The Many Faces of Evil
Frodo pulled his blade out of the third defeated Oliphant and wiped sweat off his forehead, leaving smears of blood and dirt in the wake of his arm. He climbed off his wolf mount in a practiced move and stepped around the bodies of fallen Southrons and Orcs, looking for Allie and Sam.
A man lay twitching next to the Oliphant's fallen shape with blood soaking into the scarf covering his face. Frodo froze upon remembering he was human, too. He had lost count of how many lives he'd ended since he embarked upon the Quest. At the sight of his bloodstained hand holding Sting, a wave of nausea washed over him.
He looked away with a grimace when his wolf put an end to the man's twitching. His gaze swept across the battlefield, his initial euphoria becoming guarded weariness when he saw no end to the advancing beasts.
A few yards away, Hunter interposed his Oliphant between those of the Enemy and Meduseld castle. Small troops of Orcs and rhino-beasts coursed between the thick legs of the advancing Mumakils, giving trouble to the already overwhelmed Rohirrim. Eomer gathered his eord to him for a last attempt to block the front line of Orcs.
Some of the Elves previously stationed at the mountainside joined in the battle on the plains They brought assistance to Eomer from the east, trying to delay the crossing of Oliphants by shooting down their drivers.
"Mr. Frodo!" he heard Sam calling out in warning from somewhere among the din of battle.
He threw himself down on pure instinct as a black arrow whooshed above. Panting with grass in his mouth, he turned around and locked eyes with a Southron archer on a fast approaching Oliphant.
Earth trembled under his sprawled body as Hunter sent his Mumakil into a mad dash against the other beast's flank. The two Oliphants collided, the impact of their bodies creating a deep rumbling across the grasslands. With a hooting cry, the enemy Oliphant crumbled on its legs and sent the Men on its back tumbling sideways, falling down with flailing arms.
Frodo felt hands on his shoulders, and a second later he was pulled to his feet by a panting Sam.
"Are you all right?"
Frodo nodded, making sure Sting still sat in his hand. "Thank you, Sam."
Sam nodded as though nothing were more natural. He scanned the never-ending expanse of hostile forces through eyes crinkling from a muddy face. "We are doing all we can, but I fear it won't be enough."
Frodo knew that all too well. Some of the darkness inhabiting him earlier came back to haunt him. He shook his head to clear it of mental cobwebs.
A flash of white and auburn, and then Pippin's strong frame appeared, sliding past the fallen Oliphant to sprint toward them. Allie hunched low on his back, her wild hair flying behind her.
After Pippin skidded to a halt beside Frodo and Sam, she slid to the ground did a quick once-over of the other two hobbits, noting with relief they had sustained no injuries.
She reported her attention to the battlefield, as her fingers tapped nervously against the hilt of her sword. "I have a strange feeling. Something is building… a tension in the air."
Pippin growled in agreement. He had felt it too, but look around he might, he could not detect its source. Many times in the past, he had premonitions that came to nothing, but this time it felt different. The other wolves were restless too, and so were the horses and Mumakils. The fight continued on the plains, but the animals grew increasingly distracted, pulling on their masters' reins; neighing; trumpeting.
Just like that, a sudden front of heat hit them across the face. The ambient temperature became scorching hot, as though the air itself had caught fire.
Hunter's voice carried over, full of warning, "Beware! Something is coming!"
All of Allie's senses exploded as she turned in a complete circle in search of the threat.
"What is it?" she heard Sam scream behind her, his voice drowned out by the mad trumpeting of Oliphants and the wild howling of wolves arising from all over the grasslands.
Allie didn't know, but all her instincts were telling her to get out of there. And fast! She whistled for Frodo's wolf mount, but the latter ran in circles, whimpering, his fur bristled and erected like that of a porcupine.
"Recruit!" she yelled, but the wolf remained unresponsive and wild with fear. She had never seen one of her wolves like this. She grabbed Frodo's limp hand and pulled him toward the wolf. "Sam!" she screamed. "Come! We have to get out of here right this instant!"
She pulled on Frodo's hand again, but the hobbit stood still like a statue. She turned to him and saw his face transfixed with fear as he stared agape at the sky. A glow of orange grew in his blue irises as the heat intensified.
The hair stood on her forearms as she tilted her face, almost in slow motion, to look in the same direction.
A sizzling sound, loud enough to rip apart her eardrums, filled the air. A giant ball of orange flame was crashing down upon them, burning through the air, growing in size until it seemed to fill the entire sky. A scream built at the back of her throat but never left her frozen lips.
Frodo was the first to snap out of it. His body reacted of its own accord, striving for survival. His previously slack hold tightened around Allie's hand and he found Sam's arm with the other. He gave them both a violent tug as he started sprinting forward, screaming words incoherent to his own ears to urge his friends along. At last, the tension in Allie's arm gave way as she also started running instead of being pulled. A second later, Sam did likewise.
The three of them made a mad dash forward, their strides faster and faster as the screeching sizzle of the fireball enveloped the world around them. The approaching furnace made their clothes smoke and sweat roll down their backs in thin streams.
The fireball smashed against the plains, igniting an explosion of heat, sound and light. The three hobbits dove, rolling away as fast as they could, hoping they were getting away from the crash site.
Frodo cursed when he felt Allie and Sam slipping from his grasp. Soon, he was rolling alone as the grass under him caught fire, the flames spreading, devouring everything in their path. He yelped when his cape came ablaze. Digging his nails in the earth, he managed to break his rolling momentum and scrambled up on his hands and knees. He fumbled with the clip and threw the burning cape off his shoulders. The fabric rapidly melted away into a sea of orange and red.
He brought a burnt sleeve to his nose and looked around wildly through narrowed eyes. "Allie! Sam!" he screamed, but the fire ate away his voice in an instant.
This was not good. Not good at all.
Refusing to let panic set in, he forced his legs to stand as he scanned for a way out of this burning hell. The hot ground propelled him to start running in a direction he hoped to be away from the crash site.
Relief swirled through his chest when he caught a glimpse of a break in the wall of flames up ahead. A few more steps and a semblance of cool air blew across his ashen face. From the opening emerged Pippin's wolf figure, his green eyes glinting in urgency, with Sam already on his back.
"There you are, Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried out in relief, his voice small in the crackling fire.
Frodo's relief was short-lived when he saw no sign of Allie.
Sam extended a hand to Frodo, trying to pull him on top of Pippin, but Frodo directed his gaze back to the burning plains. Black smoke rose up in thick columns, blinding him. "Allie!" he called across the blaze.
Only heat and exploding logs answered his call. The flames undulated this way and that, like a field of burning maize alive with some ill intent.
"Mr. Frodo, no! Where are you going?" Sam screamed after Frodo when his Master re-entered the mass of fire and smoke.
Pippin intended to go after him, growling in warning, but the flames closed off in front of them.
Frodo coughed against his naked forearm, the fabric of his sleeve having all but disintegrated. Sweat relentlessly dripped into his eyes, stinging like acid.
"Allie! Where are you?! Allie!" he screamed with his hands around his mouth.
Every time he called out, he inhaled a burst of smoke and heat that made him double over coughing. But that was nothing compared to the rising panic of Allie being trapped in the burning fields, injured, perhaps dying.
Through his watering eyes, he saw movement ahead through a breach in the flames. He tried calling her name, but his vocal chords gave out and only a hoarse grunt sizzled out of his sore throat.
He squinted his eyes and... yes, in spite of the smoke, he managed to recognize the familiar mass of blonde curls. The figure in the fire turned this way and that, looking for a way out.
"Over here!" Frodo managed one last call.
Allie heard his voice, her pale eyes widening when she saw him waving from amid the flames. She started running toward him with her arms over her face. Both of her sleeves were gone.
Frodo's vision swam as sweat continued dripping into his eyes from his wet bangs. He waved again, not trusting himself to step away from his spot lest he lost it. Looking back over his shoulder, he could vaguely detect Pippin's prowling shape on the other side. So the flames had not spread too far that way yet. Good.
Allie disappeared a second from view, obscured by a sparkle of red and yellow, and then she was visible again, running toward him, getting closer.
Just when Frodo thought things couldn't get any worse, that fearsome sizzling sound came again.
Heat intensified. The air trembled.
Another projectile came flying their way, though this time not directly above them but some distance to the west.
Frodo felt more than saw the descent of the fireball across the black skies, its approach like a build-up of heat inside his own body. He saw Allie still running to him, her eyes desperate now. He tried to warn her, but didn't have time.
The second ball of fire crashed somewhere to their left, to the wild screams of men, the desperate hinny of horses and the pained howling of wolves. The explosion from the impact sent Frodo almost tumbling down again.
In the aftermath of the crash, projectiles came flying their way, sharp pieces of rock and wood shrouded by fire. Allie cried out, shielding her face from the flying debris. A wooden fragment embedded itself in her left elbow and sent her tumbling to the side.
"No!" Frodo rushed forward, flapping his arms in front of him as though he could thus fray himself a path amid the flames.
Mindless of the heat, he ran, picking up speed as he jumped over and through patches of burning grass. His feet hurt every time they contacted the hot earth and his skin quickly starting feeling like melted mercury, but none of that slowed him down. A tongue of fire soared high, seeming almost to reach the sky. Frodo braked and changed directions. No doubt there was some sorcery involved, for a normal fire would never spread so savagely or so fast.
He reached the spot where he thought Allie fell. There was no sight of her now, and for a terrible second, panic consumed him. But then, he saw her reappear further to his right, holding her injured arm as she limped in his direction. The image of her shimmered like a mirage, and Frodo resisted the urge to wipe at his eyes to make sure she wasn't a hallucination.
