Three Fronts

On the fourth day of Atariel's arrival, just as the Wizard-wolf predicted, Sauron's troops came into view. The guards posted along the mountains overlooking the Great West Road sent a fast rider back to Edoras, telling Eomer of the approach of an Orc army from the east.

A shroud of darkness hid Sauron's army from sight, but according to Atariel's information, at least twenty thousand Orcs now marched toward the walls of the Rohan capital. This number only accounted for a third of his forces, as the other legions marched upon Dunharrow and the Snowbourn.

After the alarm bell chimed three times throughout the grasslands, a cold frenzy seized the Rohirrim and their Elf allies. Eomer set up archers behind every nook along the protective wall of Edoras. A small troop comprised of Elves and wolves headed for the mountains boarding the Great West Road, and along with them went Allie, Frodo, Sam, Pippin and Hunter. Since the effect of the Ent water had not yet worn off, the wolf leaders presently remained in their human forms.

Shortly after noon, Allie and a small group of wolves led by Hunter positioned themselves in a cranny of the mountainside looming above the Road. An overpass traversed from one slope to the other, and Sauron's army coming from the east would have no choice but to pass beneath it on their way to Meduseld.

Frodo, Allie, Sam and Pippin huddled together behind the rocks, along with a group of Elf archers. Hunter and a small unit of fifty wolves scattered away throughout the mountain slopes, hiding where they could.

The narrow space around the hobbits allowed only for minimal movement. They could smell the nervous anticipation emanating off each other, mingled with the feral smell of the hidden wolves.

Pippin pressed close to Allie, so close he could feel the rising and falling of her ribs every time she breathed. She gave him a small nod, and he nodded back, wondering if this would be the last time they fought together like this. He had lost count of how many dangers they had faced together ever since his hobbit life ended and his wolf life began. Would the War of the Ring be the culmination of everything? The battle to end all battles?

He had been by her side ever since the tender age of six, sharing in her pain and triumphs. She was his dearest friend and all the family he had left. She was only slightly older, but had always made him feel protected and supported until the notion of age between them blurred into nothing but a number.

From Allie's other side, Frodo shifted his weight to push Sting out of the way. For a second, Frodo locked eyes with him as well. His traits were hidden by the darkness swirling over their heads, but Pippin thought he detected a faint smile of encouragement. He smiled back just as faintly, before realizing Frodo was not looking at him, but at Allie instead. Allie smiled back at him and briefly rested her hand on his thigh.

Not for the first time, Pippin felt a pulse of jealousy. Not a lover's jealousy precisely, but envy that Frodo was the only one she allowed herself to be vulnerable with. Sometimes Pippin had a hard time coming to terms with it, for he had been the one present by her side all these years. As her Protector, he had seen her at her lowest, something Frodo never witnessed. In spite of their shared experiences, Allie never fully leaned on him. Since she was the Queen of the pack, she always felt an obligation to protect him instead.

Behind them, Sam cleared his throat and mumbled something about cramped places. After that, silence fell over their watchful group.

Darkness persisted outside, making it impossible to tell the passing of time. When midday must have morphed into late afternoon, a faint vibration reached their ears, like the rumbling of an earthquake. Soon, it grew into the clamor of thousands of feet stampeding the ground.

Allie pulled herself out of the half-stupor she had sunk into. Frodo perked his head over the edge of his hiding place and squint to detect the Enemy, but the darkness remained impenetrable.

"Do you see anything?" Frodo whispered to Allie, his hand tightening around the hilt of Sting.

"Nothing," she admitted. "The Enemy's devilry is shielding them from sight."

Hunter crouched behind them in a lithe roll of muscles. He plastered his head to the rocks and listened for a good while. "They have engines, as we predicted," he finally said. "The ground shakes with their weight and number."

Allie turned toward Frodo with eyes that had started to shine silver. Frodo knew she had a day at most before the Ent water wore off. Once she transformed, they would not be able to communicate any longer, not unless she got a chance to drink more Ent water, which seemed highly unlikely in the heat of battle.

"Stay close to me," he told her.

Allie looked at him through strands of wild hair. The silver in her eyes faded. "Of course." She reported her gaze on the dark road beneath them. "Let us hope Sauron is with this group. I don't want to confront him, but the earlier the better."

"If he is present, what will we do? You can't just recklessly appear before him," Sam inquired in a low voice.

Allie was about to answer when the darkness down the overpass suddenly parted as though a curtain had fallen. Rows upon rows of marching Orcs and goblins came into view. Giant trolls pulled on ropes wrapped around high towers and catapults loaded with fiery projectiles. Beside them walked beasts resembling a cross between a rhino and a troll. They charged forward on all fours, while eyes full of malice peaked from either side of a curved black horn. With each of their heavy exhales, a dark cloud left their jaws to dissipate in the air like so many black flies.

The Elf archers behind the hobbits quietly readied their bows.

Pippin turned toward them. "Wait."

Allie scanned the army, but saw only Orcs and trolls, and more Orcs and trolls 'til the far line of the dark horizon. No sight of the giant shape of Sauron or of the winged-beasts. The black rhinos were the only surprise so far. She looked back at Hunter, whose mouth was pulled back in a half-snarl as anticipation brimmed in his eye.

"No sight of the Dark Lord?" Allie asked him.

"None," Hunter replied. "But I am itching to drive my sword through some Orc-scum. The wolves in my unit are becoming restless, too. When should we engage them?"

"Not until most of them have passed," Allie replied and reported her attention down on the army below. "Don't be hasty, Hunter, and keep to the plan. You will have your chance at carnage."

Frodo pressed close to her to peer over the ridge. "Perhaps Sauron has masked his presence with Ring magic. The darkness is parted here, but look, far to the East it still holds."

Allie followed his finger and saw that indeed, further up the Great West Road, the dark mantle remained impenetrable. At the spot where the Orcs first became visible, it looked as though they were stepping out of the darkness itself.

One of the Orcs looked up as he passed under the overpass. He, like all the others, had the Red Eye painted on his helmet and half of his face. Frodo, Allie and Sam plastered their heads behind their boulder.

A drum started a deep, rhythmical and menacing beat within the Orc ranks. Another drum joined the first, and then a third, until the mountains shook with the beat. A chant of war erupted from the Orcs, accompanied by savage grunting, the clashing of lance against lance, and the flapping of great banners unfurling in the wind. It all merged to form a wild cacophony of chaos that reverberated in the mountain walls and made the Elf archers' arm tremble as they held their bow. The chant was in the guttural tongue of Mordor. Even if the hobbits did not understand the words, they knew it spoke of thirst to bleed their enemies, of eagerness to destroy and plunder.

Frodo started breathing heavily as he clenched onto Sting. Its blade now glowed so blue he had to sheathe it again lest the light attracted the army's attention. The chant of the Orcs seemed to make his very ribs tremble, and he pressed a hand to his chest in an attempt to hold them still.

Allie's eyes kept careful tracking of the Enemy numbers. When she deemed a good nine thousand had passed, she nodded to Pippin. The hobbit swiftly clambered higher in the rocks to alert the Elf archers stationed above.

The command passed quickly and quietly through the ranks of Elves hidden behind the rocks. Bowstrings were pulled tight and black arrowheads glimmered faintly in the dark, ready to take their mortal flight.

Allie and Frodo held their breaths as they tensed for the oncoming onslaught. Frodo's hand found hers and clenched it tight.

"Do you remember what we said in the cell of Barad-Dur after we got captured?" Allie asked without looking at him.

Frodo stayed silent, but his fingers tightened their hold on her hand.

"Duty has to come first," he whispered into the air filled with tension.

Allie nodded past the knot in her throat. She composed her feelings and allowed herself to meet his gaze. The aching way in which he looked back made her wish, not for the first time, that they could just run far, far away from here.

Since she first met him, their fates had been entwined in an absurd and complicated ribbon, sometimes colliding, other times tearing until all the strings were about to snap. Would this be the last pull? Would she lock eyes with him again, hobbit to hobbit? She wondered what words would be fitting in the last seconds of standstill before their world exploded into fire and blood, but she ran out of time before she could find any.

In the dark skies above Frodo, a cloud of black arrows spurt into life, hanging a moment in the air before whooshing down past them and into the gaping darkness of the overpass.

Cries and grunts rang up to their ears as arrows ripped into flesh and bounced off armors down below.

Frodo unsheathed Sting, which burned like a blue flame.

"Fire at will!" The Elf commander yelled from above.

More arrows rained down on the ranks of Orcs and trolls and rhino beasts, starting to create a pile of corpses in the middle of the overpass. A few goblins detached themselves from the group and started to climb up the rocks, fast and agile as spiders. Their eyes, glazed with white, looked up at the Elves with hatred and vengeance.

"Wolves!" Allie screamed. "Do not let them reach us!"

Dark feline figures bounced out of their hiding places and stormed into the climbing goblins, all claws and sharp fangs. Hunter jumped out with a cry of war and landed on the back of one of the wolves further down. Together, they galloped down the steep slope toward the climbing goblins. Hunter smirked as he drove his sword into the upturned face of a goblin before throwing its corpse back onto the Orc ranks below. The other wolves, encouraged by the example of their leader, snarled and clawed at their assailant's limbs until they fell back down the void.

Allie stood upon the rocks lining their hiding place, balancing precariously on its edge as she slashed her sword down into the fingers and eyes of the goblins that managed to climb past her wolves. Frodo stood on her right and Sam on her left as they assisted her in the gruesome task. Soon, their swords and armors were stained with goblin blood.

A few feet away from the heat of battle, Pippin analyzed the remaining portion of the Orc army. "Three quarters must have passed through," he yelled in Allie's direction.

Allie slashed open the face of one last goblin before turning toward Frodo. "It is time. Let's go."

Frodo nodded as he wiped away dark blood from his forehead.

They walked away from the edge of their cave and climbed over a rock to reach a deep mountain trail behind their hiding place. Allie bent over to avoid a flying arrow, cursing as it planted itself a few feet above her head.

"Careful now," Frodo intimated her as he engaged on the trail. Allie hurried after him, and together they reached a point where the path branched in two, with each branch leading to a different portion of the mountain slope. Allie and Frodo each picked a trail and walked until they reached either side of a huge net made of rope. The net held back a tall pile of loose boulders the Rohirrim had readied earlier in the day.

