Good evening, everyone! Thank you for getting this far in the story. I just wanted to wish you all happy holidays: I hope you are able to finish off this chaotic year on a good note. Stay safe out there. :)

The following morning at dawn they set out, just as Avalain had said. As they exited the village, it became clear that the citizens of Bree were on edge due to the strange cloaked figures the previous night—but they did not spare the She-Elf or her odd party another glance as they left the gates towards the wild.

For the first day or two of their journey, the hobbits were quiet, only speaking when Avalain would ask them questions of their homeland. During those times they would perk up, recalling wondrous tales of festivities, food, and drinking… only to trail off, their eyes glazed over.

If Avalain didn't know any better, she'd say they were homesick.

In order to cheer them up, she would offer them tales of her own city and made promises to each about things they seemed to be passionate about: to Sam she promised saplings of Elvish flowers; to Pippin a personal tour of her family's wine cellar; to Merry an afternoon on a boat along the river. Each of these promises gladdened the hobbits to no end—but Avalain could not help but notice that Frodo, more so than the others, was burdened.

She knew it was because of the Ring he carried that made the journey harder for him… but still, she longed to do something.

At the end of the seventh day of travel, Avalain decided to cook a meal that she remembered Bilbo Baggins making when she had visited him: salted meats with greens and ripe tomatoes, along with some bread and jam. While the bread was a little dry since it had been seven days since their departure from Bree and the salted meats might be a little tough, she hoped that the hobbits wouldn't mind too much.

As she was finishing up her chore, she heard the halflings whispering just a few feet away. Although she wasn't normally one to eavesdrop, Avalain didn't wish to take any chances, and so tuned in to the conversation…

"How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf's?"

Avalain recognized that as Merry's voice—and it was Frodo's who responded, "I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer and feel fouler."

"He's foul enough," muttered Merry discontentedly. Then, with a sigh, he added, "But Avalain's making me feel right at home. Look, she's making salted meat. Elves don't even eat meat!"

The She-Elf couldn't keep the smile off her face hearing that.

Samwise noticed her grin and laughed aloud. "Looks like she heard you, Merry. Keen ears, they've got."

All four hobbits turned to look at Avalain as she allowed herself to laugh. Glancing up at them sheepishly, she shrugged and admitted, "I… hoped to make you feel a little more at home amongst myself and Strider. I realize this trip has been difficult for you, and the comforts of Rivendell are still a week and some days away, so…"

She did not finish her sentence, but her intent seemed to convey itself anyway. The hobbits broke out into large grins, obviously moved by the gesture. It was Frodo who rose and stepped forward to sit next to Avalain by the firepit—he only looked at the dishes for only a moment before exclaiming, "This is just how Bilbo makes it!"

"I'm glad to hear I remembered it rightly. I wasn't sure for a time," replied Avalain, actually quite relieved.

Frodo's blue eyes met hers, and she watched as he blinked rapidly before simply saying, "Thank you, Avalain."

That was all he needed to say. The She-Elf smiled at him in return before summoning Aragorn and the other hobbits to her side so they might eat and rest up before the next day.

The following morning, Avalain was forced to shake the sleeping hobbits awake. After they had eaten their dinner the previous night, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin had all stayed up until the wee hours talking to Avalain about other tales they had yet to divulge.

It had been quite a merry time, but it appeared that the hobbits were less than eager to set off before the sun had fully risen over the horizon. Luckily, the promise of breakfast roused them, however groggy they were.

Once they had finished eating, they were off again. At this point in their journey, they had reached a treacherous bog full of insatiable mosquitos—and it took far longer to travel through it than anyone wanted.

Before afternoon was fully upon them, the hobbits stopped Belutha so they could rummage through the knapsacks she was carrying for something to eat. Avalain was ready to let them rest for five minutes, but Aragorn frowned and said, "Gentlemen, we do not stop until nightfall."

Indignantly, Pippin asked, "What about breakfast?"

"You've already had it," retorted Aragorn.

"We've had one, yes. What about second breakfast?"

Aragorn only shook his head before marching towards the next large patch of reeds.

As they watched him stalk away, Merry sighed and turned towards his young friend, mumbling, "I don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip."

Pippin appeared no less than horrified by this suggestion; almost desperately, he exclaimed, "What about elevensies? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them, doesn't he?"