They met halfway in a clearing of flames. She collided into him, panting hard, her hair sticking to her face and neck by sweat and soot. Frodo closed his arms around her in a tight embrace, holding her up.
"Why did you come back?" she whispered hoarsely by his ear as he supported her weight by her good arm. Her other elbow was burned and bloody, though she had succeeded to uproot the wood splinter from her flesh.
Frodo scanned her face through eyes tearing from the smoke. "What kind of question is that?" he grunted in a barely audible voice as he led her back toward the opening he had seen earlier, hoping ardently it was still accessible.
Allie let him lead her, fixing his mass of dark curls as gratitude filled her in spite of their situation.
As they advanced, Frodo's breathing became increasingly laborious. Every few steps, he had to pause and cough into his arm. He was completely soaked under what remained of his shredded shirt. He tried his best to look for the exit, but his eyes kept watering, blurring his sight. Allie watched him with mounting concern.
"I think I recognize this spot," Frodo said in between two coughs.
Allie forgot the pain in her arm and held him up when he stumbled. She could see he had inhaled too much smoke. They needed fresh air soon lest he lost consciousness due to lack of oxygen. She reaffirmed her grip around his arm and squinted at the wall of fierce red flames to which Frodo led them. She jerked him to a halt and looked into his watery blue eyes. "Are you sure?" she inquired urgently. "I see only more fire ahead!"
Frodo nodded. "This is where… I stepped back into the fire after leaving Pippin and Sam. They must be… somewhere behind that wall."
Allie scanned it intently, but could not see through to the other side.
Behind them, the inferno roared and crackled, augmenting in magnitude with each passing second. Soon, one way or the other, they would be trapped. Resolve filled her eyes as she unclipped her shredded cape, which by some miracle had not yet burned to a crisp.
Frodo understood what she meant to do and huddled close. Allie threw her cape over their heads and shoulders. Frodo seized one corner and she the other, stretching the fabric over their bodies as best they could.
Frodo let out a half-wheeze, half-cough, almost doubling over. Allie gave his back a comforting rub under the cape, but didn't waste her breath asking whether he was all right. Her own chest felt stuffy, whether due to the smoke or the sight of Frodo's state she did not know. He was like this because he had come back for her; she had to get him out.
If the wall of fire in front of them were thicker than they thought, if their cape burned away before they reached the other side, they would surely perish.
But she had to hope otherwise.
Allie tightened her hold on Frodo. Frodo looked over at her for a split second through the smoke, a hand to his mouth. They would face this together like they had done everything else.
Allie gave a tiny nod, and Frodo nodded back. "On three," she mouthed to him, and started counting with her fingers.
Together, they walked back a few steps. On the count of three, they rushed forward, picking up speed, and then jumped straight into that raging hell of orange and red.
Pippin and Sam were forced to retreat as the fire gained, burning away at the yellow grass under the wolf's paws. Sam tried to look beyond the smoke, but only a sea of flames met his gaze.
No sign of life from Frodo or Allie.
Sam's hands tightened into fists. "What if they are dead?" he whispered.
Just as the words fell from his cracked lips, two small figures rolled out of the wall of fire to their left. Sam let out a cry and jumped off Pippin faster than he'd ever done before.
He ran to the first figure, tapping frantically to extinguish the sparks that had caught in its clothes. He made out Frodo's dark curls, frazzled by smoke and fire, and doubled his efforts. Frodo was alive, sucking in short breaths and coughing them back out.
In the meantime, Pippin was pawing Allie violently, putting out the flame that had caught in her hair. He licked at her blackened cheeks and at the burns on her left arm. Allie winced and twisted, for now too weak to resist Pippin's forced treatment.
"Mr. Frodo!" Sam called out, worried. "Are you all right? Can you breathe?"
Allie looked up at Sam's words and crawled toward them on all fours.
"Allie!" Sam shouted in relief, but then Frodo's hacking coughs reclaimed his attention. "Do you have any water?" he asked over his shoulder.
Allie felt for her waterskin. It was still there, its surface charred and blackened, but not pierced. She weighed it in her hand and found it light, as though its contents had all but evaporated. However, when she shook it, she was relieved to hear liquid still swirling at the bottom.
She passed it to Sam who uncorked it and helped Frodo to its contents. Frodo took a small sip, grimacing as the warm water ran down his chaffed throat. He took a few more, which finally seemed to calm his breathing. He lay back with a heaving chest.
Pippin scanned their surroundings, but did not see other survivors. The crackling of the fire continued to approach, ominous, relentless, eating away at the patch of grass separating them. Pippin gave Allie an anxious nudge, telling her it was time to get moving.
Allie stood and took support on Pippin's study flank. "What about Hunter? The rest of the pack?" she croaked.
Pippin tried holding her gaze, but then looked away lest his sadness showed. Allie's heart fell to her stomach like a boulder. She seized Pippin's fur and shook him in spite of the pain in her elbow. "Hunter?! What about Hunter?"
Pippin eyed her disconsolately, his green eyes expressing helpless ignorance. After all, Hunter had not yet transformed back into a wolf, so it was impossible to reach him through the Blood. Allie looked back at the fiery fields and bit down on her lip. How many of her wolves had died in that inferno? The pained howling of her pack came back to haunt her, resonating in her ears in a horrifying crescendo.
She suppressed the urge to rush back into the fire at the thought of Hunter being trapped. She had never, in the past twenty years, ever conceived of losing the grey wolf. He had always been such a sturdy, intractable force for the pack. For her. He was the strongest amongst them, his presence as solid as the Misty Mountains in the landscape of Middle-earth. He had to be alive.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked back to meet Frodo's comforting gaze. He still wheezed every time he breathed, but he now seemed sturdier on his legs.
"We need to get going. Fall back to Edoras," he said in a whisper.
He was right. She could no longer save her wolves. Even if she transformed, she would be helpless against the fire. She cursed Sauron and his black spells. This fire was his doing; she knew it in her gut.
Sam, Frodo and she mounted on the auburn wolf. On their way back to the Rohan capital, the sizzling sound came again. Under their horrified gazes, another ball of fire crashed near the Gate of Edoras, almost reaching the walls of the city. The fire, animated by sorcery, spread out from the crash site like a dragon's tongue, burning everything within a mile radius.
Allie tried to detect the engine shooting them out, but wind blew black smoke their way, masking the whole landscape.
As the air thickened from the third explosion, Frodo once more struggled to breathe. He covered his mouth and nose as best he could and tried his best to stifle the coughing, but soon his lungs felt ready to explode. The new fit left him spent, with tears oozing out of his eyes. Sam held him tight from the waist, lest he fell off Pippin's back.
Allie looked back at his pained face, but there was nothing she could do. Her heart pounded frantically against her ribs as she felt for her waterskin and found it empty. "Sorry to ask this of you Pippin, but we need to go faster," she bent down to whisper to the auburn wolf's ear.
Pippin looked up at her, full of understanding, and accelerated the pace as best he could without compromising the smoothness of the ride.
Allie glanced back again at Frodo with a heavy heart. His face was as ashen as the cinders blowing over from the fire, and red circles rimmed his blue irises. His grip on her waist kept slipping as exhaustion set in.
Pippin stepped over an obstacle ahead and the motion sent Frodo swaying sideways. Allie broke his fall with a tug to his arm. She pulled him forward until he rested flush against her, his heaving chest against her shoulder blades, his chin on her shoulder. "Hold on, Frodo," she told him. "We are almost there."
Frodo nodded against her, too spent to speak, all his energy thrown into drawing the next ragged breath.
Allie looked over at Sam, but thankfully the gardener seemed fine. Her own lungs also felt functional. She had inhaled significant smoke and heat, but was not experiencing as many symptoms as Frodo. She wondered why that was. Perhaps he had called for her too many times inside the fire.
Allie closed her eyes when he coughed again against her. Ever since they were children, Frodo had always put her before himself. Gratitude and guilt swirled up in her heart in equal measures, and she tightened her hold on his hands as she breathed back tears. "You foolish rascal," she let out in a pained whisper.
She could only hope the fire had not caught up to the city by the time they arrived. The third projectile had landed too close to the Front Gate, thus forcing them to veer directions toward the back entrance.
A few minutes later, a crack resounded in the distance as another fireball fell to the earth. A whoosh as more fire spread out. Unease gnawed at Allie's stomach. Which war engine was causing this destruction? She could not remember seeing anything of the sort among the enemy ranks when they passed by the overpass. Unless it was shooting from a place further than the overpass? But that was impossible! No engine in all of Middle-earth was capable of such feat, even if animated by magic.
Unless it was magic no one had ever seen before.
Ring magic.
Pippin jerked to a sudden halt, growling. Allie detected a shadow in front of them, and unsheathed her sword in a second. A figure was quickly approaching them from within the smoke. Frodo jerked upright with effort and lifted Sting halfway out of its scabbard, but the blade did not glint blue.
The figure emerged in the clear. The group let out a collective sigh of relief upon recognizing Hunter's muscular shape.
The wave of relief that filled Allie almost knocked her off balance. The Southron huffed and puffed as he slowed his pace in front of them, his scarred eye-socket filled with soot. One leg of his trouser had sizzled away, leaving patches of burned skin exposed to the dry air.
After making sure Sam had good hold of Frodo, Allie jumped off Pippin's back. Without preamble, she walked to the Southron and tightly hugged his waist. Hunter fell down on one knee and gathered her in his arms.