On Allie's end, three ropes held the net in place. Another three held it from Frodo's side. Allie started hacking away at one of the ropes with her sword, while Frodo did the same on his end. Soon, she was gritting her teeth from the burn in her arm. From across the net, she saw Frodo panting with effort as he worked his blade. The ropes were thick and not easy to cut. They also had to work bent-over lest the enemy spotted them from below, which did not give them the ideal angle to apply force.

When she was done with two out of the three ropes, she blew hair out of her eyes to check on Frodo's progress. He was still at the first one. Sweat trickled down his forehead. His face was pale as he struggled with the blade. Allie knew he could do it. They had practiced it beforehand, so what was wrong?

"Frodo," she called across the space between two boulders.

The whistling of arrows and the battle cries from below easily masked her voice. She risked a glace down the slope. More Orcs had gone beyond the overpass. They had to hurry before too many of them passed. Casting one last glance at Frodo, she left her spot and made her way toward him.

Frodo jerked up in surprise when she appeared behind him.

Allie placed a hand on his shoulder. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," he said as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry, it's just taking me a little longer."

Allie studied the weary way in which he held the hilt. Was he feeling unwell? Still, they had no more time. "I will help you," she said. "We need to cut the third one together."

Frodo nodded and went back to the first rope while Allie hacked away at the second. Soon, they both snapped. Allie swallowed her words of victory when she saw Frodo clenching at his head. She crouched next to him with a worried frown. "Frodo, what's the matter?"

Frodo rolled his shoulders back. "I think I attached my armor too tightly, that is all. I have a hard time moving in this."

Allie bent over him and tried her best to loosen the piece around his neck. "Better now?"

Frodo rolled his shoulders again and smiled. "Yes, that will do. Go on your side, we need to get this done."

She nodded and went back on her side of the net. The third rope snapped under her blade first and the loose boulders crashed against the slope, rolling down toward the Orcs below in a thunderous clatter. A second later, Frodo's side of the net also came loose. The avalanche intensified, the sound of falling rocks like thunder in the mountains.

The Orcs, trolls and goblins lifted their heads, their blood-shot eyes widening at the sight of the falling rocks. With savage screams they trampled each other to get out of the way. But the passage was narrow, and the bulk of the army made it impossible to run. The avalanche of rocks crashed down upon them, flattening and burying bodies, catapults and torches alike in a cloud of pebbles and dust.

Those who survived the crash had been successfully split into two groups by the rocky wall formed by the avalanche. The troops that had already traversed the overpass and were headed toward Meduseld castle beheld their crushed companions in anger and bewilderment, their drums finally silenced. The resulting silence seemed almost deafening.

Before the Orcs had time to react or regroup, a horn broke the standstill. So clear was its sound it seemed to pierce the air itself like an arrow. The horn was followed by the thunder of hundreds of hooves on dry ground. The Orcs turned west to face the Rohirrim horse army charging forth, with Eomer in the lead. He yelled a great battle cry as his helmet and lance shone golden in the orange glare of the enemy torches.

The clash of horses into the ranks of Orcs was formidable, as shields were splintered and cries of agony arose under deadly hooves. The rhino-beasts bellowed, breathing out black air, as they charged back at the horses. The collision of beast against beast sent riders flying out to the trampled grass. Bloody chaos soon ensued, as Orcs, trolls, beasts and Riders morphed into a fighting mass of swords and shields.

In the meantime, Hunter sent his wolves upon the Orcs blocked behind the avalanche. The Orcs unsheathed their swords, but the wolves fell upon them from above so fast that, by the time their panicked strokes fell, blood already spurted out of their slashed necks. The Elf archers up the mountain slope concentrated their arrows to assist the wolves, while fending off the climbing goblins at the same time.

Sam clambered up toward Allie and Frodo, who were watching the scene from beside the broken net. His cheeks were red with excitement as he reached them. "It worked, Mr. Frodo! Our plan worked!"

Pippin appeared behind Sam, also smiling in victory.

Allie looked away from the battle and sheathed her blade, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. She didn't smile like the others. "I don't know. This was... too easy. It feels as though I have overlooked something, but I can't think of what it might be."

Frodo joined her with Sam and Pippin. "What do you mean?"

She considered them. "Well, we've all seen Sauron's forces stationed in Mordor. This is supposed to be the Enemy's main army, but where are the Southrons? Where are the Nazgul? I thought they would have come by now. Where are the rest of them?"

No one had an answer.

"What now then?" Sam asked as he sheathed his bloody blade.

Allie nibbled her lower lip, the sick feeling of dread refusing to leave her stomach. On top of that, she had the absurd feeling they were being watched. "I don't know. Sauron doesn't seem to be present. Maybe we should regroup with Councillor to see how things are faring in Dunharrow and the Snowbourn."

Frodo sheathed Sting and leaned against the mountain wall for some respite. "So we are moving back to Meduseld?"

Allie looked over at Eomer's eord engaged in battle. Even amidst the chaos, the Orcs had managed to position the catapults. A fiery ball of fire flew into the ashy air and crashed down near the gate of Edoras. Fire started spreading on the dry grass in an orange line. The Men cried out, as water buckets flipped over atop the walls of Edoras to douse the flames.

Allie made up her mind. "Yes. Let's retreat. We have done all we can here."

Pippin and Sam nodded and started to walk back down the trail. Sam chanced a look down the overpass. "Buggers! The goblins are still climbing up. How many of those foul creatures are there?"

"As many as there are worms in the earth," Pippin replied grimly. "Killing them individually is useless. We need to cut off the head."

Allie made to follow them, but noticed Frodo still leaning against the mountain next to the severed ropes of the net. She walked up to him and saw him staring into the darkness to the East with a glassy look in his eyes. His demeanor was starting to worry her. He almost looked the same as when he still had the Ring around his neck, in those few days before they reached the Black Gate.

"Frodo?" she called out softly.

Frodo blinked and snapped out of his trance.

"What is wrong?" she asked.

Frodo shook his head as though to clear his vision. "Nothing. It's just… I wonder if Sauron is hiding there, behind the veil of darkness. I wonder if he is looking over at us right now."

Allie froze. So, he too was feeling watched. "I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case. I'm sure he's following the events, hidden from sight." She stared at the mantle of darkness, as though through the sheer intensity of her gaze she could lift it to reveal what lay beyond. Still, the darkness remained unperturbed and inscrutable. No use wasting any more time here.

"Come, Frodo."

Frodo blinked again at the sound of her voice. A bead of sweat hung from his temple. He pulled on his cape, wincing when the clip dug into his throat. "The air is getting hot," he said.

Allie stared at him. The wind blowing westbound carried a chill that reminded her of the first snow of winter. Swallowing back the first sparks of alarm, she tugged on his arm. "No, Frodo, perhaps you still feel warm from the cutting the ropes. We will rest for a bit in Meduseld."

Frodo swallowed. "Go on ahead. I will undo my cloak and follow y-you sh.."

Under Allie's mortified gaze, he struggled to get his voice out. His panicked blue eyes dulled as his knees gave away and he fell on all fours.

Allie knelt beside him so fast she scraped both of her knees. Oblivious to the pain, she hurried to hold him up before he could collapse. "Frodo! What's wrong?!"

Frodo's eyes searched hers but were not able to find her, as though he were suddenly struck with blindness. He tried to speak, but only a gurgle came out. He wrapped a hand around his throat as he hit the ground with the other, struggling for air.

"Frodo!" Allie screamed louder, forgetting where she was.

She bent him over and knocked against his back several times. At last, he let out a hollow sound and gasped. He drew both hands to his throat as he sucked air in and coughed it out. She rubbed his back frantically with one hand as she undid his cloak with the other. "That's it," she murmured in his ear in a shaky voice. "That's it, Frodo. Just breathe."

Frodo shuddered against her, his eyes still unseeing. "T-the… the R-ring…" he managed to gasp, before he folded onto himself with a long shiver.

"The Ring?" Allie echoed through dry lips.

She tried to understand what was happening, but panic clouded her thoughts. She pushed away unruly hair from her eyes to quickly scan their surroundings for any sight of Sauron or the Ring of Power. Other than the dim sounds of battle below, the mountain slopes remained clear.

She held Frodo close and pressed his head to her chest to calm his trembling. "What do you mean? Do you feel the Ring nearby? Is that it?" she asked in a voice she struggled to keep calm.

Frodo's jerky hand found her cape and twisted the fabric until he almost pulled it off her. "No…" he grimaced as he twisted in her arms. "H-help… help me…"

"Tell me how! I don't see any signs of Sauron or the Ring!" Allie yelled as she desperately scanned the scenery around her once more.

Frodo convulsed in her arms, and it took all her strength to keep him still. "Frodo! Tell me how to help you! Please! Tell me what to do!"

Frodo's eyes widened. He pushed her away and jerked upright. Letting out a long whine, he slapped his hands over his eyes and tried to dig his fingers into the sockets.

Allie pulled his hands away from his face before he could claw his eyes out. "Stop it..."

He screamed and struggled against her. She twirled on trembling legs and pinned both of his arms behind his back to hold them in place. Frodo trembled again and let out a wild cry of agony. Allie pressed her face into his back, wide-eyed, overwhelmed by the situation.

Sam and Pippin came back running at the sound of Frodo's screams, and Allie was relieved beyond words at their appearance. Sam knelt next to Allie and tried to help her contain Frodo's seizing body.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried out. "What's happening to him?"

"Hold his arms, Sam!" Allie shouted over Frodo's wails.

Sam did not make her say it twice. He grabbed onto his Master's twitching arms, grimacing with the effort.

Frodo screamed again, a broken sound that sent chills down Allie's spine. Seeing his suffering felt like claws inside her own heart, made even more unbearable due to her helplessness. She shuffled in front of him and seized his face with both hands. Sweat rolled freely down his temples, dampening his neck.

"Frodo! Frodo! Can you hear me?"

Pippin knelt down beside them, his face a mask of panic. "What is going on, Allie? What happened?"

"I'm not sure," she replied in a dry whisper. "We were talking when he suddenly collapsed. He mentioned the Ring. Do you feel its presence?"

