Chapter 4

By the time silence had fallen between Strider and Eleven, the dim light of dawn could be seen on the horizon. He decided that now, even more than before, it would be good for them to make as much progress each day as possible. With that thought in mind, he stood to rouse the hobbits.

There was much grumbling as they all stumbled around, trying to prepare the morning meal. Not that there was much, especially with an extra addition. Strider had not planned on hunting while they traveled, but he realized it might be unavoidable. Still, that was a decision that could be made later.

Once everyone had something in their stomachs, Strider turned to lead them deeper into the woods. He was only thankful that his charges seemed to be too tired to strike up a conversation.

Before long, they made their way into a deep valley that seemed to go on forever with little access to the tops of the ridges. Strider did not seem to be any more worried about their position than usual, so the hobbits followed quietly. At least until near to midday. Pippin and Merry both converged on their newest addition to try and stave off the reminder of starvation.

Neither of them paid any mind to the scowl coming from Strider, but they did keep to whispers. Pippin was the first to speak up. "So, why are you called Eleven? That sounds like an odd name for a human."

The girl looked down with slight confusion. "For a human? You speak as though you are not."

Merry laughed at her statement before he picked up a foot for her to see. "Did you not see our feet? Besides, I thought you might have noticed the height difference. We're hobbits."

Instead of clearing, her confusion seemed to grow. "I have never heard of hobbits."

Pippin shoved Merry aside as he tried to get closer. "Don't worry, most big folks have forgotten that we even existed. That might be a good thing." He had looked around at the looming walls of the valley and shuddered.

Frodo finally stepped forward at that point. "It is curious that you thought we were human, despite our stature. Why is that?"

She shrugged. "There are some humans with a genetic mutation that causes them to be no taller than you. It would not be a stretch to think of you as one of them."

The hobbits all shared an odd look. Even Strider gave her a curious look. However, he kept his opinions to himself. Frodo was the first to speak into the awkward silence. "Pardon if this sounds ignorant, but what exactly is a genetic mutation. I suppose it is a type of sickness, correct?"

Eleven's brow furrowed as she tried to figure out how to explain. It didn't shock her that they did not know the term, but she had already started. Finally, she turned to him and shook her head. "It isn't a sickness. There are traits passed on in any living creature to the offspring. Think of them as building blocks. It is why a child might have one parent's nose and the other's lips. A genetic mutation is when one of those blocks is fundamentally changed for some reason. Many times it does lead to a predisposition to certain sicknesses. Sometimes those changed blocks lie dormant. They could stay hidden for generations."

If they had thought her first statement was odd, that explanation was more complicated than any of them had heard before. The silence was absolute for a long time afterward except between Merry and Pippin. The two had fallen back and were speaking with each other quietly. If the silence or the hobbit's distance bothered Eleven, it didn't show.

Strider was not any less settled at her explanation than the hobbits had been, but it did not change his thoughts on her. For the time being, it was enough that she followed along quietly. Nevertheless, he kept an eye on them all as they made their way deeper into the valley.

The next couple of days passed in much the same fashion. The hobbits would occasionally try to bring Eleven into their conversations, but as often as not, the endeavor ended with either confusion or discomfort. They were beginning to see that the woman was odd, and not just because she was human.

Strider was just as unsettled by the woman as the hobbits. Every time the conversation turned to something strange, he was reminded of her claim about how she arrived. It was an uncomfortable realization that he might need to reconsider his stance about her origin. There was no doubt that she was not from any portion of Arda that he was familiar with. Still, that did not negate the need to keep her close. If anything, it proved that it was necessary. At least she did not try to leave his side.

The only real problem they ran into was near the end of the second day after they left the road behind. Eleven stumbled and was not able to right herself before she fell. The look on her face was aggravated but not pained, which caused Strider to frown until he saw the sheen of sweat on her brow. He helped her to her feet before he motioned to Sam. His voice was low when he said, "Keep an eye out for kingsfoil. We will need to stop early tonight."

The erstwhile gardener frowned at the odd woman before he gave Strider a curt nod. After that, the group slowed their pace, and thankfully it was not long before they found what they needed. The sky was still filled with purples and burnt orange when Strider called a halt to their march. As tense as they all were, the hobbits were exhausted enough to not care as they flung themselves to the ground. It was a pitiful sight that none of them even moved to gather food for several minutes.

Strider wasted no time digging a small pit for the fire he would need. Though it was not food that went into the pot. Once the water was boiling, he added the leaves of the kingsfoil they had found. He then asked Sam to watch the pot while he turned to Eleven. The woman was seated a short distance away from everyone else but looked up sharply when he called her name.