"You scared me," she whispered next to his good ear, not bothering to hide the emotion in her voice. "I am so glad you are unharmed."
Hunter gave her back a firm and comforting pat. "Likewise, Queen. I truly hoped you had made it out alive as well." His single eye narrowed. "But what malediction is this?"
Allie pulled away. She had no answer to the question she kept asking herself. The tables had never been in their favor, but now the balance was so far gone. What about Informant? What about King Theoden and the people up on Dunharrow? Was this hellish fire raining down on them all?
"What happened to the Oliphant?" she asked Hunter.
"Dead," Hunter muttered as his face darkened at the recollection. "Burned to a crisp. Fire fell on it, and it burned like it was made of wood instead of bone and flesh. Something is not right here." He looked at the others beyond Allie's shoulder. "Do not let the fire touch you!"
He frowned upon seeing Frodo's ashen face. "What happened to him?"
Frodo looked up with red eyes after another coughing fit. "I inhaled some smoke. I should be all right once I get some water," he said through a pained whisper.
Hunter tried to search for Allie's face, not reassured by his appearance, but she looked away and headed back toward Pippin instead. The Southron frowned, but could only sprint after them as Pippin resumed his stride.
The back wall of Edoras loomed but a half-mile away now, visible through the thinning smoke. Luckily for the company, the fire had not yet reached this far. The air became steadily purer as they left the worst of the inferno behind and Edoras' back walls appeared in front of them. They walked alongside it, tracing their fingers through the black soot covering the bricks, until they reached the back gate.
This gate was much smaller than the main one. Entirely made of wood, it stood simple and sturdy without ornament nor the intricate bolt and lock mechanism of the Front Gate. The guard let out of a cry of alarm upon spotting their group, but then he recognized them and hurried to halt the few archers about to release their deadly volley. A second later, the gates swung open to give them passage.
To Allie's relief, they left most of the smoke behind as they entered the city walls. Black wisps occasionally blew past the gates, but it was nothing like the cloud of death they had found themselves in on the plains. Councillor did not come to welcome them this time; he must be manning the front Gate, perhaps still trying to douse the flames.
As the back gate swung closed behind them, Hunter pointed right to the nearest watchtower. "I will go take a look at how things are looking over the grasslands." His voice was grim and he clearly did not expect good news.
Allie and Sam slipped off Pippin's back and helped Frodo do the same. Pippin then followed after Hunter up the steps of the watchtower. Allie turned toward the guard who had let them in. "Are any of you carrying water?"
The guard unhooked his own flask and handed it to her with a shrug. "There's not much left in it." Allie thanked him and quickly brought it over to Frodo, who stood leaning against the wall of the watchtower with Sam by his side.
Frodo sipped at the water slowly, taking a few gulps at a time. He grimaced every time he swallowed, but otherwise did not make a sound. When he was done, he handed the flask back to Allie with a shaky hand.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Frodo?" Sam inquired. The calmness in his voice belied the fear in his eyes.
Frodo nodded in a way he wanted comforting, but in spite of the water and the cleaner air, his lungs did not feel any less heavy. Something seemed permanently lodged in his airway, and he couldn't get rid it no matter how hard he coughed or wheezed. The lack of air was starting to make him lightheaded and nauseous, gradually sapping the strength out of his muscles.
In fact, just standing on his legs was quickly becoming an insurmountable effort. He coughed again thickly into his hand, half expecting to see ashy particles come out of his mouth. But nothing of the sort happened, to his brief relief. Frodo hated to be the one slowing them down again, but he could not help sitting down on the first step of the stairs lest his legs gave out under him. Allie sat next to him and rubbed soothing circles on his back to ease his breathing, though she could see it was to no avail.
"Stay here," she told him after a few seconds, no longer trying to hide the panic in her voice. "I'm going to find Councillor. Perhaps he can take a look at you." She looked up into Sam's pale face. "Sam, would you watch over him?"
Sam hurried to nod, and took her place next to his Master as she stood to go.
"Bloody business!" Hunter booming exclamation reached them from above before Allie could leave.
She peered up the stairs and shouted, "What is it?"
"The whole grassland is a burning hell! I don't see anything except for fire and smoke! I can't see any Orcs or Riders! No sight of any standing Oliphants either. What are they thinking? Do they want to burn Edoras down to the last stone, enemies and allies alike?"
Cold fear squeezed Allie's heart. Of course that was what the Enemy would do! Burn humanity out of existence while using the whole Orc army as decoy. Sauron claimed he wanted to bring about the hour of the Orc, but he probably considered their worth to be less than that of mere maggots. Expendable, just like the rest of the folk of Middle-earth.
No matter on which side of the battle they had been - Elves, Men, Orcs, Southrons – now they all lay burning on the fields without distinction, their bodies turning to embers and dust, while Sauron sat back and laughed at their meaningless struggle.
"What is the source of the fire? Where is the engine? It must be tall like a tower to reach this far!" she yelled up.
"I don't see anything of the sort," Hunter responded after awhile. "No more fireballs now. Only a sea of fire on the ground and thick smoke covering the skies." A pause. "Also... the flames are creeping this way as I speak."
Allie's heart started racing. She eyed Frodo's shape collapsed against the wall and knew he couldn't handle any more moving, not until they found a cure for his predicament. Nothing was going right anymore, and she had no idea how to make it better.
"If this is magic, then we need to counter it with magic. We need a Wizard," she muttered through dry lips. "Why on earth did Mithrandir and Atariel both go to Dunharrow?"
Not for the first time, she had a nagging suspicion Atariel had set them up. After all, they had planned their defense according to her information on the Enemy's movements. But Gandalf seemed to know her and to trust her, so she had let her guard down. What if that had been a mistake?
She suddenly felt a presence behind them, and flipped around sharply. Her hand dropped away from her sword when she made out Councillor running down the paved street on light feet, his face smeared with black.
She met him halfway with wide eyes. "Councillor! What are you doing here?"
The Elf's usually passive features were twisted in distress; soot and blood tinged his usually silky brown hair. "The Front Gate is lost," he said breathlessly. "I figured if any of you were still alive, you would come back through here. Edoras is lost. This fire cannot be contained by water or any other device in our possession."
He exchanged a meaningful look with his Queen as he grabbed her hand. "Allie. Perhaps it is time for us to retreat."
Allie's eyes widened at what he was saying. She thought of chastising him for speaking such cowardly thoughts out loud, but when she really thought about it, she saw with a sinking heart that he spoke the truth. She couldn't see any escape from their situation other than retreat. A bitter look crossed her eyes. "If we were going to run away, we should have done so sooner. It's too late now." She threw a glance back at Frodo, sitting with his head in his hands. "Frodo is ill," she told Councillor. "Can you please come take a look at him? He needs your aid."
The Elf's eyes fell on Frodo's body slumped against the wall of the watchtower. He walked past Allie to kneel in front of the hobbit. He lifted Frodo's soot-stained face with light fingers to peer into his bloodshot eyes. "He does not look good. Was he caught in the fire?"
"Yes," Allie answered with a tremor in her voice. "For quite a while. Is there anything that can be done? He has trouble breathing, even after all this time."
Frodo tried to sustain the Elf's penetrating gaze, but just to keep his eyelids open was an insurmountable effort.
Councillor's face fell as he pulled away.
"What is it?" Allie asked, alarmed at his behavior.
"Something is at work within him. I can sense it," the Elf said with a troubled gaze.
Allie's mouth went dry, and a horrifying and nagging thought pierced through her. Could it be Sauron's doing again?
"It-it can't be," she said, trying to squash down her rising panic.
She propped down in front of Frodo and was appalled at how exhausted he looked. "Frodo?" she asked in a small voice, afraid he would start convulsing again like he did on top of the mountains earlier.
Frodo rested an appeasing hand on her burned, grey-looking hair, so far from their usual shine. He managed a smile off the corner of his mouth. "Don't make that face, Allie. I do feel awful, but I don't think it's the same as before. It's not… the same feeling." He had to stop to cough breathlessly into his arm.
Allie gave a sharp shake of her head. "But I was in that fire; how come I don't have the same symptoms as you?" She turned brusquely toward the Elf. "What exactly do you sense, Councillor?" she asked almost defiantly, challenging him to tell her what she dreaded to hear.
Because she had seen it, too.
Councillor did not look at her, keeping his sharp gaze on the hobbit. "A spell, without a doubt. I recognize the darkness lurking just behind the eyes. You had it too when you were under Saruman's Spell, Queen."
Frodo's hand started shaking in hers. Allie didn't remember taking it, but she squeezed back in an attempt to reassure him. Frodo's wide eyes were afraid, as though he too now just waited for the inevitable.
"What can we do about it?" Allie asked. "Obviously the worst is not yet here. We are a few steps ahead this time, but barely. How do we stop this?"
For once, Councillor held no answers. For all his wisdom, he had no ready solution to Frodo's predicament.
Frodo tried taking a deeper breath, but was cut short by another coughing fit. When he regained his breath somewhat, he searched for Allie's eyes and found them. "There is something you can do to stop this."
Allie just looked at him, waiting, suddenly afraid.
"Allie, you have to knock me unconscious." A harsh and determined glint entered his eyes. "He cannot control my mind if there is no mind to control."
Sam's eyes widened next to him, and he seized his Master's arm. "Mr. Frodo! Do we really have to go that far?"
Allie slowly released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She looked into her beloved's eyes, and understood he couldn't go through the pain of possession again. Frodo nodded imperceptibly, his eyes clear of doubt in spite of the pain.
"Do you want me to do it, Queen?" Hunter's voice arose behind her.