Pippin looked up at the dark skies, seized with fear. But try as he might, he could not feel the presence of the Ring. "Sauron may be using the Ring to affect Frodo, but not from any distance close enough to affect us. Frodo used to be a Ring-bearer, so maybe the Ring's influence on him is stronger."

"Allie!" Sam called in alarm, pointing at a big goblin head emerging from the edge of the mountain slope.

Frodo writhed again and almost ripped his arms away from Sam's grasp. His hair damp with sweat stuck to his forehead in dark clusters. His skin burned like fire under Allie's hands. Allie brushed strands of wet hair away from his eyes as she brought him close. "Shush, Frodo. Listen to my voice. You will be fine. I am here with you. Shush now. Open your eyes and look at me!"

Frodo's eyes opened a slit and tears flowed down his cheeks. His pupils were unfocused as he stared at her, before his body seized again.

Allie's heart was beating so close to her throat she thought she would throw up. From a distance, she heard Sam calling her name again in alarm.

"Pippin," Allie managed to say through her dry lips. "Please deal with the goblin."

She could feel Pippin's presence beside her, but he did not answer. Snatching her eyes away from Frodo's face, she searched for her Protector.

"Pippin?!"

Pippin was curled on the ground with his arms wrapped around his torso. "Not yet," he whimpered into the dust of the mountain trail.

A wave of nausea hit Allie again, and this time she recognized it for what it was.

Yes, at last she could feel the devilry of the Ring of Power. Its presence washed over her in waves, crawling like spiders under her skin. She shuddered as her eyes flickered silver. The wolf inside of her became an itch in her chest, dying to explode out, to overcome her hobbit body. Never before had it been so insidious and yet so strong at the same time.

In the past, the Ring had to be close enough to affect the Blood inside the wolves. Did that mean Sauron was closer than they thought? She scanned the surrounding landscape, but other than the sight of the battle beneath them and the barren mountain slopes around them, everything else remained as dark as night.

A beast of fire and shadow, Atariel's voice echoed in her mind.

Forgetting herself for a second, Allie let go of Frodo and stood on shaky legs to peer up at the dark skies above them. Other than swirls of black clouds, nothing could be seen nor felt. But perhaps the beast was already all around them; perhaps the darkness surrounding them was part of it.

Another wave of nausea hit her and she folded over in half. She was reminded of her earlier days as a wolf when she had limited control of her transformation.

"Allie! Watch out!" Sam screamed.

Allie's eyes widened as her senses picked up the goblin now mere inches behind her. She threw herself forward at the same time as the goblin swung his sword where her head stood a second ago. She landed close to Pippin, still twisting on the ground with his arms around himself.

"Frodo," she called out feebly, in vain hopes that he would snap out of the Ring's hold.

A taste of copper invaded her mouth when wolf fangs punctured her cheeks. Her transformation was happening in spite of her best efforts. She dug her nails into her palms and tried to contain it. If she transformed now, she would not be able to help Frodo. She needed to be able to communicate with him, to let him hear her voice.

Pippin let out a tortured cry beside her. His skull protruded forward in a grotesque manner, making his eyes bulge. His hands became furry claws, with which he dug bloody trails on his still human back. Pippin let out a sound halfway between a cry and a howl as his spine twisted. Finally, he fell on all fours in his wolf self.

"Pippin…" Allie growled as blood trickled down the corner of her mouth.

"The goblin is coming again!" Sam cried out in fear. He marked a second of hesitation before he let go of Frodo's arms and rushed forward with sword in hand. Allie turned on her back in time to see Sam standing over her to stab the goblin in the stomach. Dark blood splattered down all over her. She spat some of it out as she crawled away from under Sam.

Frodo seized again so hard that his head whipped back and hit a rock. Blood soon seeped through his hair from the cut, rolling down his cheek.

Allie drew in a deep breath and forced herself to lie still with eyelids pressed shut. She needed to get herself under control! She needed to calm her thoughts and feelings; that was the only hope of stopping the transformation. Through pure power of will she swallowed back the pain and opened her eyes once more. Beside her, Pippin panted weakly on the ground. She grabbed onto the auburn wolf's head and made him look at her.

"Pippin, you have to pull Frodo out of it. By any means necessary. Quick!"

Pippin's gaze was faraway; he was still struggling with the aftermath of the transformation. Allie shook him again. "Pippin!"

This time, the wolf's green eyes regained focus. He gave her a single nod. Allie let go of Pippin to crawl to Frodo, all the while shaking her head to clear her vision. She lifted him up on her lap and noticed with horror that her left hand had started to morph into a paw in spite of her will. She pressed her paw onto Frodo's chest to hold him in place.

Pippin's wolf head invaded the space between them. He met Allie's tortured gaze for a second before ripping off a chunk of armor from Frodo's shoulder. Then, he sank his fangs into his flesh.

Frodo's eyes snapped open as he let out a scream of pain. Blood flowed down in streams from the bite. He groped at his raw shoulder and cried out again, though this time it contained a note of liberation.

The physical pain must have broken the hold the Ring had over Frodo's mind, for all of a sudden, the pressure of the Blood let off within Allie. She gritted her teeth, pushed the wolf back inside herself and forced the Blood to quiet down inside her veins. At last, the transformation started to reverse. She spat out blood from her punctured cheeks and licked at her gums. The wolf fangs had receded. Faint with relief, she turned her gaze to her hobbit hand now resting upon Frodo's heaving chest.

On the other end of the trail, Sam slashed open the throat of another goblin who had managed to reach the top. Sam threw its corpse back down the cliff and hurried back to his Master and Allie. Seeing Allie still in her hobbit form and his Master no longer seizing, he let out a whoosh of breath and collapsed to the dirty ground.

Allie propped Frodo's head up and pressed her hand onto his skull injury to stop the bleeding. Pippin bumped his head into her shoulder, his eyes full of concern. She caressed his cold nose in gratitude. "Thank you, Pippin. You did well."

"Frodo!" Sam called in a shaky voice.

At the sound of his voice, Frodo opened his eyes. His gaze was clear and awake, albeit full of weariness. Allie and Sam both let out of sigh of relief. Frodo's eyes traveled from his gardener to Allie.

"What…" he tried to speak, but was seized with a coughing fit.

"Shh, you shouldn't speak yet," Allie wiped at his brow again. "You are safe now. I think Sauron was using the Ring on you, but now the connection is broken."

Until Sauron's next attack, the voices inside her said.

Frodo looked from Pippin to his shoulder wound. Wolf Pippin's green eyes were full of guilt, but Frodo's gaze softened as he buried his hand in the thick auburn fur. "Thank you, Pippin," he whispered.

For only reply, the auburn wolf licked his shoulder wound with care, cleaning up the fresh blood still flowing over his chainmail.

"I think I'm all right now," Frodo managed to say as he tried to prop himself up. "We need to get going. The Ring is still close… I can feel it."

"Do you think he has found our location?" Sam inquired with wide eyes as he helped his Master up.

Frodo shuddered in spite of himself. "Yes. He could see me as though the mountains had fallen to dust and I stood naked in the dark."

"When did it first start?" Allie asked. "It seemed you were not yourself even when we were working on the ropes."

Frodo stayed silent for a long while, and when finally he looked at her, his eyes were afraid. "I'm not sure. Maybe it had started then, but I didn't know for sure it was the Ring until its image appeared clearly in my mind a few seconds ago. I was speaking with you when his voice… Sauron's voice… resounded in my mind. It was so loud and so… overwhelming I thought my brain was about to blow." He paled at the memory of it.

Sam tightened his grip on Frodo's arm. "You shouldn't think about it anymore. Let's get you back to Meduseld."

"No," Allie cut in with conflicted eyes. "We need to hear this, Sam. Don't you understand? He will not be safer in Meduseld. We need to understand what happened."

She uncorked her water flask and handed it to Frodo. Frodo took a long gulp, and pressed his hand against his mouth to force himself to swallow it down.

Allie held his hand gently to give him courage. Pressing him for answers when he looked so unwell killed her, but they needed to know. They had to be ready if ever Sauron attempted this type of attack again.

"What did Sauron's voice say, Frodo?" Allie asked.

Frodo clenched his head in his hand and spoke through his fingers. "'Ring-bearer. I see you. There is no hiding place for you. Only death.' That's what he kept on saying, over and over."

Allie, Sam and Pippin exchanged a look.

Frodo wasn't done. "I remember vividly the time I put on the Ring to defy the Ring-wraith. Sauron's shadow came into me then. He tried to subjugate me to his will. It felt quite the same just now… as though he were back inside of me. And I could see the Ring so clearly. The image of it… exploded in front of my eyes… Even now, I can still see the after-image of its radiance with my waking eyes."

Allie did not have the heart to let him continue speaking. "That's enough."

What happened to him was the Dark Lord's way of toying with them, of showing them how much influence he had over them. Sauron had Frodo completely at his mercy, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. The knowledge of it and the impotence that came with it twisted at Allie's side like a knife. "Can you walk?"

Frodo nodded. "I think so. I must."

He used Pippin's furry shoulder for support to prop himself up. But as soon as he stood, he bent over and vomited the water he just drank.

"Here, Mr. Frodo," Sam hurried to hand him his handkerchief.

"Thank you, Sam. I will be fine."

He turned his back to his friend and wiped at his mouth slowly. He locked eyes with Allie from above the handkerchief and she could see he was far from fine. She had never seen him that shaken and afraid. Not for himself, she knew, but for the outcome of this war and what it would mean for all their allies risking their lives on the battlefield.

A swirl of anger and hatred flared up in her chest. Hatred for Sauron; fury at what he had put Frodo through. Her hand balled into a fist by her side. She would find Sauron, the coward hiding behind his army. She would find him and make him regret ever toying with them. Her anger burned so hot the Blood inside the bottle started pulsating from its hiding place under her vest. A deep shiver seized her as her eyes turned red momentarily. She blinked and forced herself to swallow back her thoughts of vengeance. She chanced a glance at Frodo and saw he had not seen her struggle, for he seemed about to be ill again.

She took in a deep breath to pull herself together. She could not afford to appear shaken, at least not in front of Frodo. What he needed now was strength, both from her and from himself.

She called for Pippin, and when the auburn wolf came trotting, she gently held Frodo by the elbow. "We should ride on Pippin until Meduseld."