Merry sighed and responded, "I wouldn't count on it."

Before either of the hobbits could say anything else, an apple emerged from seemingly thin air and barreled towards Merry. Fortunately, the hobbit caught it easily in his hand.

Pippin stared at the fruit for a second—and missed a second apple that was heading right for him. The poor hobbit fumbled for the apple after it plummeted into him and was able to grab it before it could hit the ground. His prize in his hand, he briefly held it aloft for all to see before taking a great bite out of it and moving on.

For seven more hours they slogged, all six travelers wondering when the end of the bog would appear. At last, they came across a great set of ruins atop a hill, its shadow cascading ominously upon them as the sun began setting over its dilapidated roof.

As they all gathered together, Aragorn quietly explained, "This was the great watchtower of Amon Súl. We shall rest here tonight."

There were no qualms about that, at least. And so they lugged to the ruins, ascended the side of the hill, and began to make camp in a crevice that would provide them enough shelter, while also allowing them to glance out over the plains and bog below.

Once everything was settled and the hobbits were beginning to ransack the bags for more food, Aragorn moved towards Avalain and whispered, "There is something about this place that unsettles me. I'm going to look around. I shan't be long."

"Hurry back," murmured Avalain in reply.

Aragorn shot her a curt nod and then moved over to the hobbits. Withdrawing four daggers from within the depths of his cloak, he held them out to the halflings and declared, "These are for you. Keep them close. I'm going to look around; stay here with Avalain."

And with that, he was off—disappeared as a shadow into the night. Left alone with Avalain, the hobbits began examining their new weapons with awe.

The She-Elf watched them with a sad glimmer in her eye. Unable to help herself, she sighed heavily, "I hope you will not have to use those."

"Why not?" questioned Sam.

"If these swords are ever to be used, it will be because something dreadful has arrived. Have any of you ever been trained to fight?"

Of course, Avalain was met with four shakes of the head. Her smile grew slightly shrewd as she added, "One day, I shall teach you the basics. We shall not begin now, the clanging metal would give away our position to anyone nearby. But once we are safe behind my borders… I will teach you what you need to know."

For the next couple of hours, Avalain attempted the stay awake waiting for Aragorn so he might tell her of what he found. But as each minute ticked by, she found her eyelids growing heavier and heavier. The hushed voices of the hobbits swiftly became soothing background noise, and the lull of sleep was growing near impossible to resist.

Noting her exhaustion, Frodo moved forward and murmured, "Avalain, you should sleep. You and Strider have been doing the majority of the work keeping watch. Let us take care of you now."

The She-Elf chortled halfheartedly, but couldn't bring herself to refuse his generosity. And so, with a groggy smile, she decided to lay down and close her eyes, trusting in the hobbits. Besides, Aragorn was bound to return soon anyway…

And yet, the next thing Avalain heard was a blood-curling shriek.

With a sharp gasp, the She-Elf launched up from where she had been lying and whirled to grab her dagger. It left its sheath with a sharp metallic ring—still in a panic, she gazed around.

The remains of a fire lay scattered across the ground, some flecks of flame still dimly lit. Standing next to it was Frodo, whose feet were burned and whose eyes were wide.

"Avalain!" he hissed, his voice hoarse. "Five are coming, and Strider has not returned!"

"He hasn't?!" Avalain exclaimed angrily. "How long has he been gone?"

The hobbit shook his head rapidly before answering, "I sent the others to the top of the fortress. But… I do not know if we can…"

"Go. Up the stairs, now. I will hold them off the best I can," commanded Avalain. Without waiting to see if the hobbit obeyed her orders, Avalain grabbed some of the loose stone upon the ground and started hauling it towards the doorway, hoping to at least buy themselves some time. She managed to block off the majority of one pathway, and tried to make it so that one wrong move would force the remaining stones to tumble down the steps, hopefully directly into the accursed Nazgûl.

Without wasting any more time, she raced up the stairs, hoping that the hobbits had at least remembered to bring their new daggers…

When she arrived, she was met with four frightened pairs of eyes, all of them seemingly awaiting instruction. She exhaled slowly and murmured, "Whatever happens, stay behind me. I will protect you."

But Avalain knew that no matter how well Legolas had trained her, no matter how many hours she practiced on her own, not even she could stall five of the Nazgûl at once.