He had spoken quietly, yet she still startled as though he had shouted those awful words next to her ear.
"No," Allie growled. "If it has to come to that, I will be the one to do it."
She clenched her hands into fists and took a second to calm herself. Something was quickly becoming very clear, as clear as the bottom of the Bywater Pool by a summer afternoon. She had to sniff out Sauron's whereabouts and put an end to him. As desperate as it sounded, it was the only way to save Frodo.
What about the Blood? What about the wolves? What about yourself? the voices asked.
Those things mattered, but not as much as killing Sauron. Frodo had always put her first. Now it was her turn, no matter the cost.
Frodo saw the look on Allie's face, and stood with the help of the wall. "Come with me, I need to speak with you," he said in a voice only meant for her as he stumbled away from the others.
Allie exchanged a look with Councillor and Hunter, and hurried to hold Frodo's arm as he walked to the threshold of an abandoned house. The door had been left ajar, revealing clothes, utilities and food strung about the rooms in disorderly fashion, belying the rush with which its occupants had fled the place.
A chair lay on its side, close to the door. Allie set it straight and watched as Frodo fell on it, wheezing as though he'd walked thirty miles instead of thirty steps.
When he'd recovered somewhat, he leaned back against the wooden backseat to look at the orange glow flashing through the skies beyond the walls of Edoras. He could still feel the heat of that fire on his skin, inside his lungs. He could still hear the cries of agony of Men and Orcs and beasts as they burned to dust out there on those forsaken plains.
He turned to Allie, looking helpless and scared as she stood in front of him with her frazzled curls blowing about her face. Had he just asked her to knock him unconscious? He knew the implications of that act, of what it would mean in this War. All the careful plans they had formed in that chamber with Theoden, Aragorn and their other allies had turned to dust. It tore him apart to bow out of his role for the time being, but what other choice did he have? It was either that or being tormented in front of his friends. In front of Allie. He didn't want her to see him like that ever again.
He reached inside his pocket, fondling for the flask Gandalf had given him. "There is something I have not told you," he started, his voice a mere whisper.
Allie followed his movements and understanding dawned on her. "There is something I have not told you either," she said before he could complete his action.
Frodo froze. He said nothing for a long moment.
"You knew?" he asked at last.
Allie rested a hand over her vest, behind which lay the real bottle of Blood. "Not only did I know. I also... took it."
She averted her gaze from the shock on his face.
When Frodo found his voice again, he whispered, "What is in mine then?"
"Just ordinary blood."
He shook his head. "Why did you withhold it from me? You are not supposed to take it, Allie. Gandalf warned me against it."
Allie pulled on her vest without making eye contact. "I know we said no more secrets, but there are some things I need to do on my own. Talking about it will not help anyone, and that is why I hid the fact that I switched the Blood. The Blood is my burden, just as the Ring was, and still is, yours. We have both been marked by Sauron. We both need to defeat him in our own ways. I hope you understand."
Frodo did not voice agreement; did not voice anything. He just closed his tired eyes and rubbed at his forehead. "What are you going to do with it?" he asked, though he feared he knew the answer.
Allie didn't answer, just gripped the back of his chair, hard.
Frodo looked up with eyes rimmed with red. "You are going to use it, aren't you? Do you remember what happened last time? Do you really want to risk the Blood taking over again?"
Allie gritted her teeth, but saw no point in lying to him. "Yes, Frodo, I intend to use it. But I'm not going to let the Blood take over this time."
Frodo was shaking his head. "You can't know for sure." His eyes turned pleading as he reached out a hand. "Please, give it back to me, Allie."
Allie gently seized his outstretched hand in both of hers, her expression pained and torn. "Don't do this, Frodo. You pulled me apart from the others because you wanted to give it to me in the first place, didn't you?"
The resolution in his tired eyes did not waver. "That was before I knew you planned to use it all along. I was going to explain to you what Gandalf told me… that we need to use it on Sauron. Allie… you must not take the Blood back inside of you…
His last words faded into another coughing fit, one that left him with a deep throbbing in his right eye socket. Frodo pressed the heel of his hand against his eye, grimacing as he panted for breath.
Allie knelt in front of him. "Don't do this. Please… I don't know what Gandalf told you but… the truth is that we cannot use it on Sauron unless I consume it. I know this as fact. Just… just trust that I will be able to control it." She swallowed when he stayed with his head in his hand. "I remember what happened last time all too well. I know the risks! But it is the only way."
Frodo finally tilted his face to meet her gaze. He wanted to believe her, but he knew her too well. In the depths of her grey eyes, he could easily detect the underlying anger she was trying so hard to hide from him. Frodo knew if he let her do this, she would act out of rage and revenge, which was exactly what the Blood fed on.
He understood what drove her. Seeing him like this, having to hurt him to help him, must fill her with indescribable fury. He knew he'd feel the same were their places to be exchanged. That knowledge was exactly why he absolutely had to stop her from doing anything reckless for his sake, while he still could.
"I trust you, Allie," he wheezed. "Still, let me hold on to it until I come to again. That is the only thing I ask of you." His blue eyes pleaded with her almost desperately.
He broke eye contact to put pressure against his right eye again, feeling as though his eyeball would explode. "Please," he whispered without looking at her.
Allie bit her lip, the decision tearing her up from the inside. But in that instant, she no longer had the heart to deny him, not when he made such strong pleas in spite of his own pain.
Letting out a shaky breath, she fished out the bottle of Blood from her vest and handed it to him without a word.
Frodo took hold of it carefully with both hands, and managed a smile in spite of his mounting headache. "Thank you, Allie. You are doing the right thing."
His right eye was now completely red. The sight of it made her stand and turn her back to him. She didn't know anymore whether she should cry or scream in fury. She let out a wild cry and rammed her fist into the brick wall next to them. Her hand fell back against her leg with blood dripping off her knuckles.
Frodo meant to grab her bleeding her hand, to tell her it would be all right, that they'd figure a way out of this. But before he could speak those words, a searing pain tore through his chest as though something itched to climb out of his airway. He pulled away to cough into the back of his hand. The image of the Ring suddenly exploded in his mind, filling him like an explosion of light. He jerked back, knocking the chair over as he convulsed in spite of himself.
The bottle of Blood fell from his limp hand and dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. The bottle cracked but did not break, rolling away from the overturned chair.
"No!" Allie twirled around and hurried to lock her arms around Frodo before his body could hit the ground. Despair coursed through her veins like poison. She knew it was coming, she had been expecting it, yet it still felt like the end of her world all over again.
She hugged him hard against her, digging her fingers into his shirt. "No… no… no…" she cried.
Footsteps thundered across the street toward them. From above Frodo's shoulder, she saw Councillor and Hunter approaching. They skidded to a halt when the evil influence of the Ring exploded out of Frodo's spastic form and slapped them across the face like the blast of a spell. Allie tensed with a desperate whine as the wolf awoke once more inside of her.
"Don't come any closer!" she bellowed to Councillor and Hunter.
"Allie…" Frodo called, as his body gave an involuntary seizure.
Drawing from a well of courage she didn't truly have, she peeled away from him and looked into his bloodshot and pain-stricken eyes. She recomposed her features; the hardest feat she ever had to do. "Don't fear," she whispered calmly. "Breathe. I've got you."
A pulse stronger than the previous ones made Allie grimace and Frodo convulse. She did her best to hold his shaking body in spite of her own inner struggle. Further away, Councillor let out a snarl and fell on his hands. Hunter stumbled as well, barely managing to catch his balance against a nearby wall, as the Blood reawakened inside of him.
"Mr. Frodo!" Sam rushed forward upon seeing Frodo twist violently in Allie's arms a second time.
"Stay back!" Allie screamed at him through her bleeding gums.
Frodo moaned, trying but failing to contain the thrashing of his legs. He slid down, and she gathered him into a secure lock as she knelt down with him. As she listened to Frodo's laborious breathing next to her ear, a physical numbness seized her. She unsheathed her sword but barely felt the hilt in her palm.
"Allie…" Frodo wheezed next to her, "do it… do it now… please."
Allie cringed as she buried her tears in his neck. She lifted the hilt of her sword and hugged him tighter by the shoulders. Her arm rose, but then froze in mid-air, unable to strike.
Frodo groaned again, crying out against her.
Her whole body revolted at what she was about to do, but she had to do it. If she loved him, she would put an end to his pain. She took in a sharp breath and concentrated. She couldn't miss, couldn't miscalculate nor hold back. She buried her hand in his dark curls, pulled his head to the side and knocked the base of the hilt into his temple, just above the ear.
She barely felt the impact of the stroke, but Frodo's hands fell away from her waist. His previously tense body now leaned heavily against her, offering no more resistance. She dropped her sword, not registering the clicking of the blade against stone.
For a moment everything stopped; her breathing, her heartbeat, her thoughts. She wondered whether that was what dying felt like. She held Frodo's limp body as a high-pitched scream pierced her ears, growing in volume until her whole body thrummed to it. She soon realized the scream had come out of her own throat, and forced herself to stop.
Someone touched her shoulder, but she shrugged it off as she doubled over Frodo's head. Tears streamed down her quivering cheeks, falling into his black curls. She tried, but failed to contain her sobs.
"Allie…" Sam's soft voice managed to reach her.
She looked up and managed to make out his blurry shape from behind her tears. Sam stepped away, revealing three wolf figures standing behind him.
She distinguished the color of their coats more than recognized their faces; one auburn, one brown, one grey. So Councillor and Hunter had both turned back into their wolf selves. Her gaze dropped back down to Frodo's mass of dark curls and she cursed at Sauron with everything she had, revolted by what he had made her do.