"That might be best," he agreed.

Pippin crouched down and offered his flank to Frodo. Before the blue-eyed hobbit could climb up, Allie held him back. Her grey eyes brimmed with determination as she said, "Frodo, we are going to find a way through this, like we have always done. You are not alone. Do you know that?"

Frodo nodded at her words, but doubt still clouded his gaze.

"You are going to be all right," Allie reiterated. "You are going to endure this and be all right."

It was not a question.

This time, some semblance of calm took over Frodo's features. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I know. Besides, even if it happens again, you know what to do to pull me back."

Hunter's figure appeared behind them, riding one of the wolves of his unit. His blade still dripped blood as it hung by his side. His blue eye travelled to Frodo's pale face and the grim expression on everyone else's.

"What happened?" Hunter asked Allie. "Why is Protector already back to his wolf self?"

Allie frowned. "You did not feel it?"

Hunter edged his wolf closer and peered into his Queen's face. "Feel what? I was engaged in battle up until now. I did not feel anything abnormal."

Allie and Frodo exchanged a glance.

"Sauron used the Ring on Frodo," Allie explained in a low voice. "Its effect made Pippin transform back, and I almost did, too. How far from here were you?"

Hunter face darkened at her words. "Not too far. Just below the cliff of the mountainside."

Allie bit her thumb as she paced. "It doesn't make any sense," she murmured. "Why us, and not Hunter?" She raised her eye toward the Southron. "Is Councillor still in Meduseld?"

"Yes. He is holding the castle with the rest of the Rohirrim."

Allie nodded and jumped onto Pippin's back to sit behind Frodo. "Let's go back to the castle."

Hunter seized Sam by the arm and pulled him up to sit before him on his wolf-ride. Sam murmured a low "thank you" as he grabbed onto the wolf's fur for dear life when the beast sprinted after Pippin.


Atariel looked down the slopes of Dunharrow to see dark giant spiders climbing up the rocky stairs, their furry legs clicking against the stones. She should have known the enemy would bring spiders. She hated spiders the most. She had crossed paths with many creatures over the course of her long life, and spiders were by far the most vicious and poisonous of all. What better beasts to use to conquer an otherwise unconquerable fortress?

Beside her, King Theoden bellowed another series of orders to the Elf archers who were trying to shoot the spiders down. The creatures were fast and sneaky, the darkness of their carapace making them shadows in the dark. Even when the arrows hit their target, they bounced off the rigid shell covering their back.

Gandalf appeared beside them, white staff in hand. He had decided to take his stand in Dunharrow, although Atariel did not think it wise for two Wizards to be in the same place. When she pointed it out to Mithrandir, the White Wizard simply said the Dark Lord was twisted in his cunning and malice. A direct attack on Meduseld was too obvious a choice, so Sauron might plan something that none of the allies would see coming.

"Arrows will not be enough to contain them," Gandalf grumbled in disgust as he looked upon the quickly approaching spiders. He lifted his staff and shot out a beam of light, which illuminated the zigzagging and overlapping stairs. The light effectively made three of the spiders fall back to the darkness of the Harrendale valley below.

The white flash rendered visible the giant and irregular shape of the creatures' carapaces, along with their curved legs full of thick black fur. The remaining spiders looked upon Gandalf with hatred coating their myriad glassy eyes.

"The mountain wall is full of the fell beasts! Shoot them all down with your magic, Mithrandir!" Theoden bellowed to Gandalf over the whistling of arrows.

Gandalf directed his beam down the Staircase again. In its light, he furrowed his brow as he squint to make out what lay below. Soon, he found his doubts confirmed when Orc cries reached their ears.

Orcs with short-swords clung to the back of the spiders as the insects resumed their climb up the walls of the Staircase, more numerous than before. Gandalf's white light shot down into the sea of spiders, but those that fell were quickly replaced by others, seemingly to no end.

The Orcs let out excited squeals as the edge of the Stairs drew close. The archers recoiled in terror and repulsion, but Theoden intimated them to keep their post. "Aim for the oil containers!" the King roared.

The archers all veered right as a single unit and unleashed a mass of arrows toward the ropes from which hung buckets of hot oil. The ropes snapped and the buckets unloaded their burning contents along the walls of the Staircase. Cries of pain mixed with flesh sizzling filled the air as the oil washed over the invading spiders and Orcs.

Theoden had planned to use this weapon later in the game, for they did not have much of it. But with the spiders so close, he had seen no choice. Now all the buckets had been upended, rendering the walls slick with oil. More spiders tried to climb up, but even their sticky legs could not hold on to the burning and slippery surface.

The Rohirrim Men and the Elves above let out a sigh of respite.

Orcs bellowed an order from down in the valley, and soon giant wooden catapults were pushed into place. The Orcs wound the device; ropes creaked as the bow tilted back and then propelled a heavy boulder up towards the Men. The boulder flew up in a powerful arch, but crashed into the Staircase wall. Theoden and Atariel pulled back from the flight of debris.

Other boulders flew up their way, but to the relief of the allies, none of them were high enough to reach the top of Dunharrow.

From the steep stairs then came a cacophony of metal rubbing against metal as an army of Orcs hidden under upheld shields made their way up the steps. The arrows bounced off their shields without slowing their advance.

Atariel twirled her wolf collar in her gnarled hands and drew her grey robes closer around her skinny frame. "Leave them to me," she said as her eyes became even bluer than before, shining like two sapphires in the dark.

She closed her eyes and twirled the stone in her necklace a bit faster. Soon, white fog started to appear from either side of the steep staircase, swirling down on the climbing Orcs like misty claws.

The Orcs paused momentarily when the fog enveloped them. To their dismay, the steps above now seemed endless inside the fog. They accelerated the pace, but the top of the Staircase did not draw any nearer. In fact, the more they climbed, the farther it receded, as though they were climbing backward. They let out grunts of confusion, yapping and cursing among themselves.

Theoden threw a sidelong glance at Atariel. "What sorcery is this?"

Atariel opened her sky blue eyes. "They are in a dream now. It is but a simple delay. It will not hold them for long."

Before her voice died down, a piercing screech enveloped the air all around them. So full of evil and fear it was that the Rohirrim archers let go of their bows to cover their ears. Gandalf looked up at the dark skies in alarm, and soon enough spotted dark shadows swirling down from the heights.

"Nazgul!" the Wizard shouted.

Atariel fell on one knee and covered her ears, for the cries of the Nazgul were starting to wake the wolf within. "Sauron is close!" she said through clenched teeth. A white wolf approached to offer support, but Atariel held him back with one shaky hand.

"Put the wolf necklace on me!" she asked Gandalf as she handed him the jeweled collar.

The Wizard shoved his staff into Theoden's hands to kneel in front of Atariel, his white robes spreading around him. He passed the heavy collar around Atariel's frail neck and latched the mechanism into place. The Nazgul circled again above them, closer this time. Atariel managed to detect three of the wretched creatures. Their screech made the Men shout in agony and run for cover, deserting the staircase wall.

"To your posts! To your posts!" Theoden screamed. "Would you abandon your King?"

The Men paused, exchanging scared glances.

"The night might be dark!" Theoden roared. "But we are Men of Rohan, Lord of the grasslands. We will take our stand 'til the Red Dawn! To me! To me!"

The Rohirrim soldiers found their courage and hurried back to their King by the Staircase. One of the Nazgul flew down like an arrow and skimmed the top of the cliff, pushing a row of Men down into the void of the valley below.

In the wake of their screams, the beast upon which the Nazgul mounted let out a deep and monstrous bellow that reverberated in the air and earth, shaking the fighter's bones to the marrow.

Atariel grunted, her braid coming undone as she prostrated on the ground. Her white hair fell into messy strands all about her head. A growl erupted out of her small frame. Her frail neck swelled up into robust muscles and rough fur. Her blue eyes elongated into ovals as the pupils shrunk into a dark spot in the middle. The collar that Gandalf put on, which hang loosely about the old woman's neck a second ago, now buried inside white fur.

Gandalf scanned the skies with his staff at the ready, knowing that Atariel's transformation back into her wolf body was due to the influence of the Ring. The fact that Sauron had chosen to be close to Dunharrow was troubling. The women and children were all here. Did the Dark Lord know that and intentionally decided to hit this place the hardest with the Nazgul? For the sake of mankind's survival, Dunharrow could not fall.

Gandalf rode upon his white horse and galloped in front of the Rohirrim and Elves. Seeing the Wizard upon Shadowfax, a glowing vision of light in this surrounding darkness and despair, they stood straighter and gripped their weapons tighter.

Gandalf clamored, "Hold your positions now or lose Dunharrow forever. Do not let fear take over your hearts and minds! Fight!"

"Behind you!" One of the Elves pointed up at the sky behind Gandalf.

Gandalf whipped Shadowfax around to see a Nazgul charging down at him. The wraith opened his giant jaw, revealing rows upon rows of sharp teeth. A stench rolled off its tongue as it widened his jaw to bite the Wizard off his horse.

Gandalf brandished his staff and a blazing jet of white light surged forward, straight into the creature's eyes. The wraith screeched in pain and twisted in the air, nearly crushing into the nearby mountain. The veiled rider on its back snatched back the reins and the creature took altitude again with a roar.

The Elves shot arrows up at the creature. One of them hit it in the wings, causing another roar.

"Fight!" Gandalf urged them. "Keep shooting at them! Do not let them descend! Where are the fire catapults? Light them up!"

Atariel scanned the black skies beside the Wizard. She detected three of the Nine above them, but the other five remained hidden. As she continued scanning their surroundings, she suddenly picked up the scent of evil drifting from further down the field of Dunharrow, coming from the castle where the women and children took refuge. Her blue eyes widened. It was nothing concrete, not a sight nor a smell, but a simple feeling.

Something was coming from the mountains behind Dunharrow.

Atariel discreetly signaled five of her wolves to follow her, and together they sprinted toward the castle, leaving the defense of the Staircase to Theoden and Gandalf.


Pippin skimmed the rocky walls of the mountain with Frodo and Allie on his back, while Hunter followed closely behind on his wolf with Sam. They managed to avoid the main battle between the troops of Orcs and the Rohirrim Riders as they retreated to Edoras.