It did not surprise him to see the sweat beaded on her skin or the chills that she could not hide. He was only shocked that she was still conscious. He knew stalwart men that would have been unconscious with the darkness from her wound. Still, if he was to keep her alive, this had to happen.

He knelt in front of her and kept his voice low as he said, "We will need to bathe your wound in the athelas, but it has already closed. To get the poison out, I will need to cut into it once more. There is naught I can do for the pain, and this is no cure, but it should keep you on your feet until we can make it to Rivendale."

Eleven gave him a curt nod before she stood and reached for the dirty hem of the gown she still wore. As soon as Strider realized what she was attempting, his eyes widened, and he called out, "Wait!"

She paused and looked up with a furrowed brow being the only indication that she was in pain. Strider was quick to shake his head as he said, "There is no need for you to disrobe. Your gown is already torn."

Eleven did not show much emotion, but her confusion was evident for a moment as she responded, "Would it not be better to bind the wound properly? It will not take me long to heal, but wrapping the bandage over my garment results in it loosening as we walk. If you must cut it open, then it would be better to bind the wound tightly."

For the first time in a long time, Strider wasn't quite sure how to respond, so it was a moment before he said, "This is true, but I have kept your modesty in mind. I can check the binding while we walk to ensure it does not loosen."

Instead of agreeing, Eleven began to look truly confused as she said, "You are our guide. Plus, you are the only one armed. It is not an efficient use of your time to check my bandages when it could be prevented by me disrobing and giving you better access."

Strider could not believe what he heard. This odd woman seemed to have no modesty. Or rather, it was not a lack of shame but a seeming disconnect with why she should have modesty in the first place. Though that did not make him any more comfortable. His voice dropped into a sterner tone as he said, "You are not wrong, but it would be inappropriate, as you are a female, and we are all males."

However, his explanation did not seem to help her understand at all. Her visible confusion grew as she said, "What does my gender have to do with my wound? It is on my shoulder."

Strider blinked a few times as he tried to figure out how to explain his reluctance to someone that obviously had no point of reference. He had to wonder about her upbringing. Although her apparent naivety clashed with other things he had seen. In the end, it did not matter. Instead of arguing, he frowned and said, "The wound has nothing to do with your gender, but your disrobing would make me uncomfortable. I am willing to do the extra work while we walk, so do not argue." For a moment, it looked like she would say more, but in the end, she turned and knelt so that he could see her shoulder.

Strider did not allow himself time to be relieved that she had not argued further. Instead, he turned to Sam and said, "That has boiled long enough. Strain the leaves and bring me the tincture."

While Sam was doing as instructed, Strider turned to Frodo. "Look through the saddlebag on the left and bring me the strip of leather." He then turned back to Eleven and said, "That is the best I can give you for the pain."

She looked back over her shoulder with a furrowed brow as she said, "I do not need it. If we are to rest, it would be best for you to finish quickly. There is no need for delay."

Strider watched the woman carefully for several moments. Her argument was valid, but her actions continued to deepen the mystery surrounding her. Finally, he waved off Frodo and gestured for the woman to turn around again so that he could look at her wound.

He frowned when he saw the black tendrils that crept from the line of pink where her cut had been. By that time, Sam had brought the liquid over along with a rag. It was still hot, but he had a feeling Eleven would not be worried. At least it would be cooled enough not to scald by the time he reopened the wound.

Strider made quick work of cleaning his knife and reopening the cut. He almost cringed on her behalf when Eleven did not make a sound—she didn't even flinch. Although, his worry about why she was able to do so would have to come later. For now, he cleaned the blood away with the athelas soaked rag and reapplied clean bandages. He hoped that would be enough to get them to Elrond. Each day they were delayed was another that put the woman further in danger. He might still be wary of her, but that was no reason not to do all he could to ensure she made it to their destination alive.

The following morning, Strider roused the group when the sun had barely turned the sky pink. He was glad to see that Eleven had more color that morning, and there was no more evidence of chills. He held no illusion that the effect would last; he was sure it would be enough to get them to help. Though, they would not be able to stay on this course for much longer if they were to keep from extending their travel.

It was late afternoon when he called a halt, and four exhausted hobbits fell where they stood. He had pushed them harder than usual that day, so he did not reprimand them for the action. Instead, he said, "If we continue down this dale, we will go too far south and will have to make our way north again. There was once a trail here. If it still exists, it will be arduous." He then paused and looked at Eleven.

She didn't give him a chance to ask before she said, "Do not detour on my behalf. My injury is minor and will not stop me."