Sam called out her name again, his voice uncertain.
This time, Allie responded by standing up. With Sam's help, she scooted Frodo up in her arms and deposited him on Pippin's back.
"Keep him safe, Pippin," she whispered.
The auburn wolf licked at her face and dried her tears, his eyes full of aching sympathy.
She spotted the bottle of Blood lying close to the upturned chair. Frodo had pleaded so much with her to let him have it, yet in the end he hadn't even had time to store it away. She sank on her knees next to the bottle and picked it up, running her thumb along the crack on its surface. The Blood inside swirled, layers of red intertwining into taunting shapes.
She forced her fingers to loosen lest the strength of her grip finished the job of shattering it. "I'm sorry, Frodo," she murmured as she placed the bottle back inside the pocket of her own vest. "Let's go," she told the grey wolf. "Let's go find that coward."
Hunter gave her a harsh nudge with his nose, forcing her to look up at him. He growled and swung his heavy head toward the Snowbourn.
She shook her head numbly. "No. Until we find Sauron, Informant is on his own."
Hunter shook his head again. He signaled to Frodo lying unconscious on top of Pippin, then once again toward the Snowbourn.
Allie's pupils shrank inside her watery grey eyes until they became two piercing black dots. Suddenly, she could see every single fur on Hunter's head with shocking clarity. She zoomed in on that savage and dark look in his eye and understood in her gut that Sauron had been spotted.
The Snowbourn.
He was at the Snowbourn.
She climbed on his back and spit bloody saliva onto the tiles of Edoras, her eyes harsh and unblinking. The burning continued outside on the plains, but Allie's thoughts were singularly focused elsewhere.
"Allie, where are you going?" Sam's voice resounded behind her, full of panic.
Allie's head turned halfway, but she did not meet Sam's anxious gaze. "I have some business to take care of. Please keep Frodo safe."
Sam rushed forward, intending to stop her, but Allie propelled Hunter into a run.
"Bring me to him Hunter," she snarled. "Let us finish this."
"Allie! Are you going to leave Mr. Frodo here? Allie!" Sam's voice called out after her.
Allie's harsh expression did not waver as she rode away.
When Allie and Hunter arrived at the Snowbourn, pure chaos met their sight. An enormous battleship with the prow-figure of a giant skull spat fire into the water, from where black tentacles rose and swung like putrefied arms. The tentacles engulfed those unfortunate enough to fall within their reach, whether they were Uruk-hai or Corsair.
Allie's gaze was drawn to a confrontation on the riverbank, right ahead of their path.
Dragut, who was known to her as Informant's Master of Arms, marched forward with axe in hand. Informant, back to his wolf self, stood snarling next to him. They both faced a single Rider dressed in black armor. The Rider towered over them like a metal giant, measuring seven or eight feet at the least. A tall helmet adorned his head with a striped visor hiding his face. A black hood hung over the helmet, billowing over Rider and horse to an invisible breeze. From the helmet emanated the unmistakable evil presence of Mordor. Allie had felt the same dark vibe when she had been a prisoner within Barad-Dur.
The Blood boiled inside her as Hunter approached the hooded Rider. The grey wolf skidded to a halt next to Informant, hackles bristling, standing as tall as the dead horse facing them.
Allie sank her gaze into that of her enemy. Unbearable hate washed through her at the thought of being so close to the source of all their suffering. She thought back to Frodo lying unconscious against her, and her hand tightened around the hilt of her unsheathed sword.
The Rider stared back in silence, an intermittent red glow glimmering behind the visor.
"Show yourself!" Allie prompted in a voice that shot like steel across the ashes twirling in the space between them.
In spite of the Rider's appearance and evil presence, a doubt remained in Allie's mind. Could he be a simple Nazgul?
The Rider shifted, his gaze traveling from Dragut to Informant, to finally rest on the she-hobbit on top of the grey wolf. He shifted and revealed his weapon; a thick black mace measuring eight feet in length with two heavy heads swinging from the top end and the bottom one sharpened into a triangular spike. Allie couldn't help but gulp at the sight of the One Ring glimmering around his finger, its ghastly inscriptions visible on the outer rim.
So it was indeed Sauron.
Sauron in the flesh.
In front of her.
The world dimmed around her; sounds disappeared. She was in a dark place now, attuned only to the Rider's every move, every breath.
Hunter rolled an eye up to stare at her, but she did not return it. Instead, she stood upon him, her footing sure on his wide shoulders. She unsheathed her sword and pointed it at the black Rider.
No words of menace were necessary; her gesture was challenge enough.
An invisible wind blew across Sauron's hood as a guttural laugh filled the space all around them, hollow and macabre. The ashes stood still in their fall, as though glued to the frozen air.
"I have been waiting," a deep voice resonated from within the visor.
The Rider slid off his black mount. His boots sank heavily into the white sand, and he seemed even taller now as he stood on his own two legs.
Informant growled and made to step forward, but Allie jumped off Hunter's back to land in front of him, barring his route. She could feel Informant's gaze burning the back of her head, but she did not turn back. She could not afford to lose sight of the enemy, not even for a second. She remembered what Gandalf had said at the meeting; this was Sauron at his full power, with the Ring of Power at his command. She should have been scared, but the numbness that had taken hold of her since she had struck Frodo unconscious still filled every fiber of her being. She stood her ground, unfazed by Sauron's demonstration of power.
That dark laughter came again, making every bone of her body shake. "Do you truly think you can face me alone? Then again, you are known for your vanity, Glor Bereth. Even when you were a guest in my chambers, you put up quite the spectacle." Sauron stepped forward. "You are as easy to read now as you were back then." The red glow behind his visor scanned the area behind her. "I see you have hidden the Ring-bearer. Quite wise of you, you must think."
She clenched her sword so hard the edges cut into her palms, making her knuckles bleed again. She would not allow Frodo's name to be dropped from those filthy lips! She charged forward without warning, grey eyes unblinking, raising a cloud of sand in her wake. She dashed straight toward Sauron, ignoring the wild howling of Hunter and Informant, warning her to slow down.
Her blade met with his thick mace, the ringing shaking her bones to the marrow. Up close, the toxic aura emanating from him felt like poisonous ants on her skin. She screamed and pushed on, breaking the standstill. She then fell stroke upon stroke upon him, aiming for his calf, his chest, his flank. Sauron twisted and evaded, blocking her attacks as his cape rose and fell around them like the flapping of black wings.
Allie fell back, panting.
The guttural laughter came again. He barely sounded out of breath as he resumed their earlier conversation, "Do you truly think he is out of my reach simply because he is unconscious?"
Allie froze. "What?"
"You must know by now I can inflict more than pain."
She remembered how Frodo had tried to claw out his own eyes the first time Sauron had used the Ring on him.
The Ring started glinting again. "I can make him stand. I can make him reach for that puny sword of his. I can make it drive it through his own…"
"NO!" Allie screamed as she charged again into him, pulling a second sword from her belt. She crossed them over like a pair of scissors and aimed for his throat under the helmet.
Sauron's mace blocked her attack easily. Allie let go of both swords and slipped under his weapon. She drew out a smaller knife from one of her leg pockets and sliced him up from crotch to chin, cutting through darkness. She rolled back, blowing hair out of her eyes. The blade of her knife shattered in her hands. She let go of the empty hilt with a scream as a black burned mark appeared in the center of her palm.
He feels just like a Nazgul.
Sauron's hood split in two and fell at his feet like two discarded wings, revealing black armor beneath. Sauron himself was unharmed, his helmet still in place.
From either side of Allie, wolf figures leapt past her as Informant and Hunter both came to her aid. The giant mace twirled, the two heavy heads flying out, deadly and swift. But the two wolves were seasoned warriors, swift on their strong legs. They evaded the heads, but were unable to get any closer. Dragut also charged forward with his axe, but one of the heavy heads flew toward him and shattered the handle. The pirate fell back with a curse.
Allie rose back to her feet and calmly assessed the battle. Her fingers grazed the bottle of Blood behind her vest.
It was now or never.
No more holding back.
She took out the bottle and struggled with the cap, the black mark on her palm making her grip slippery. She closed her eyes and pictured Frodo lying on the pavement, the darkness of his hair contrasting with the paleness of his face. She opened her eyes, now filled with a dark resolution.
She twisted the cap off.
The Blood within sat in a still puddle at the bottom; red, thick, motionless.
Allie rested the bottle against her lips. In spite of her numbness, a sparkle of unease grew in the pit of her stomach.
She paused at the last second, and eyed the Blood again. Why was it so still? It should be twirling and moving, like all the times the Ring had been at work. Something felt wrong. What was it? She looked again at Sauron toying with the wolves. She had heard he was so powerful he could send his enemies flying with a gesture of his hand.
So why was he using a weapon? Why was he even here? Did he truly know she would come for him on this beach without Frodo? Had he truly foreseen the battle to this point?
The ashes continued falling over her, specks of grey in her burned curls. No, she had to make sure of his identity before she risked consuming the Blood.
She put the cork back on the bottle and rushed back toward the confrontation.
Hunter's body fell in front of her, pushed back by the sheer strength of the black mace. The Ring continued glowing at Sauron's finger, brighter than ever. Before the grey wolf could get back on his legs, Allie fell beside him and pulled his ear close. She whispered her to him, and Hunter nodded.
Sauron laughed again. "Enough of this play," his deep voice resounded across the riverbank. "Time to end it."