Allie had her arms around Frodo as they swung their bodies to the gait of the auburn wolf. She could not see his face, but knew from the tension in his body that he was in pain. Although he had not said a word of complaint, sometimes he would clutch his head as though overcome with a headache.

Allie was in no better shape. Now that the immediate danger of the Ring had passed, she felt the full effect of her earlier struggle against her wolf transformation. All her bones ached and her tongue had the consistency of dry parchment. The metallic taste of blood still permeated her mouth. Often, she had to lean over and spit out fresh blood from her still bleeding gums. She shook her head and forced herself to stay strong and vigilant.

"We are here," Frodo's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

The wolves had climbed up the hill of Edoras and now stood in front of the Gate of Meduseld castle. The Gate was shut, but the wolves could sense thousands of eyes upon them, courtesy of the army on the watch.

The company threw furtive glances around the deserted streets as they waited to be let in. The Gate creaked open and out strode Councillor, still in his Elf form. Behind him lurked Rohirrim foot soldiers at the ready in case of an enemy attack.

Councillor peered briefly behind them.

"Eomer's eored is efficiently holding back the Orcs for now," Allie reassured him. "We came directly from the mountains, unseen."

Councillor nodded and beckoned them in. The wolves slid past the slit of the open Gate and into the courtyard of Meduseld. They climbed up the steps leading to the Golden Hall, passed among ranks of silent soldiers, and penetrated inside the empty halls of the castle.

The Elf led them to the kitchens. There was barely any food left, but a carafe of clean water still sat on the counter, near the chimney.

Allie jumped off Pippin's back and split the water into three cups and two bowls. Sam helped Frodo down Pippin's back and eyed his Master with concern, but Frodo managed a tired smile.

Allie appeared beside them, holding two cups of water. Frodo downed his in three big greedy gulps. When he was done, he sank against the wall of the chimney with a weary sigh.

"What is happening elsewhere? Do you know?" he asked Allie.

Allie had been asking herself the same question. She eyed her wolves, and stared back at her in silence. She would only be able to communicate with them once she transformed back. For now, all she could do was ask them yes or no questions. "I don't know. But it is best to use this time to take cover and regain our strength."

"We can't stay here while everyone else is out there fighting," Frodo retorted with a clenched jaw. "We can't afford to do nothing."

"We can't do anything until Sauron shows himself, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed him after finishing his own water. "There is one role we must fulfill, so we need to wait until the timing is right."

"Sam is right," Allie concurred, but not without resignation.

"Wouldn't there be a way to lure him out?" Frodo persisted. "Perhaps I should show myself."

"No," Allie said with arms crossed. "After what happened to you, we are at a clear disadvantage if ever we come face to face to Sauron unprepared."

Frodo did not contradict her words, but his face darkened. Allie noted the bloodstain on his shoulder from Pippin's wolf bite. After Pippin had coated the wound with saliva, the bleeding had stopped, but the wound still needed to be dressed.

She sighed. "First thing is first. Take off your armor, Frodo, so I can bandage your shoulder."

Sam nodded and turned to leave. "I will go look for more clean water."

Pippin looked over at Frodo with a mixture of guilt and pain. He knew the bite had been necessary, but the memory of his fangs inside his friend's flesh still filled him with anger. He left the room and went to watch the front doors. Councillor was about to follow him, but Allie called him back.

As she helped Frodo strip out of his armor, she quietly recounted to Councillor what had transpired over the mountain pass. After she was done, she briefly put down the fabric she had been using to clean Frodo's wound and turned to meet the Elf's troubled gaze.

"What is your take on this, Councillor?" she asked.

The Elf knelt gracefully in front of them and softly brushed Frodo's brow with his cool fingers, much to the astonishment of the hobbit.

"Poor child. You did well, withstanding the darkness," the Elf murmured.

Frodo blinked, for the Elf's touch seemed to have rekindled some semblance of light in his eyes. "If it happens again, I need to fight it better."

Councillor turned to Hunter, who had listened so far in silence, crouched on the balls of his feet.

"You did not feel the urge to transform? Not even once?" The Elf asked him.

Hunter's unique eye brimmed with disquiet. "No, I was engaged in battle down the mountain. I did not even feel the faintest of perturbations. Could it be due to the heat of battle?"

"Unlikely," the Elf said in his deep voice. "To me, it seems that Protector and the Queen were affected due to their mere proximity to Frodo. Perhaps what they felt were only the after-effects of the Ring's influence on him."

"The after-effects?" Allie exclaimed. "It felt like a full-blown attack. If the secondary effects of the Ring can affect us so, I dare not imagine what would happen should we face Sauron directly in battle!"

She bit her lip upon realizing she had spoken her concerns out loud. Frodo's face was dark as he frowned down at his lap.

"It doesn't matter," Hunter growled. "Whether as a Man or a wolf, I will face Sauron just the same. I will rip him to pieces for what he has done!"

"What if he overpowers me again? What will happen then?" Frodo asked in a low voice.

No one had a good answer to that. Allie clenched her fists, and her eyes met those of Hunter and Councillor. They both knew she was thinking of the Blood. Allie bit the inside of her cheek and went back to the task of cleaning Frodo's shoulder wound.

Councillor said into the silence, "We will do our best to fight him until Aragorn arrives."

"That's right!" Sam exclaimed upon coming back with a bucket full of clean water. "I had forgotten about Lord Aragorn! He's left for the Path under the Mountains, though for what reason I do not know."

Councillor paced inside the kitchen, his Rohirrim boots barely making a sound on the stone floor. "It is known that long ago, the Men of the Mountains swore an oath to the last King of Gondor to come to his aid in battle. But when the time came, when Gondor's need was dire… they fled, vanishing into the darkness of the mountain."

His brown eyes brimmed eerily in the semi-darkness. "And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they had fulfilled their pledge. The one who shall call them from the grey twilight would be the heir of him to whom the oath they swore. It is said that from the North shall he come, need shall drive him. He shall pass the door to the Paths of the Dead."

Silence followed his words.

"I had no idea," Allie whispered. "He told me he had to leave, so I thought he must have some kind of plan. But this… is this even real?"

"Real or not, Aragorn seems to believe in it enough to forsake our army in the dawn of war. For his sake, I hope he finds and overcomes what he seeks."

"Now just wait a second!" Sam exclaimed, bringing himself out of his stupor. "You are saying we should stake our hopes on the off chance that Lord Aragorn may come back with an army of the Dead?!"

Stated in Sam's voice, the idea did seem ludicrous.

"There are creatures in this world beyond comprehension, young hobbit," the Elf said. "Beasts, spiritual beings and many, many more. Some are more ancient than even the Elves. I don't doubt such an Army exists, but whether Aragorn will come back alive from his quest, I have no certainty."

"The sword that was broken has been reforged," Allie said. "I saw it being handed down to Aragorn by the Elves sent from Rivendell. If so, he might have a chance at recruiting that… Army."

"If he does, we will have a powerful ally, for sure," Hunter groaned.

"And the Dwarves should almost be here," Allie recalled with new excitement in her pale eyes. "As Gandalf said, our duty is to hold Edoras and keep the Snowbourn open until they do."

"How is Informant faring?" Frodo asked. "If Eomer can hold back the Orcs, then perhaps we should go to the Snowbourn to bring him assistance?"

Allie didn't think that was such a bad idea. They might be able to welcome the Dwarves if everything went according to plan.

Feeling the kindling of renewed hope, Allie turned to Frodo to see that his cheeks had taken on some color as well. She smiled at him as she finished bandaging his shoulder. She made him lean forward closer as she circled the bandage behind his torso. He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her close to him. Allie's features softened against his shoulder. When she was done with his bandage, she gently stroked his back as she kissed his cheek.

She knew he was still scared. She was too. But somehow being close to him, with their friends and allies quietly supporting their cause from behind, gave her strength and hope. As she held him, she realized her fear had nothing to do with the outcome of this War. Victory meant nothing to her if she was to lose him.

Pippin came running back at full speed, his eyes wide with alarm. He howled once and signaled toward the castle doors. Hunter jumped up on his feet and quietly sprinted toward the front door. Councillor paused to listen, as did Allie and Frodo, and they thought they detected the faintest of battle cries.

"What is it?" Sam cried out, his sword already in hand. "Is something coming?"

Allie and Frodo exchanged a glance. "Let's go see," she said as she ran out of the kitchen, with Frodo and Sam hot on her heels.

She soon caught up with Hunter and Pippin behind the closed doors of the castle. The soldiers on the wall shifted restlessly as they peered over the plains.

"What is happening?" Hunter asked one of them.

"The Orcs are gaining against Lord Eomer!" the guard replied in a voice tinted with fear. "The horses are being pushed back by a horde of beasts!"

"What kind of beasts?" Hunter growled, before he lost patience and pulled the Man away from his post to take his place.

His single eye widened as he stared into the plains. "Oliphants! The Haradrim army is crushing the horses as though they are mere ants!"

Sam's eyes widened in terror. He remembered all too well the damage those beasts could inflict. "But… how did they overcome the avalanche wall?"

"I think…" He squinted for a clearer view. "Yes, damnation! The Orcs killed by the mountainside have piled up high enough for the beasts to use as a stepping stone. They are climbing over one by one and advancing toward us as I speak!"

"At this rate, they will reach the castle if Eomer's eord fails to contain them," Councillor said with a grim expression.

Hunter whipped his head down to stare into Allie's focused eyes. "I'm going out there. They used to be my people. I will find a way to stop them."

Allie bit her lip. She had hoped Eomer would be able to hold Edoras long enough for her to go to the Snowbourn, but she couldn't let Hunter charge alone.

"Fine," she relented. "Let us lend a hand to Eomer. Pippin, call the wolves!" She turned toward one of the soldiers manning the Gate. "Open the Gate, we are going out."

Pippin howled twice, and from the dark recesses of the besieged city, shiny wolf eyes appeared, soon followed by their owners' furry shapes as they gathered around Protector.

"I will go with you," Frodo said firmly from behind Allie.

She looked back, ready to retort, but the firmness in his blue eyes stopped her words before they could leave her mouth.

"I will go with you," Frodo repeated, leaving no room for discussion.

Allie touched one of approaching wolves on the forehead. "Let him ride you."