Strider wasn't positive he could believe that, but his main goal was to get the hobbits and their cargo to Rivendell safely. He could not afford to tarry. Instead of asking about her certainty, he gave her a curt nod before he turned to the others. "I will scout the path to ensure Bill can climb with us. Rest while you can. If it is passable, we leave before dawn and will not rest until we are safely in the woods on the other side."

A couple of the hobbits groaned, but Strider ignored it as he turned to leave. He did not like leaving the woman alone with the others, but his need outweighed the risk, and the longer they were on the road, the better their chance of running into servants of the darkness.

It was well after dark when he returned. He wasn't surprised to see Eleven was still awake and leaning against a tree, and her eyes were on him before he even stepped from the shadows. Part of him had to admit that she would be a formidable ally—if she weren't a potential enemy.

Instead of thinking on it further, he motioned to the others with a whisper, "Rest while you can. Tomorrow will be long and difficult." She only nodded once before she curled into the borrowed cloak, leaned back, and closed her eyes.

The trail up the side of the dale was even more arduous than the group had anticipated. The path was barely wide enough for Bill to walk along and steep enough that it was slow going. The pony balked several times as they tried to get him to turn the narrow switchbacks. Poor Sam was visibly worried every time the pony lost his footing. Thankfully, Strider had a steady hand on the leads, and Bill was back on track before it became more than a wringing of the gardener's hands.

The only real problem came when they were nearly two-thirds of the way up. Strider took the rear to ensure nothing followed them and help Bill up, but Frodo was right in front of him, and Eleven was on the hobbit's other side. The ranger had not been thrilled with the arrangement, but he needed to keep them both close, if for different reasons.

However, that turned out to be fortuitous. The group was going around a particularly treacherous switchback when Merry stumbled on a few loose rocks. He righted himself well enough, but the scree tumbled down to where Frodo was just making his way around the bend. The young hobbit flailed his arms but could not find purchase, and Strider could not reach him in time. Frodo yelled as he tumbled over the side.

Though the sound came to an abrupt halt when he did not fall far before his arm felt like it was about to be wrenched from the socket. He heard a grunt and turned to see Eleven was clenching a jutting rock with one hand and held his wrist with the other. Her face warped in concentration as she hauled him back up.

Several seconds passed with harsh breathing being the only sound once his feet were firmly on the ground. He finally looked up at the woman to thank her, but the words died on his lips when he saw how pale she was and the sheen of sweat across her brow.

He couldn't bring himself to speak until she gave him a nod and turned to head up the path. Though he was mindful of the surroundings when he called out in a quiet voice. "That is twice you have saved my life. I am forever in your debt."

She only paused long enough to look back and say, "Do not worry about it." That was the last that was said as they finished the climb.

Unfortunately, the way up was less than half the distance they needed to go, and it was already late afternoon when they reached the relatively flat area at the top. Merry and Pippin both grumbled about how they should have never asked for an adventure, but they were ignored as Strider pointed out the faint trail they were to follow as he said, "Be cheered, the way down will be easier, and the woods sparser. Though that is why we will not stop until we reach thicker woods. The longer you grumble, the later it will be."

Both hobbits shot him a glare, but it was ignored as the group tiredly trudged along. Despite the hobbits' ragged appearance and downcast heads, the only one that Strider was worried about making it was Eleven. She had not made a sound since she saved Frodo from falling, but her gait had slowed, and her eyes had dimmed. He could tell at a glance that it was only determination that kept her going. Though it was a worry that he did not have time to entertain. The longer they stayed on this path, the greater the danger would be. Instead, he pushed the hobbits to a faster pace to get them off the hill and to the relative safety of the woods.

The next several days had the group resting for less time and marching faster than they had before. The woods remained sparse as they headed northeast back toward the old road. Despite the trek, Strider remained ever vigilant—stopping them any time they heard something out of the ordinary or seeking the shelter of the shadows any time a flock of birds flew overhead.

The stress of being discovered weighed just as heavily on most of them as the journey itself. The only exception was Eleven, though part of that could have been that with each day, she became more withdrawn. Strider worried at the way her color drained each day until she was sallow and hollow-eyed, but she did not falter, nor did she complain. All he could hope for was that she would make it to Rivendell. They could no longer afford to make a fire at night, and the athelas was behind them. Little could be done for the woman until they reached the last homely house.

Due to the way Strider was pushing them, the way back to the road only took them a day longer than it had for them to head south even though they were not going straight north. By the afternoon of the fourth day, the group was perched atop a slight rise hidden in the shadows as they watched the road below them.