Dragut's body flew back as though pushed by an invisible hand, and Informant soon followed suit. Hunter stood again and pushed through the force field, skipping across Informant's falling body, snarling with an ominous glow to his eye.
Sauron's mace swung to meet him across the snout, but instead of attacking, Hunter feinted to the side. The heavy head missed him by a hair. As the grey wolf fell, Allie revealed herself. She took leverage on the grey wolf's shoulder, leapt, landed over Sauron's mace and stepped over it. Her flank collided against Sauron's helmet as she wrapped herself around his head like a spider.
She hooked two fingers through the slit of the visor, feeling the evil miasma inside burning at her fingers. She jerked hard and pulled the helmet off his head.
She fell on her back with the helmet on top of her. The weight of it made air whoosh out of her lungs. Stunned by how heavy it was, she pushed it off to the side, watching it sink low into the sand by the lapping waters of the Snowbourn.
"What in Manwe's beard is that?!" Dragut's shout, full of disbelief, made her flip around. Her eyes widened at the face under the helmet.
Or rather, the lack of a face. A huge smile made of long and sharp teeth welcomed her instead. It took her three more seconds to recognize her adversary, and when she did, fury and disbelief tugged at her mind in equal measure.
"You!" she snarled.
"Me," the Mouth of Sauron confirmed agreeably, his voice suddenly different now that the helmet was off. Less deep; more suave and malicious. Without the helmet, his size also seemed to dwindle, until he became smaller and thinner. Some type of Spell within the helmet must have provided him with that ominous appearance and enhanced power.
"You fooled us!" Allie spat as she marched toward him, before pausing when she realized she had no more weapons on her.
"You kindly allowed yourselves to be fooled," the Mouth answered, his smile as large as ever. He saw her eyeing the Ring, and carelessly let it slip off his finger to fall into the sand.
With the illusion gone, it looked nothing like the real Ring of Power that Allie had seen up close countless times. How could she have been so blind?!
"Sauron or not Sauron, you are a filthy creature of darkness," Dragut spat, closing the distance between them in two giant strides. His axe drew an arc toward the Mouth. The latter dove back, stumbling.
Allie frowned. His movement seemed slower as well, with none of its previous menace.
Dragut continued charging, relentless. The Mouth backed away, his smile fixed in place as though etched on his face as a permanent mask.
Allie realized he inched ever closer to the fallen helmet by the riverside as he evaded Dragut's attacks. Dragut growled and swung his axe for another blow. The Mouth was not quick enough this time, and metal cut through flesh. A fresh wound opened on his forearm and dark blood tainted the white sand at their feet. Dragut smirked fiercely, already tasting victory.
The Mouth dove down toward the helmet two feet behind him, but Allie had been expecting this move. "Not so fast," she growled as she intercepted his head with a well placed kick from her left foot. The Mouth's neck cracked from the kick, and he landed on his side in the sand. He spat a long tooth out of his giant mouth, swearing at Allie.
Allie dove for the sword she had dropped on the sand earlier, and came to face him again. As the Mouth struggled to stand back up, Dragut emerged behind him to give the finishing blow.
"Wait," Allie said, her grey eyes as piercing as a lance.
Dragut's axe froze in mid-air in spite of himself.
"Leave him to me," Allie added in a half-snarl.
Something in her pale eyes made the pirate's protest never leave his throat. Informant and Hunter also froze at the aura of danger emanating from their Queen. Rare were the times when Allie had given off such a strong smell of bloodlust; but every time it happened, carnage had ensued.
Allie didn't see any of their reactions, her complete focus remained upon the sprawled shape of the Mouth of Sauron. She could still remember Frodo's screams as she was cleaning the infested wounds on his calves after an Orc had flayed his skin. She could still remember the sound of his finger breaking, and how wretched it had made her feel. And of course, she could still remember the Mouth of Sauron grinning at her with Serecor on his finger, commanding her to poke her own eye out.
"We meet again, Glor Bereth," the Mouth greeted meekly, standing up to face her with no fear showing in his smile.
Perhaps not yet, but soon enough, Allie promised herself.
"I am glad too. You have no idea," Allie answered, and smiled back, though it was an icy and feral grimace more than a smile.
"You have not changed," the Mouth said in a voice full of mockery. "You should have learned from your ordeal when you were our guest, but it seems you keep repeating the same mistakes. You have not gotten rid of your weakness." The Mouth laughed without his lips moving, a hollow sound that seemed to resonate from within him. "Did thee truly think our Lord would waste his time by personally coming here? He asked me to ensnare a good prey with this trick, and it seems I have caught the best one." His smile widened. "You have no idea how pleased he must be."
Allie's hand tightened around her sword.
The Mouth shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, how can one remain this foolish to the end? Perhaps you deserve what is awaiting you. If you think the Ring-bearer is now safe from Him..."
Allie pounced without warning, her blade pointed forward. She'd had enough of his words. The Mouth lifted his mace, but the impact of Allie's attack pushed him back one step. The corners of his smile dipped slightly. Allie considered him intently across their crossed weapons.
She broke apart and attacked again without hesitation. The Mouth tried maneuvering his heavy weapon, but his speed had dropped by half without the spell of the helmet. Allie's blade found their target twice, then three times. Soon, the Mouth panted from cuts on his abdomen and legs. Step by step, Allie pushed him away from the helmet and inside the waters of the Snowbourn.
Another strike and the mace flew out of his hands to land in the river with a splash. Allie pointed her blade toward his heaving throat.
The Mouth's smile widened. "Kill me, and the Dark Lord will slay the Ring-bearer."
Allie's blade froze. A knife suddenly materialized in the Mouth's hand, and he thrusted the blade toward her belly with a scream. Allie's eyes glinted silver as she stepped aside and swung her sword. A whoosh filled the air and then the Mouth stared agape at his hand holding the knife falling away from his arm.
The Mouth screamed and sat back into the shallow water. His cut hand flew out to land palm up in the sand beside him. Blood gurgled out of the stump in large jets. Allie climbed upon his chest and planted her feral gaze in his, before she seized him by his good arm and brusquely flipped him around onto his stomach.
The Mouth kicked his legs wildly to keep his head out of the water, cursing at her. His stump flapped next to his body, useless, until Allie stilled it by stepped on it. The Mouth screamed in agony, his smile now a large red grimace filling half his face as he struggled to keep his head afloat.
He twisted violently under her, splashing her wet with the chilly water of the Snowbourn. Allie only sat on him more firmly and intensified the twist on his arm. The Mouth's head went under, and his screams became muffled bubbles rising up to the surface.
Allie let off the pressure, and his ugly head re-emerged again. "Did you not hear what I said?" the Mouth sputtered. "Do you think He does not see what is happening?! He may no longer be an Eye… but he still sees through all things… if that is his wish. If I perish, you shall never see that Halfling alive ag…"
Allie seized his little finger and bent it back. The Mouth's speech became a shriek of pain. Keeping the strain on his finger, she bent down low until her mouth almost touched the side of his struggling head. "Do you remember?" she whispered with eyes cold as ice.
She applied a bit more force until the finger snapped and broke.
Satisfied, Allie let off the pressure and stepped back from him. The Mouth struggled to turn over onto his back. He propped himself up on his elbows to draw a proper breath, coughing water out. He opened his mouth, ready to spew more nonsense, to issue further uncanny threats, but Allie didn't give him the chance to do any of that. She loomed over him with his own mace in both hands, and pointed the sharpened end toward his heaving chest. The Mouth's lips formed a bloody O of horror.
"Do you remember what I told you in Barad-Dur, back in that chamber?" Allie asked in a cold voice that she barely recognized herself. A rim of red circled her grey irises as she stared unblinkingly down at him.
"What..."
Allie mounted upon Hunter's back and stood on his shoulders with mace in hand. Her eyes pierced through him one last time. "I told you I would make you wish you were never born."
"Wait…" the Mouth stammered.
But Allie didn't wait. She jumped off Hunter's back, and used the momentum of her fall to drive the sharp end of the mace straight through the Mouth's chest. The Mouth of Sauron let out a strangled cry, for the mace hadn't pierced through him fully. Allie gritted her teeth and hammered it down with another hit, finishing the job. The sharp end punctured through his back, effectively impaling him within the shallow water of the riverside.
The Mouth let out a strangled moan as his body started convulsing, jerking in a multitude of seizures under the water now turning red. More blood trickled out of the cracks between his enormous teeth. He tried to speak, but only a gagging sound came out.
Allie hovered over him, her grey eyes empty and cold. "I did not pierce through anything important. Just some gut. The Ring-bearer will be fine as long as you don't die, is that right? Well then, he will be fine for a good while." Her words were chillier than the icy water in which he lay.
Allie turned away and left him there to bleed slowly into the river, his low moans soon erased by the ashes sucking the sound out of this place.
She had finally taken her revenge on the Mouth of Sauron, but instead of feeling pleasure or satisfaction, she felt nothing at all. Ever since she had recognized the Mouth under that helmet, the single thought taking space in her mind had been to make him suffer in eternal agony before he perished. She had done just that, so why did she still feel this numb?
Because taking revenge had never felt good. Instead, it had broken something within her, too. Also, this was only the Mouth of Sauron. Once again, the Dark Lord himself had tricked her. But what did this trick mean? Where was Sauron then? Alarm bells started to ring within her, but she didn't know what they warned her against.
Hunter walked silently beside her until they met with Informant and Dragut. The large pirate considered the small hobbit lass with a mixture of awe and fear.
Ever since they had met, he'd always questioned at the back of his mind how someone as ruthless as Captain Urithor could follow such a strange and tiny leader.
Now he knew.