The wolf looked over at Frodo and approached. The light of the torches revealed a black coat and shiny red eyes. The wolf lowered his muzzle in a sign of submission. Frodo touched his cold nose. "Thank you."

Allie flipped herself over Pippin's awaiting back, and unsheathed her long sword in preparation.

"I will go as well," Sam decided. "I have experience with Oliphants."

The sounds of battle were drawing nearer, and Allie had no more time to refuse anyone's company. She signaled another wolf to get Sam, and turned in time to face the opening Gates of Edoras.

The Oliphants were still far, being pushed back by Eomer's riders as best they could. However, their giant hovering shapes slowly filled the horizon like moving towers of steel as more and more of them crossed over the avalanche wall of the overpass. Upon their backs perched high wooden towers painted black and red, from which Southron units shot arrows upon the horsemen. The cries of the horses as their legs and spines broke under the giant stampeding feet of the Oliphants drifted over to Allie and the company standing behind her.

Sam covered his mouth with one hand, horrified at the spectacle. "By the old Gaffer, the poor horses," he murmured under his breath.

Allie firmed her grip onto Pippin's auburn fur. Saddling his flanks with her legs, she leaned close and whispered, "Run now, Pippin. Run like the wind!"

One of Pippin's green eyes rolled up to study her, before he nodded and started sprinting toward the line of Oliphants, swift as a flaming arrow. Frodo soon rode up next to her on his black wolf, with Sam and his wolf two strides behind.

"How are we going to defeat them?" Frodo asked.

"The driver of the Oliphant," Sam answered. "If we can take him out, the beasts will become aimless."

"The hobbit is right," Hunter concurred from behind Allie. "I have a plan."

Allie turned to see a devious smile painting itself at the corner of the Southron's lips, and the sight of it eased her anxious mind. She strengthened her resolve, and made sure Frodo was still following closely after her on the black recruit, before launching Pippin into a full-blown sprint.

Soon, they came upon the thick of battle. They heard Eomer braying orders from across the field, as he tried to gather the riders to him in order to reform the line.

"Stay close to me!" Allie screamed to the two wolves bearing Sam and Frodo over the din of battle, just as Pippin jumped over the broken body of a horse and its rider. "Fall in line behind me! We are going under them!"

Led by Pippin, the wolf figures charged lithely towards the Oliphants, zigzagging amidst their legs as thick as tree trunks. Allie stood upon Pippin and hacked at their legs with her sword, but the cuts left the giant beasts mostly unfazed.

"We need to target them from above!" Hunter screamed behind her, as his wolf-ride galloped up to her level.

"How?" Allie screamed back. "There is no place on the plains from where the wolves can jump! I've never fought beasts like these!"

She turned eyes full of awe up to the giant tusks of the Oliphants slicing through the ranks of horses as though they were made of paper. Their long trumps arced through the air, giant whips flipping the Rohirrim away like ants. The beasts must weigh thousands of pounds, heavier than any war projectile she had ever encountered. She wondered how a handful of horses and wolves could ever defeat them.

Sam rode up beside them, his hair tumbling wildly from the speed. "There is a rope ladder leading to their backs where the driver sits. Do you see it? The black straps on their flanks!" He ducked just in time to avoid one of the arrows loosened by a Southron on top of the beast. His face paled at how close that had been, and he fell silent.

Frodo's wolf swerved brusquely to avoid the tusk of an Oliphant, and in doing so almost lost his footing. Frodo held on for dear life, his legs momentarily flying away from the back of the wolf. The black wolf grunted and managed to settle below the hobbit's legs once more, to the relief of both.

The thundering of hooves resounded behind them, and soon Eomer caught up with the wolf company, still holding on to his bloody lance. His eyes were piercing with concentration as he gazed upon the Oliphants barring their route.

"Eomer," Hunter grunted as he rode up to him. "Tell your riders to immobilize that Oliphant somehow." He pointed toward the one a few meters in retreat from the others.

"What will you do?" Eomer asked.

"I will overtake it," Hunter responded with a wild grin, his uncovered eye glinting in cold anticipation.

Eomer threw him a last glance, and then rode away to assemble the few horsemen still galloping close to him. Together, they charged toward the selected Oliphant and circled it from behind. The Southrons perched on its back loosened arrow after arow in their direction, but the riders evaded them.

"Shoot back!" Eomer screamed. "Aim for the legs!"

The riders loosened a volley toward the buttock and legs of the Oliphant. The arrows planted themselves in the thick skin, settling like bloodsuckers on its flesh.

The Oliphant let out a trumpeting noise of pain as it stopped its advance and shook its giant head.

Hunter approached it from the right side with Allie and the others in tow. While the Southrons were occupied with Eomer and his riders, Hunter's wolf pressed close to the Oliphant's flank. Hunter stood on the back of his wolf, balancing precariously on his feet as he came within touching distance of the beast.

Allie understood what he was going to do at the same time as the Southron threw himself off the back of his wolf to grab onto the rope ladder. One of the enemy Southrons noticed him and pointed his bow at Hunter's swinging figure.

Pippin sped up to reach the Oliphant as Allie unsheathed a small knife from the side of her trouser. She threw the blade up and caught the Southron across the throat. The bow fell from his limp hands as his body tumbled down the Oliphant onto the dry grass of the plains.

"Good shot!" Hunter screamed back, as he seized the rope more firmly and started climbing up the flank of the beast.

The next Haradrim to notice him met a swift end as Hunter seized him by the leg and threw him off the Oliphant through sheer strength. Hunter climbed up the last few meters and freed up his hands to unsheathe two long blades from their scabbards at his hips.

"Come on now!" he screamed as he charged at his brethren. The other three Haradrim marked a second of stupor and confusion upon seeing one of their own attacking them. That second was all Hunter needed to slice his blades through their flesh. The driver of the Oliphant let go of the reins to face him.

Before his opponent could make his move, Hunter knelt down and planted one of his blades through the Oliphant's neck. The sudden motion of the beast standing up on its rear legs threw the Southron off balance. He tried to right himself, flinging his arms around madly, but Hunter was already upon him with a feral smile. In a second, Hunter was straddling the other man.

"Betrayer!" the Southron hurled at him across the black scarf covering his face.

"Murderer!" Hunter grunted back and crushed his windpipe with his elbow.

The other Southron fought him off with the force of desperation, but Hunter pushed his elbow down into his throat with the full weight of his body behind it. A loud crack filled the air, and the man fell still beneath him.

Hunter kicked the motionless body over the edge of the Oliphant's moving back. Pippin avoided his falling body, as Allie looked up in awe at Hunter taking down six of his own race without a moment's hesitation.

Sam cheered, looking up at Hunter standing tall on the Oliphant with his black braid flying in the wind. Hunter took over the reins of the beast and jerked it to a stop. He spotted a long whip hanging from a hook next to the reins, and a flicker of recollection crossed his mind, like a long lost memory resurfacing from muddy water. The feeling of riding an Oliphant… the sight of that whip… he thought he would never experience them again.

"Make space!" he screamed at his allies as he whipped the Oliphant's rear-end, making the beast kneel down on the grass.

The horses all backed away, along with the wolves. The beast folded its legs and, like a mountain collapsing, went down into a crouch.

Pippin backed away a few steps to take his momentum, then charged forth. In one powerful bound, he jumped to land on top of the Oliphant. Before Sam and Frodo knew what was happening, their wolf mounts had done the same.

Hunter cracked the whip again, and slowly the Oliphant stood back up on its sturdy legs.

"By the old Gaffer, we actually took over an Oliphant!" Sam exclaimed, glancing down at the battlefield unfolding beneath him from his new height.

Hunter's strong arms lifted the reins and made them dance. The Oliphant walked forth obediently. Its strides were long, but uneven, like a long and never-ending earthquake. The wolves on its back swung back and forth, trying to find the rhythm to keep their balance.

Eomer and the Rohirrim cheered from below. Allie couldn't help smiling, and even Frodo's expression had lifted.

"The real battle begins," Hunter announced with a grin. "Now we have the height you requested, Queen."

"Indeed," Allie replied with a feral smile. "I never doubted you."

Hunter showed them where he had planted his sword to immobilize the Oliphant. It was at the base of the neck, and the wound was still bleeding. "This is their weak spot. Attack them here and you can paralyze them."

Allie nodded and exchanged a meaningful glance with the others. "Let's take down as many Oliphants as we can! Lord Eomer!"

Eomer rode up and glanced up at her.

"Please assist us from below by diverting the attention of the Oliphant drivers! Come on, let's get going, we will start with those closest to Edoras!"

Pippin relayed his orders to the wolves of his unit. "Provide ground support. Get rid of the Orcs barring our route!"

The wolves swiftly spread out in front of their Oliphant, guarding the flanks of the beast while ready to go on the offensive if need be.

Allie glanced over at Frodo. "Ready?"

Frodo smiled back, tightening his hand around Sting's blue blade. "After you."

Hunter cracked his whip sideways, and their Oliphant started picking up speed, slowly at first, then faster and faster until his back rocked side to side like a boat. He clung to the wooden seat for dear life, but a wild grin decorated his lips. The wolves fixed their claws to the thick skin of the Oliphant's back, crouched low and ready to jump.

Their target soon appeared in sight; another Oliphant with many arrows already planted in its left flank. They met the alarmed stares of the Southrons manning it, before the wolf mounts carrying Allie, Sam and Frodo leapt high into the air, like three furry bullets. They flew the distance between the two Oliphants before crash-landing into the group of Southrons.

Allie flipped from Pippin's back to land on top of a Southron archer. She crossed her legs around his throat, twisted her body and snapped his neck.

"Allie!"

She looked up in time to see Frodo jerking Sting out of a second Southron. He picked up the enemy's lance and threw it to her. She caught it and hit another man across the chest. The Haradrim stumbled back and fell off the Oliphant with a cry. Allie flipped around and planted the lance down into the thick skin of its neck.

The beast trumpeted, tripped and started to collapse sideway. The sway made Allie slip. She fell backwards, and only managed to avoid being flung off by holding onto the planted lance. Pippin rushed over, picked her up by the collar of her vest and threw her back on top of him. He launched off the Oliphant and landed a second before the beast crumbled behind him in a cloud of dust.