It was deadly silent for a number of minutes afterward. Her sharp eyes pierced through the darkness and found no sign of them emerging from the stairway—

"Avalain?"

The She-Elf turned and inhaled sharply. All five of the Nazgûl were present, gliding towards the party, their swords wickedly sharp and held aloft. Avalain moved forward and pushed three of the four hobbits behind her—but there was nothing she could do to stop Sam from shouting, "Back, you devils!" and charging.

"Sam, no!" shrieked Avalain, but too late—metal clanged twice, and Sam was unceremoniously shoved to the side.

Seeing him tossed against the wall spurred Avalain to cry out and leap forward, engaging three of the Black Riders. She dodged two Morgul blades headed her direction and disarmed another before stabbing a third through the robes. She could not see where the other blades were, they could be heading straight for her—

Avalain turned just in time to see Merry and Pippin shoved aside as well, leaving Frodo standing alone against two of the Nazgûl. His fear was concealed by resilience, but as he stared up at the looming figures above him, he stumbled backward and fell across the stone.

"No!" shouted Avalain, though she could not move to assist him. The other three Riders were putting up too much of a fight—one wrong move and they would overpower her. "Aragorn, where are you?!"

But she did not see him, and was forced to return to battling. She ducked under dark blades and stabbed the Nazgûl where she could—suddenly, one's head was caught on fire.

Avalain whirled around to find Aragorn, a sword in one hand and a torch in the other, fighting the Nazgûl from behind them. Inspired, Avalain charged two of the remaining four.

It had been ages since she and Aragorn had last fought together… and even then, it had only been in training. Still, they were all but a single unit, assaulting one Nazgûl after the other, debilitating them so they could move to the next. One by one, their enemies were stabbed and disarmed and set ablaze—until finally, only one Black Rider was left…

But even as she watched, Aragorn turned and hurled his torch at it. The object spun round in the air, a deadly wheel of fire—and lodged itself into the hood of the Nazgûl, prompting it to squeal and flee the watchtower.

Avalain and Aragorn stood for a moment, both of them breathing heavily. Once she regained her breath, the She-Elf offered the Ranger a crooked smile and bantered, "Nice of you to show up."

But Aragorn didn't pay any mind to her jest. His gaze travelled past her and landed upon something on the ground. Avalain turned to follow his eyes to see Frodo still laying upon the ground, blood soaking his shirt.

She cursed in Elvish and dashed over to him, gasping, "What happened?"

But the truth was painstakingly obvious… he'd been stabbed by one of the dead blades.

"Strider! Avalain, help, please!" Sam cried.

Avalain was already inspecting the hobbit to see what assistance she could provide. For all her training in the healing arts, however, she was uncertain whether she could fully heal a wound of this caliber…

It was Aragorn who first said what she was thinking. "He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade. This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine."

Sam's face lit up as he exclaimed, "But Avalain is here! Can she cure him?"

Seeing her sorrowful face, however, that smile faded. "I cannot, Sam. What I can do is slow the poisoning long enough for us to reach my city. There my father shall be able to heal him."

"We're five days from Rivendell!" protested Sam. "He'll never make it!"

"He will," protested Avalain, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. As she looked upon the hobbit, however, her heart grew heavy with uncertainty and guilt. The wound was much deeper than she had anticipated… "I will not allow Frodo to pass, Sam. I promise."

The hobbits looked among themselves for a moment before nodding solemnly and moving forward to help their friend rise.

As they assisted Frodo, Avalain walked towards Aragorn and murmured, "I do not know if I can sustain him until we reach my city. I will try my best, but…"

The unspoken possibility lingered in the air, poisoning their hearts. Aragorn sighed and looked down, to the foothills of the watchtower. The She-Elf followed his gaze—and noted Belutha was returning from wherever she had run off to.

In Elvish, she stated, "I could bring Frodo there myself upon my horse. It would be risky, but it would be swift."

"No. Not yet. It is best to stick together as a group in case the wraiths return," responded Aragorn in kind. He sighed and ran a hand through his tangled hair before adding, "If, however, his condition grows dire… we will have no choice."

Avalain nodded and looked back to Frodo. The hobbit was already on his feet, and was receiving assistance from Sam to wipe the blood off his shirt. With a sigh, the She-Elf moved forward and, a sorrowful smile upon her face, said, "Come, Frodo. Let's get that cleaned up before the morning."