Allie sheathed her bloody sword and wordlessly splashed water on her face, crouching on the balls of her feet at the edge of the river. Informant sat silently beside her, his yellow eyes trained on the battle still taking place between his fleet and the Orcs on the giant skull ship. In spite of the odds, the pirates were winning.
Allie glanced over at him, her hair dripping wet. His yellow gaze filled her up, and she wished she could hear what he was saying. After awhile, she sighed. "I'm going back to Frodo. I am pretty certain the Mouth was bluffing, but I still want to make sure he is not in danger."
Informant pointed his muzzle toward his ship, and Allie nodded. "You should go back to your duties. You have handled the Snowbourn attack quite well. I would have expected nothing less from you."
A movement from the east caught Informant's eye. He stood, all his senses in alert. Allie rose beside him, squinting to make out what he had seen.
Ships were approaching in the distance, tiny black dots gliding on the currents beneath the falling ashes. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. "More Orc ships?"
A strange horn blew across the distance from the approaching fleet.
Dragut stepped into the water beside them, his eyes sparkling excitedly above his thick beard. "Not Orcs! This is the horn of Erebor. The Dwarves are finally here!"
Frodo dreamt of a shadow approaching. He hugged his knees, facing the corner of the wall as the presence drew ever closer behind him. Soon, long dark fingers would close around his shoulder, pulling him toward the abyss. He shut his eyes in a last effort to ward off the inevitable.
Yet with his eyes shut the wall fell away from him and suddenly he was flying over a field of Men, horses and Mumakil devoured by flames. Realization sank in that he beheld the Rohan grasslands from above. He could only gasp at the absolute destruction and havoc the flames had wrecked over a land that used to be green and plentiful. As far as the eye could see, now stood only fire and smoke.
The River undulated in and out of view amidst the black smoke, a last ribbon of life fighting against the vastness of death. Frodo desperately searched for any signs of life on the burning fields, but the inferno promptly devoured anything that still moved. It had single-handedly wiped out the whole army of Rohirrim, Elves and Southrons alike, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.
Immediately below him, the fire now ate away at the streets of Edoras; streets upon which only a few days ago he had walked with his friends, enjoying the jousts and shops of the common folk.
He saw movement from the back wall of Edoras; it appeared to be a small group of people making its way toward the mountains, leaving behind the burning capital.
Frodo flew in their direction, but horror gripped his heart. Suddenly, he knew with certainty he was seeing all this from Sauron's eyes. He could not allow him to go that way! Yet try as he might, the group of people quickly grew bigger as he flew closer.
He needed to warn them!
He screamed and tried to pull away, but not a sound escaped his lips. He shut his eyes and willed himself away with all the concentration he could muster.
The Ring flickered behind his closed eyelids, but he broke its image with his mind. As the pieces of the Ring fell away like a shattered mirror, he felt shaken in all directions as though caught in an earthquake.
" …careful!" a far away voice echoed at his ears.
A massive headache struck him upon prying his sticky eyelids open. He had managed to break the dream, but his relief was short-lived when he scanned the group of faces around him and remembered where he was. He had fallen off Pippin's back, and presently looked upon the dusty and concerned face of Samwise. Behind him lurked a small group of Rohirrim foot soldiers, along with Councillor the brown wolf and Pippin. They were all looking at him with wide eyes.
"Mr. Frodo! Are you all right?" Sam was saying. "I tried to hold you, but you jerked so suddenly I didn't have time to break your fall."
The flash of headache that coursed through him made him cower with the heel of his hand pressed above his right eye. When it passed, he felt for his skull and his shaking fingers brushed over a coarse bandage. His purpose came back to him. He grabbed Sam urgently by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close. "Sam!" he shouted in a barely audible voice, his throat still raw. "We have to hide! Sauron has spotted our group!"
Sam looked around wildly, but the path leading into the mountains was deserted both in front and behind them. The Rohirrim soldiers positioned themselves in a quick circle around the hobbits, with their swords pointing outward.
Frodo shook his pounding head and pointed above at the dark skies. "He's coming from above! Quick! We need to seek cover now!" He struggled to stand up with Sam's help. But as he scanned the road they were on, despair cast its mantle upon him.
The narrow road upon which the small company stood led to Dunharrow and the White Mountains beyond. On either side of the road stood a barrier of rocks. No hiding place in sight until they reached the encampment under Dunharrow, which was probably besieged by Sauron's army as they spoke.
Sam looked around with mounting urgency. "But there's no place to hide!"
Before his gardener's voice died down, a massive heat wave struck them, making them stagger. The wolves growled as they crouched low to the ground with their snouts pointed up, all their senses in alert. Frodo covered his face lest the wind burned the skin off his cheeks.
The Men behind them let out bewildered shouts as darkness swirled over their heads, undulating and taking shape, growing wings as large as the battered sails of a warship.
"Nazgul?" Sam screamed. But even as the word escaped his scathed lips, he knew that was not it.
This was bigger and darker than any Nazgul they'd encountered. The wings lowered and revealed a long neck at the end of which stood a rectangular head ending in a long snout and eyes as red as burning embers.
The creature opened its mouth, ringed with rows upon rows of sharp fangs, and a ball of fire exploded out in a jet to hit the path ahead of the group. The rocks and dust caught fire and exploded into shards under the immense heat. The group covered their faces against the burning debris, but Frodo stood there agape as rocks cut into his cheeks and legs.
"A dragon," he murmured to himself as his face lost what little color it had left.
A beast of fire and shadow, Atariel's voice resounded in his head.
Sauron had summoned a dragon.
Frodo didn't know any still existed in Middle-earth, but Sauron must have either enslaved or revived one with the power of the One Ring.
"Mr. Frodo, take cover!" Sam's voice reached his ears from far, far away.
A few Rohirrim soldiers had started to run back toward Edoras, away from the inferno barring their route. Frodo felt a push as Pippin shoved him out of his horrified daze. He forced his legs to run after the auburn wolf. Councillor was behind him, urging Sam along, making sure the flames were not catching up to them.
The pain in Frodo's head increased with every pounding step. He touched his bandage again and his hand came away bloody. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to follow Pippin's bushy tail as best he could.
They hadn't gone five hundred meters that a cry came from one of the soldiers further ahead. Frodo, Sam and the two wolves skidded to a halt as the black dragon bore down on them, scrambling through their miserable group like a hand wiping crumbs off a table. A yelp told him Councillor had been hit. Pippin fell sideways, knocking Frodo to the ground. The hobbit rolled off the road and down a crevice in the wall of rocks to his right.
He looked up in time to see another fireball falling where their scattered group stood a second ago. Three Rohirrim soldiers received the hit directly and vanished into a ball of flames, their bodies twisting at unnatural angles as they burned into a mass of melting flesh and wild cries of agony in front of the hobbit's very eyes.
The heat that followed the impact made it hard to breathe and think. Frodo could only watch, unable to move a muscle, unable to even blink, as a giant furnace took shape in front of him, taking over the world, engulfing everyone and everything in its fiery jaw.
At last, he broke out of his mortified trance and desperately tried to find Sam and wolves amidst the flames. He screamed Pippin, Councillor and Sam's names in his head, but nothing escaped his trembling lips. Tongues of flames crawled toward the crevice in which he hid, seconds away from coming into contact with his retracted legs.
"No…"
The fear of death gripped his heart like a vise, crushing all his courage and resolve. He dug at the burning earth and rocks behind him in a vain attempt to escape the approaching inferno.
When he thought all was lost, a cool hand closed around his wrist and pulled him sideways under a loose rock. Another tug, and he was scrambling along a small space between two rocks until he found himself on the other side of the wall of rocks bordering the burning road.
He turned around to look upon his savior and was struck to see an Elf. He thought they had all perished in the fields! In spite of his near-death experience and the wild thumping of his heart, the hobbit could not help but remark once more how striking an Elf's appearance could be. His savior looked upon him with concern, his long black hair flowing down like silk over his shoulders and black armor. His eyes were of a bright gold, the only light in this stifling darkness.
He was also saying something, but Frodo's ears were still ringing from the loudness of the explosion. All he could do was stare at his moving lips without comprehending a single word. Was he even speaking the Common Tongue or some sort of Elvish?
He shook his head violently, and suddenly his ears unplugged as though he had emerged from under water. The sounds of the world surrounded him again; the crackling of fire; the sizzling of hot air; the hollering of distant cries. To think he had been on the brink of death just a few seconds ago…
"Thank you for saving me," he whispered to the Elf in a hoarse voice.
The Elf smiled in relief upon hearing him talk. "I am glad I could be of service. Can you walk?"
Frodo tested his legs; they seemed mostly recovered from his previous scare. A flicker of remembrance made his eyes widen in horror. He turned toward the burning road and hurried back on wobbly legs. "My friends are still there!" He cupped his mouth with his hands and shouted uselessly in his broken voice: "Pippin! Sam! Councillor!" He turned toward the Elf, his blue eyes frantic. "We need to go back. We need to save them!"
The Elf's lips thinned, but he did not look away. "Everything is burning up there now. I am sorry. Truly."
Not possible… what was he saying? Sam and the wolves were still up there! He meant to rush up anyway, but the Elf restrained him with a sad shake of his head. "I understand your loss, little one. We have all lost people in this war. Still, you saw it. Nothing alive remains upon that road."
Frodo stopped struggling against his hold. Slowly, he clenched his head to hide the shock in his eyes.