Allie searched for Frodo and Sam, fearing that they may have been caught beneath the dead beast. To her relief, she spotted them back on top of Hunter's Oliphant. The Southron was already leading his beast toward their next target. She saw Frodo looking from her from atop his wolf, and waved at him with her bloody sword. Frodo caught sight of the glinting blade amid the fallen bodies, and gave her a nod.

Allie nodded back, then looked down at Pippin's satisfied grin. "Let's go. We are only getting started!"


Urithor surveyed the silent currents of the Snowbourn from the prow of the mother ship with his hands clasped behind his back. A gentle breeze lifted his cape once in awhile, but otherwise not a sound could be heard, not even the currents rippling against shore.

After the darkness had descended, it seemed his senses were being drained one by one. Sight first, and now hearing. A vacuum was forming around them, and he did not like it one bit. He had the nasty feeling that if he took his eyes off the water for even a second, something would emerge.

"Captain." The sword-master's voice behind him almost made him jump.

"Any news?" he asked.

Dragut came to stand beside him. The giant pirate's expression was as grim as the night surrounding them.

"Nothing," he said. "Not a sound."

A distant "boom" from further east reached their ears. One of the wolves growled in unease.

Urithor looked back to see his unit at the ready across the shore and upon the ships. Shiny eyes stared back at him, unblinking, full of alertness.

"The Enemy has struck Meduseld," he said in response to the echoes of war from the direction of the Golden Hall.

"Gritt wishes to speak to you. Shall I send him up?" Dragut asked.

Urithor remained silent for a moment, then nodded once.

The sword-master left. His usually heavy steps did not resonate against the deck like usual. The overwhelming silence sent a chill down Urithor's spine. He was never one to be held back by fear, but there was something about this eerie calmness that set his nerves on fire. One of the pirates dropped his oar, which fell in the river with a dull splash. The pirate cursed under his breath and went to fetch another one.

"A trick of the Enemy," Urithor muttered to himself and inhaled the stale air.

It smelled humid, with an aftertaste of smoke, as though a big fire had devoured the land not long ago. However, Urithor knew there had not been fires in this area of Rohan for the past hundred years.

"Father," Gritt's voice pulled him out of the haphazard thoughts he had fallen into.

Without turning, Urithor motioned him closer. A second later, Gritt gripped the railing next to him with his left hand. Urithor looked down at his son's wounded arm, and saw that Errol had attached a long knife to the stump.

He couldn't help grinning. "The true picture of a pirate."

Gritt eyed the knife on his arm with a frown, but did not smile in return. Urithor didn't need to study his face to know the boy was scared out of his mind. Urithor meant to inquire about his wound, but he did not know how. Instead, he said, "Once I go back to my wolf shape, the command will go to Errol. Make sure you follow his orders closely and do not take independent action."

Gritt lowered his head, thinking back to his act of bravado to save Faramir.

"Yes, father," he muttered.

Urithor pulled out his personal sword, the one he had taken from the late King. It had the crest of the Castamiri on its handle: two long swords crossing over a black ship. He studied the glint of the sharp blade for a moment, and then planted it into the wooden deck. It stood there swaying for a moment before immobilizing.

Gritt looked at the handle in awe. He had not yet seen his father's sword from such proximity. "Are you able to lift it with your left hand?" his father asked.

Gritt positioned himself in front of the blade. He wrapped his left fingers around the cool handle and tugged the blade out. The sword was surprisingly light, and the handle sat comfortably in his palm.

Urithor nodded in appreciation. "It suits you well. Keep it."

Gritt's eyes widened in surprise. He wanted to protest, but the solemn expression on Urithor's face made him swallow the words back.

"Keep it," the pirate repeated. "The one who carries this sword also carries the responsibilities of a Castamiri leader." His wolf-like gaze settled on Gritt, but the boy did not look away. "Do you know what is the primary responsibility of a Castamiri leader in times of war?

Gritt shook his head.

Urithor clasped his shoulder. His hand was burning hot as his fingers dug into his flesh. "It is to stay alive." Seeing Gritt's stunned expression, he grinned. "It will be my first and last order to you, as your captain and as your father. You must stay alive."

Urithor studied his son's jade eyes and raven-dark hair. He looked so much like his mother. The resemblance was uncanny. Was this the Valar' way of letting him look upon her dear face one last time?

Gritt pressed his lips together. "You are a Castamiri leader as well father. You must stay alive, too. There is only meaning if we both do."

Urithor was taken aback, but then he laughed a true laugh that softened his features and brought warmth to his usually cold eyes. He closed his hand around his son's left hand.

He lifted the sword between them and studied Gritt's face across the blade. "We will both uphold the responsibilities of our lineage. Fight well, my son."

The shivering in Gritt's hand ceased, and the boy looked up at his father with a determined nod.

A black snowflake twirled down, landing on the boy's upturned cheek.

Urithor smeared it away, leaving an ashy trail upon his son's face.

Gritt's eyes widened as he looked past his father's shoulder. Urithor twirled around with a sinking feeling to his stomach, wondering if the Enemy had used his moment of inattention to launch an attack.

The scene that greeted his eyes was something of a different nature altogether.

It was raining ashes all over the Snowbourn River.

Snow-sized grey particles drifted down the dark clouds overhead, landing quietly in the water, on the wooden masts of the ships, upon the silent shores. They carried the smell of cinder and sulfur, imbibing the pirates' clothes and weapons and the wolves' coats with the smell of charcoal and fire.

Among the falling ashes, the figure of a human skull, taller even than Urithor's main ship, emerged from the mist and glided downriver in their direction. The skull's jaw was open as it slid across the water, as though trying to swallow the river itself. In its empty sockets brimmed two spheres of fire.

The pirates gave a cry of alarm. A horn resonated down the river, alerting all the ships to the approach of the Enemy. The wolves' howling filled the air, bouncing over the river's currents. The ashes flew down all around them, twirling, creating a coat of black and grey over the pirates' anxious faces.

A deep bellowing echo, like the grunting of some monster, came from the mouth of the skull. Urithor recognized the sound to be the Enemy's horn, and the giant skull shape to be the prow-figure of black ship, now charging at them full speed after its element of surprise had faded.

Pulling himself out of his stupor, he climbed up the mast to stand next to the black wolf banner lying inert against the wood due to the lack of wind.

"Enemy on sight!" he bellowed in a voice so strong it rang easily from shore to shore. "Charge forward!" he urged his fleet. "Light the arrows and fire! Do not let the Enemy accost the shores!"

The sound of oars ripping into water and the flapping of banners coming loose answered Urithor's command. Dragut personally lit the first arrow and shot it at the looming skull.

The Enemy's deep muffled battle horn came again, making the wooden planks of their ships vibrate.

Gritt snatched his eyes away from the skull and tightened his grip around his father's sword. Errol appeared next to him and yanked him back by the arm before a black arrow planted itself where he stood a second ago.

"Pull back!" Errol urged. "Take cover!"

"We can't charge," Gritt muttered without moving. "Their prow will splinter us to pieces!"

"Who says we will charge into them?" Errol bellowed as he pushed the boy under deck. "Stay under cover for now! I will go assist your father!"

Errol pushed him down the stairs and climbed back out. When he was out of sight, Gritt drew in a deep breath to stop the trembling in his limbs. "You can do this," he hissed at the sword in his hand. "You can do this."

Urithor guided his fleet to a split formation, moving in two parallel lines toward the Skull ship. From his high vantage point, he could see the Enemy had only one ship, albeit an enormous one. The skull prow-figure did not only serve as decoration. The fiery pupils in its sockets were also fire projectors manned by Orcs.

When Urithor's fleet drew closer, a jet of flames erupted from both sockets to shoot toward the pirate ships.

"Stop the fleet!" Urithor yelled. The ships stopped advancing in time for the jets of flame to miss them by mere inches. The breeze carried some of the flames onto the banner of the closest ship, which came alight frighteningly fast. Pirates hurried to cut it loose from the ropes, letting it fall away from the central mast before the wood could catch fire. The burning banner fell into the water, sizzling as it sank.

Before the fire projectors could be reloaded, Urithor hurried to give the charge signal again.

The pirate ships, although smaller, were lither and easier to maneuver for abrupt changes in speed and direction. From a sudden stop, they spurt forward again like nine deadly water-snakes.

They came so close this time that the giant skull loomed above them, casting its shadow onto their decks. Strong heat emanated from its polished surface, made of some type of black metal.

Urithor hacked his long-sword against the skull's chin, but the blade bounced away with a ringing that shook the bones of his arm from hand to shoulder. The skull remained unspoiled, its surface so smooth it almost seemed to mock Urithor's useless attack.

The fire projectors behind its socket came alive again with a thrumming sound, as the orange glare reappeared behind the eyes.

Urithor spread his arms apart, and his fleet promptly split away to either side of the enemy ship. Four ships sailed toward the right flank while the other five went left.

Upon sailing past the skull, Urithor's gaze met with a ship so full of Orcs that they were almost overflowing the deck. When the Orcs spotted the pirates, they launched an attack of a thousand deadly black arrows upon them, so numerous they hid the sky from view in a cloud of black. The pirates screamed and took cover as best they could. The arrows rained down upon them, splintering their wooden decks and ripping their sails to pieces. Water barrels exploded, creating waves of liquid that poured over the broken decks.

After the attack, Urithor came out from behind the thick central mast. "Wolves!" he shouted.

The trap doors were pushed open and out surged a wave of wolves with snouts peeled back to reveal rows of sharp wet fangs. They jumped from the pirate deck onto the enemy ship and stormed into the ranks of Orcs in a merciless tide.

"Arrows!" Urithor commanded.

"Arrows!" Dragut echoed his captain's command from the other side of the enemy ship. Soon, the Orcs were sandwiched between two fronts of fiery volleys.

Urithor scanned the scene of groveling Orcs across the railing of the Enemy ship, trying to find the captain of the ship. But he could not detect any traces of leadership among their ranks. The Orcs were fighting them with the weapons they had at hand, but no command was being passed down.

Just as his instincts screamed at him to pull back, a cry of fear and agony came from his pirate ships on the other side of the Enemy ship. Urithor craned his neck, but he had no way of seeing what was happening on the other side.

"What?" he snarled. "What is going on?"

