying wraiths, let us get out of here quickly," Gil-Galad said, his voice stiff with impatience. Cerena retrieved Aradhathel from where it had been thrown to the ground, and watched as the hobbits were divided up amongst horse-riders. Sam looked like he would piss himself when he was placed on Gil-Galad's horse. It was as if he were torn between putting up a fight at being separated from Frodo and telling Frodo to fuck off so he could continue to ride with the former king. Gil-Galad, for the most part, tried not to look too uncomfortable. Frodo rode with Aragorn, who was mounted up on an extra horse that had been brought for him. Pippin was with Oropher, Eru help them all, and Merry was riding with an elf whose name she did not know. Glorfindel was at the head of their group, and though his light was starting to fade, he was still quite brightly lit, like a beacon atop a tower.

"They seemed rather distracted," she heard Aragorn point out to Gil-Galad as he mounted an extra horse brought with them.

"Likely they have never been so close to their goal. They forsook all reason to try and get it," Gil-Galad responded.

"I want to know how you all knew to come," Cerena piped up, jogging Lily up on the other side of Gil-Galad's horse.

"Elrond had a vision about a week after you left. He saw you beset with the wraiths and sent help for you," Gil-Galad said. Cerena nodded, a small smile on her face.

"I'm glad. There was a lot I didn't take into consideration from my previous vision," she said. Gil-Galad nodded as well. Finally Cerena turned Lily and brought up the rear of their party, feeling for once that everything seemed to be going their way.

Or, at least, it would have been going their way had she not fallen off of Lily in a dead faint not twenty minutes into their ride.

He sat on the large chair, his iron-clawed fingers drumming against the arm of it as he thought. The appearance of the girl raised many questions. How did she appear in his personal study? How did she disappear again? It was clear she wasn't corporeal, but how had she projected herself? Was this a power she had on her own, or was it gifted to her as some sort of boon?

She was the key to everything. She knew so much, and it was so tantalizing that she had been so close. Ugh! He would drive himself mad trying to discover her secrets. He could only wait and see if she tried to appear again. If she did, though, he was powerless to attempt to capture her. Curse his decision to pour so much into his Ring! It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. It stabilized his power so much that while he wore the Ring it had amplified it. Not to mention the power he was able to draw from the other rings of power. Now he had nothing!

His flame-wreathed eyes began to flicker from fluorescent carmine to tired ocher. This feeling of being torn in two was beginning to grate on his nerves. It left him drained and confused, and he did not like feeling confused. He did not like the lack of control he had over his own mind at this time. Exhausted fingers spread over his face as he rested his head in his hands. The bands from his iron finger clamps were digging into his skin, and with a snarl of annoyance he plucked them off one by one and threw them across the room. They pinged against the stone and scattered. Then, again, he held his head, using the pads of his long fingers to massage his scalp. He felt as though his entire existence was one long day that would not cease.

Once had his voice resonated with Power that helped shape the very substance of Arda, painting a picture of existence with the greatest Powers that ever were. He was not sure this form could hold a note of Power, and was quite frankly afraid to try. Once he had stood in Might, his own power immeasurable and his influence great. He had commanded great armies of men and orcs and had brought kingdoms to their knees before him and his Master. Still the mere memory of his name brought a hushed silence to rooms and was the stuff that mothers frightened their children into behavior. Once he had been served a darkness greater than his own, willingly forsaking those he had once counted as friends and family in order to pursue his own goals and a strength that was forbidden.

And now what was he? Still did he have armies at his disposal... Still did he carry influence over the hearts of Men. But Men were fickle creatures, bowing and swaying their loyalties like the reeds in the wind. Such little raw power did have anymore. He was little better than a strong Man right now. He could not call to him great gouts of flame. He could not wreath himself in shadow and walk unaided through the astral realm. He did well to be able to light the braziers in his throne room without the aid of a candle, much less flood the forges at a though. If They decided to judge him this very day and descended onto Barad Dûr, he could do nothing to stop Them. Would he even try?

His burdens were bearing down on his shoulders and bowing the wide expanse of them with their weight, making him remember everything he had done. Darkness. Light. Song. Sorrow. Pride. Loyalty. Bitterness. Denial. Love. Love? Loss. Desperation. Anger. Cold. Heated fury. Resignation. Nothingness. Confusion. Confusion. Anger. Confusion.

And then, for the first time in millennia, through eyes that had almost forgotten how, Sauron wept bitterly into his hands and dark, oily tears marred his face and fingers like Morgoth's taint had marred Arda.

What.

So without Frodo attempting to be wraithed (that sounds dirty) the Nazgûl had no reason to leave them be. Just as was stated, they were trying to get at their Master's prize. They have been searching a long time for that thing. At this moment, it is all-consuming to Sauron to get the Ring. Any orders they were given would be overridden with 'get the ring,' and would likely make them careless and/or sloppy in their desperation.

The Light of the Reborn elves….it is mentioned many places about the Light of Amman, and those who have seen the blessed realm have a different look about them. I know as well, that there was also a different light to those who had seen the Two Trees, such as Galadriel. Her hair glowed with the light of them, Fëanor asked for some, she told him to fuck off, later gave some to Gimli….yadda yadda….I justified this power as being something the wraiths would not be able to abide by, being mostly of Darkness themselves, so that there could be some kind of advantage over them. It couldn't destroy them, but drove them off enough to get a head start on them. But they will lick their wounds and regroup.

Sauron. Whoo boy. Sauron. Uh….*squints at section* I'm just hoping this maybe kinda sorta makes sense in a way if you tilt your head and bite your lip. :|

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