Sam… his loyal Sam, burned away to nothing in a second. Sam, with his bright gaze, his hopes of seeing the Shire again, of seeing Rosie again. All gone up in smoke. Frodo didn't even have time to meet his gaze nor speak a last thank you for all the times Sam had been there for him, had encouraged him throughout this dark journey.
And now Sam was just… gone.
Frodo shook his head. He couldn't believe it; refused to believe it. He sank on his knees and pulled on his hair as tremors coursed through him.
And Pippin. Allie's Protector and closest friend. How would she feel if she knew? Guilt overwhelmed him at surviving this alone. The flash of headache came again, accompanied by the now familiar burning in his lungs.
He half-sobbed, half-coughed into his hands in the middle of the destruction, feeling completely hopeless and alone.
The Elf gently shook him by the shoulder. "I understand your grief, little one, but we need to get going. I know a place that the fire has not yet reached." He scanned the skies above. "The dark terror has passed. It seems some luck is on our side at last."
In spite of himself, Frodo felt comfort at the Elf's words. Perhaps due to his Elvish nature, his words carried a mysterious power. The hobbit wiped at his eyes and stood again under the comforting smile of his savior. But even the light in the Elf's eyes could not fill the hollowness now lying agape in his heart.
"Who are you?" Frodo wondered with gaze downcast.
"Just a simple soldier," the Elf replied as he beckoned to the fields. "There is a place behind Edoras not yet touched by fire where people are gathering. I shall bring you there and then go and search for other survivors. If you can walk, follow me."
The Elf studied him through his luminous gaze one last time before he started walking. Frodo followed behind him as best he could, coughing into his sleeve once in awhile. They wordlessly made their way toward the shelter. The Elf did indeed seem to know the way through the fire, as he stepped around the burning patches of field, climbed over debris, and crawled under fallen catapults. Frodo followed after him, plunging in and out of a daze of grief.
The White Mountains loomed over him, not getting any bigger as they slowly made their way toward them.
The Elf spoke little, most likely saving his breath to avoid breathing in the pungent smoke. He told Frodo he came with the contingency of other Elves and got separated from his companions when mayhem struck.
As they walked, Frodo's thoughts went out to Allie. He had not had time to ask Sam where she had gone. Worry gnawed at his guts at her absence. He remembered the sorrowful expression on her face when he had asked her to knock him unconscious. Eyes widening in recollection, he groped inside his pocket and had a jolt of despair upon noting the absence of the bottle containing the Blood. Allie must have taken it after all. He clasped his hands tight together to stop their shaking. He truly hoped she hadn't met Sauron yet. That she hadn't met a fate like Sam's.
Thinking of Sam brought fresh tears to his eyes. He still couldn't believe in the reality of what was happening. He knew there would be losses in war; he was not a fool. But he hadn't expected the poignancy of heartbreak and mourning to be like a physical dagger in his gut, ripping up his insides at every step. However, no matter how badly he suffered, he had to lock it away now. If he survived this, then he would grieve as he should; but for now he had to lock it away in the darkest corner of his mind. It was the only way he could push forward.
His eyes found the back of the Elf striding in front of him. "How much longer?" he asked hoarsely.
"We are here," the Elf answered, and made way to reveal the courtyard to a presently deserted stable. It must have served as a resting place for the horses between Edoras and Dunharrow.
Before Frodo could look around for other survivors, the sound of many metal-clad feet hitting the ground arose behind them. Frodo scanned the fiery fields with a hand upon Sting, his eyes widening upon detecting a squadron of Orcs dashing across the burning fields.
The Orcs paused upon seeing them, clearly not expecting to encounter anyone in these parts. The one who appeared to be the leader of the group gave a nod, and the squadron veered their route to charge at the Elf and the hobbit instead. Frodo unsheathed Sting, whose blade shone bright blue, and blocked the attack of the first Orc. They exchanged two strokes before Frodo pierced through his stomach. His adversary fell, only to reveal four more behind him.
As Frodo fought, he was inexorably pushed back into the courtyard until he found himself encircled from all directions. Frodo dodged and slayed them the best he could, making Sting dance at the edge of his arm. His panicked eyes searched for the Elf, but he could not find him in the chaos. Another Orc bore down on him from behind, and Frodo twirled around.
Before he could engage the enemy, a blade pierced through the Orc's armor. His attacker fell dead, revealing the black-haired Elf standing behind with his sword tainted red with Orc-blood. The Elf's bright eyes caught those of Frodo, and the hobbit felt a surge of strength from their exchanged glance.
From the corner of his eye, he saw another squadron coming their way. This one was bigger, probably made of fifty Orcs or more. Frodo's despair morphed into astonishment when they kept running instead of coming to the aid of the ones in the courtyard.
And then Frodo saw it.
The green fog.
A sea of pale green smoke was chasing after the fleeing Orcs. Wherever it touched them, they fell screaming and then unmoving to the ground. In spite of the heat of the burning plains, Frodo felt a chill travel down his spine. He squinted and thought he made out human shapes inside the green fog.
The Orcs encircling them had seen the fog too now; fear came unbidden to their harsh traits. "Leave those two scumbags be!" One of them said before running away. The others looked at each other before following suit.
"What is this new sorcery?" Frodo inquired under his breath, his heart hammering in alarm.
Not sure whether to run away or stand his ground, he looked up at the Elf for guidance. The Elf's golden eyes were deep and impenetrable as he gazed upon the fog with a dark frown.
"Frodo! Is that you? Frodo!"
Frodo's head whipped toward the fog at the familiar voice. His throat tightened, afraid to believe in the reality of what he was hearing. He searched the green fog frantically until he detected movement from within. From amidst the sea of indistinguishable and immaterial shapes, three dark figures took on clearer definition and emerged into the open.
For the first time in a long time, Frodo's face split into a true smile. "Aragorn!" he shouted as loud as his broken voice allowed. He made a step forward, afraid to blink lest the image of the Ranger sprinting toward him should disappear like a mirage.
Legolas and Gimli stepped out of the green fog behind the Dunedain. At the sight of them, whom Frodo never thought to see again, his heart filled with a joy so big it threatened to make his chest explode.
He felt a cool hand on his shoulder and turned back to the Elf, who somehow did not seem to share his enthusiasm. "Be careful," he said with guarded eyes. "They are not who you think they are."
Frodo's smile fell somewhat. What did he mean? Did he not recognize Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli? Did he not get to see them at the Mustering of Rohan? Something nasty tugged at the back of his mind, but he waved it off in his relief. "I know them! It is Aragorn! And Legolas and Gimli! I cannot believe it. We are saved!"
"Aragorn, you say," the Elf replied slowly.
"Frodo!" Aragorn called again, now only twenty yards away. His face was dark with urgency. "Get away, Frodo!"
Frodo looked around, scared that Orcs might have decided to circle back behind them. But other than a half-crumbling well and the dark mouth of the abandoned stable beyond, the courtyard stood as empty as a grave.
No sign of any of the survivors the Elf had told him about.
A slow chill descended upon the hobbit, from the tips of his hair to the furry soles of his feet. Slowly, very slowly, as though his head weighed fifty pounds, Frodo looked up at his savior, whose hand was tightening on his shoulder, cold as ice.
The Elf's molten eyes glowed bright as they looked down at the hobbit. From far away, Frodo heard Aragorn's pressing voice yell again at him to get away, to run!
The Elf smiled down at him. As he did, his fair and polished face shifted in subtle and yet drastic ways. Where before his traits showed benevolence and concern, now those same lines morphed into coldness and malevolence. His golden eyes no longer seemed warm, but burned red hot like the glare of a desert sun fallen to the earth.
The whoosh of an arrow filled the air, loosened from Legolas' bow. Without breaking eye contact with Frodo, the Elf lifted his right hand and opened his fingers. The air vibrated next to Frodo's ear with incredible power and the arrow shattered into tiny splinters in mid-air.
Frodo's heart dropped like a rock when he recognized the luminous band around the Elf's index finger. He knew every contour of that thing, every degree of smoothness in its polished metal, every nuance of gold making its surface. After months of carrying it around his neck, he also knew its sickly weight.
His legs struggled to run, but they seemed buried in deep mud. His whole body and mind were drawn to the Ring of Power glowing but a hand's length from his face. The heaviness in his limbs increased the longer he looked upon the inscriptions blazing on its surface, casting red shadows on his pale face.
"Frodo," a suave and poisonous voice whispered next to his ear.
Frodo hopelessly turned to meet the Dark Lord Sauron's beautiful golden eyes set in a fair and yet terrible face. The instant he locked eyes with the false Elf, blindness struck him. It was like looking into two suns from too close a proximity. The glare burned through his cornea like a light sword. Frodo let out a sharp scream and crumbled with his hands to his eyes.
Aragorn had now reached them, his gaze as sharp and deadly as the blade of Elendil in his hands. "Face me! It is me you want!" he shouted in a powerful voice.
Sauron turned his bright gaze onto Aragorn, who quickly lifted a forearm to shield his eyes from the light.
"Aragorn, son of Arathorn" the Dark Lord greeted. Dark whispers in Black Speech filled the air between them. "Isildur's heir. You saved me the trouble of looking for you." The light in his eyes dimmed as he beheld Anduril in Aragorn's hands.
Aragorn stood in front of Sauron, silent and grim, his muscles as tense as a coiled spring.
Hope you enjoyed ! Comments are very welcome! :) It takes a lot of time to write these chapters, so any words of encouragement from you guys are always a huge help! Just knowing there are readers out there enjoying this story always gives me a boost. Of course, any constructive criticism is more than welcome too!
Guest: Thanks for the review! What is your name? Seems a bit awkward to keep calling you "guest", haha.