Gritt climbed back up from below deck after mustering his courage. He ran to the railing and could only stare at the carnage up on the Enemy ship, as wolves ripped into the bellies of Orcs and spilled their guts out. Intestines and blood hung off the ship, with pieces regularly falling into the water below as the ship tangled under the two-sided assault.

"Ladder!" Urithor commanded. "We are boarding their ship!"

Errol and some other pirates went to fetch wooden planks, which they threw across board to bridge the space between their deck and that of the Enemy. Orcs tried to push the planks away, but got shot down with arrows.

Urithor led the charge as the pirates started crossing over the splashing currents of the angry river. Slashing, shoving and knocking, Urithor finally embarked onto the enemy deck. He threw himself into the throng of Orcs, cutting them and being cut in return.

His wolves jumped into the melee as one, opening up space around him. Urithor's boot slipped on the bloody floor as a piece of Orc gut got caught in his heel. He shook it off with a curse and quickly fought his way to the other side of the enemy deck.

Leaning against the slippery railing, he peered down at his five other ships. The sight that welcomed his eyes made him stagger.

Giant black tentacles had emerged from the depths of the river and wrapped tightly around his ships. The creaking of the wood yielding under pressure and the splash of his men falling into the currents arose in a sick cacophony.

Before Urithor could think of a way to save his companions, a mouth opened up from deep within the currents, creating a vortex of suction. The pirates yelled as they were pulled into the sea monster's mouth like ants down a drain.

Urithor cursed. He should have known the Enemy would bring fell beasts to assist in this War. How far had that creature swam to come here? It looked like it belonged to the dark places of the sea where no light ever shone. Only the Dark Lord could have compelled it to come this far. Did that mean Sauron was close? Was he the true commander of this float?

Taking advantage of the distraction that the sea squid had provided, Orcs had lowered smaller boats onto the river from the side where Urithor had boarded. They presently rowed toward shore, trying to bypass the guard of the pirate fleet.

"Not on my watch!" Urithor slashed his way back to his side of the ships. "Do not let them accost!" He bellowed to Errol and Dragut. "Do not let them set a single foot on that land, do you hear me?

Ships of his fleet charged towards the smaller boats of the Orcs, splintering them in two, sinking them. Orc bodies jumped into the water with angry curses. All was chaos now upon the Snowbourn. Everywhere Urithor set his eyes, he saw bodies sinking and ships on fire.

The skull behind him bellowed again, making him wince.

And then he felt it within himself; the transformation was happening for good. He searched the pirate fleet for a sighting of Gritt, but did not see his son anywhere. A hand slammed down on his shoulder and he whipped around with his long blade raised. He stopped his stroke an inch away from Dragut's flabbergasted face.

"Damn you, Dragut!" he snarled. "Don't creep up on me like that in battle!"

"I'm sorry," Dragut groaned as he lifted his big hand from his captain's shoulder. "But I found the ones manning that giant skull."

Urithor narrowed his eyes. "Lead the way," he growled. "And quickly, I don't have much time left."

Dragut knew what he meant. He turned and ran toward the giant skull, his boots occasionally slipping in the puddles of blood smearing the splintered deck. Urithor followed closely behind. Orcs tried to prevent their advance, but Dragut's axe made short work of them.

They arrived at the front of the ship, where the skull prow-figure stood. On the back of the skull stood the fire engine, which consisted of two black furnaces linked to a cannon pointing out of each socket.

Four Uruk-Hai were manning the two cannons. One shoveled charcoal into the furnace while the other turned a tourniquet to fire it up. A control lever beside the cannon allowed them to change the angle of the fire jet.

The closest Uruk noticed their coming and turned to face them with a grimace. Dragut was a man of considerable size, but the Uruk was easily taller by a head. Still, Dragut charged without hesitation, his axe raised. The Uruk stopped his weapon with one hand as he swung a wide sword with the other. Dragut seized the sword by the hilt, stopping his strike. Locked in a standstill, the two struggled to break the other's resistance as muscles bulged and lips curved up into snarls.

Urithor slithered past Dragut and the Uruk. He pulled a metal chain from his waist and wound it around the next Uruk's neck like a snake. He pulled with all his strength and brought the Uruk close. The Uruk waved his arms to knock him off, but Urithor tripped him over with a precise hit behind the knee. The Uruk fell on his stomach with a grunt.

Before he could turn over, Urithor stepped on his back and pulled on the chain. The Uruk screamed and tried to claw the chain off his neck. The pirate tightened his hold with a wild grin as the Uruk choked and twitched and finally became still.

A sharp pain to his flank made him face the third Uruk-hai who had come quietly to cut him from behind. The fourth and last Uruk was right behind his comrade, a thick whip in hand.

Urithor jerked his chain free of his recent kill and whipped it at his aggressors. The first one avoided it, but the second one got whipped across the face. A few teeth flew out, as well as part of his tongue. Urithor grinned at the gruesome sight. "You look better that way, scum."

The dark pirate faced off against his two adversaries, all the while feeling the pulses of his imminent transformation. He knew this would be the last time he ever fought in this shape. He wanted to kill the Uruks as a Man. His last kills as a pirate, as a Castamiri.

With a wild cry, he swung his chain again, wounding it around the first Uruk's leg and immobilizing him. Without giving pause, he pulled his curved blade from its scabbard and turned to thrust it into the chest of the second one.

He yanked on his chain and the imprisoned Uruk came tumbling forward as Urithor fell on him from above and planted his blade straight down his skull.

Panting, he fell on all fours next to the three dead Uruk-hai, feeling the pulses of his transformation accelerate. He crawled to the cannons the Uruks were previously manning. One of them was ready to fire. He struggled with the controller with a shaky hand, as his heart beat in his throat and the wolf within him gnawed at his insides.

To his left, he could still hear the other pirates' cries as they continued battling the sea squid.

Urithor pushed the controller as far left as he could, watching as the cannon swiveled on its axis toward the left flank of the ship. After awhile, it reached the end and stopped turning no matter how hard Urithor continued pressing on the lever. "It has to be enough," he grunted.

A pulse overcame him, so powerful he thought he was going to throw up his insides. Without warning, Informant the black wolf ripped out of him, tearing his pirates' clothes to smithereens, making half of his boot fly into the water.

The black wolf clung to the cannon's controller, panting with tongue hanging out. He growled as he shook his head to clear his thoughts. Once his vision cleared, he pressed his forepaw against the front of the lever to fire the engine. He fell back on all fours as the engine thrummed and vibrated after being set in motion. A ball of fire erupted from the cannon's head and shot above the waters in an orange glare.

With a thunderous boom, it pulverized half of the sea squid's head and several of its tentacles, turning them to burned flesh. Dragut, who had finally overcome the Uruk on his end, came to lean against the railing. He let out a whistle of awe as he turned his ecstatic scarred face toward the black wolf. "Great shot, Captain!"

Informant merely growled and signaled toward the fallen pirates who were swimming among the pieces of burned squid, trying to hang on to the destroyed debris of the ships. Dragut immediately understood his Captain had signaled for him to bring aid to the fallen ones. He ran off to pass over the command, while Informant trotted out to the bloody deck, breathing in the scent of burning and destruction.

He couldn't lie to himself. He was much more at ease and less anxious in this shape. He had just blasted off that monstrous squid with the Enemy's own weapon, an act that conferred upon him a sense of utmost euphoria.

Still swimming in adrenaline, he spotted Errol climbing onboard. The old pirate looked around, dove to avoid the strike of an Orc, and then locked eyes with the black wolf.

"You've turned?" he exclaimed upon reaching him.

Informant's yellow eyes motioned Errol to follow him. He led him to the cannons behind the skull and growled, putting a paw upon the lever. Errol's gaze went from the engines to the sinking tentacles of the squid and understanding washed over his features.

"You want me to take over the command here, Captain?"

The black wolf grinned and nodded, satisfied that his crew understood him so well.

Errol's face split into a smile, rendering his aged face younger. "I can't say no to that! This will change everything!"

Without wasting time, he directed the second cannon as far right as it would go and wound it up. Seconds later, another blaze of fire pulverized the small boats of the Orcs that were trying to reach shore. Errol let out a bark of laughter at how easy that had been. "I'm starting to enjoy this. A lot."

Informant left him to it and ran back to the ladder connecting this ship to his own mother-ship. A few Orcs were trying to cross over, but his pirates were holding them back with flaming arrows and sharp swords. Informant jumped over them all, a huge black shape flying over Orcs and pirates alike. He landed in the middle of the ladder and ran the rest of the way back to his ship.

The fight over the Snowbourn was turning out better than he could have hoped. By taking over the Enemy's fire jets, they had gained a clear advantage. He let out a victorious howl, which several wolves echoed from all over the river area.

He was about to bring assistance to his men when a chill drifted from shore. He turned around, almost in slow motion.

Amidst the falling ashes, he saw him.

A giant figure in a tall helmet riding on top of a black dead horse.

The hooded figure stood so tall it must easily measure three meters in height. A hood covered his armor made of a black material that seemed darker than anything Informant had ever seen. No visor adorned the helmet, and yet Informant felt eyes upon him, so full of malice that his fur bristled.

The rider's armor did not reflect the light from the flames as its horse approached the edge of the water. Instead, the figure sucked in any light that fell upon it, as though surrounded by a black hole.

The horse stopped at the edge of the water and stared back at the black wolf with no hint of fear in its red eyes.

Informant pulled away from the state of frozen dread he was slipping into and hurried to send the image of the rider to the rest of the pack.

"A Nazgul?" he asked, not daring to look away from the figure.

The rider shifted, revealing a giant mace hanging from its gloved hand. Informant backed away in dismay, for on its index finger sat a Ring glowing like a monster's eye.

"Sauron," Informant hissed.

With all the urgency he could muster, he screamed to his pack, "It's Sauron! Sauron has appeared at the Snowbourn!"


A/N: So... sadly I think it's taking me years in between chapters. I just can't believe time passes so quickly.

I doubt any of my old readers are still reading this, but if you have picked up this story recently, I want to thank you for coming this far. Let me know who you are! :) I would love to hear from you and to know if you have any advice concerning the story.

A special shout-out to a guest reader who didn't leave their name but who said some pretty nice things about my story for the newest chapters. I'm glad you are liking it, and I hope to hear from you again!

All the best to you all and until next time!

xoxo