A bridge spanned the river Hoarwell—the only one that would allow them to cross the gap unless they traveled more than a fortnight to find a ford. Strider was watching with a hawk's gaze long enough for the company to become restless. However, they were all shocked to stillness when they saw three familiar shapes come toward the bridge on black steeds.

Strider frowned at the approaching figures and was getting ready to guide the hobbits back the way they came when a sound stopped him. It started out as the mad tinkling of bells, but it was quickly followed by a battle cry that he would recognize anywhere. Before any of them could move, the elven warrior Glorfindel was between two of the riders. His sword flashed in the sunlight, and he roared again as he fought them both.

As much as Strider wished to help, he was not armed for this fight. Nor could he leave his charges vulnerable. If he were to join the fray, it would alert the riders that the hobbits were nearby. However, he had not counted on Eleven taking matters into her own hands. Before he realized what she planned, she was halfway down the hill and headed toward a rider that had been thrown from his beast.

The ranger clenched his jaw at her recklessness but turned his glare to the hobbits. "Do not move until I give the signal." The four were still frozen with fear and barely managed a nod, though that was enough.

Strider jumped to his feet and ran to catch Eleven. He had no idea how she planned to fight with no weapon, but he did not want her to be killed either. Plus, Glorfindel would not know her as a possible ally.

Any worries he had about the woman trying to fight without a blade were washed away as he watched her charge the nearest black rider. The thing had waited until she was nearly upon it before it thrust the sword forward. Then, in a maneuver that Strider had never seen, the girl seemed to dance away from the blow while still propelling herself forward. Her movements were fast enough to position herself to the rider's side while his arm was still up. She grabbed the extended arm and twisted it violently, and much to his shock, the blade fell from the rider's grip.

However, it never made it to the ground. Eleven's hand flashed out and grabbed the falling hilt, and in one swift motion, flipped the grip so that the blade was facing the rider. Strider had never seen anyone move that fast, but the sword was embedded in the thing's side before he could blink. It was only after the rider roared that he realized it would have been a killing blow had the rider not been able to move inhumanly fast.

By that time, her actions had garnered the attention of the other two black riders. They both turned their horses from Glorfindel to try and mow the woman down, but the elf managed to stop one of them.

The rider that had been stabbed had already disappeared from the battlefield, and somehow, Eleven still had the sword in hand. She managed to duck the incoming blow from the third rider as she rolled to the side. She was immediately on her feet with the sword in both hands, but a sound from the rider pierced the sky, and she fell to her knees.

Strider rushed to take up the sword in her place, but before he reached her, she planted the tip of it in the ground and used it to get back to her feet. He could see her knees shaking, but her grip was firm when she pulled the blade from the earth and held it in front of her with determination. He had to admire her tenacity, even if he cursed her foolishness. A standing warrior was no match for a horse and rider.

However, by the time he made it to her side, Glorfindel passed them with a roar and headed for the last Nazgul. Strider only needed a quick glance at the muddied road to see that the other two had already retreated. The third was quick to follow as Glorfindel gave chase. As soon as they were headed in the opposite direction, Eleven finally gave up her position and let the blade fall. Strider was quick to catch her before she joined it.

He had barely begun to chastise her for her reckless behavior when he noticed her black eyes. His widened, and he could not help but wonder what witchcraft caused it. Looking into them was like looking into a soulless pit, with no whites or color to detract from the blackness. It was alien and had him gripping her arms tightly.

Before he could ask what was going on, Glorfindel returned. The elf gave him a stunning smile that rivaled the shining silver of his armor and gold in his hair as he dismounted and said, "Mae govannen, Estel."

Strider's mind was too occupied to muster a fitting response, but before he could try, he felt Eleven stiffen and try to pull away. He glared back at her only to see her face filled with terror as she looked at the elf. Or more precisely to the area around Glorfindel. He had never seen her show much emotion, so to see this was doubly troublesome.

Her words were barely heard when she finally whispered, "How can anyone be so vast. What are you?"

Strider frowned at the question as he noticed her attention was still not directly on the elf. His mind whirred with the possibilities of what she could see, especially when he considered that she was able to fight the Nazgul when no other human could touch them. However, he was not given a chance to ask, as her eyes had suddenly changed to the same stormy color they usually were before they rolled back, and she fell limp in his grasp.

He pulled her up into his arms before he turned to face a now frowning Glorfindel. The elf looked at the woman before he looked back up at Strider and said, "I came at Lord Elrond's urging to find you and guide you and your charges back to Rivendell. However, it seems there a tale you have to tell as well."

Strider let out a long breath before he nodded and held Eleven out to Glorfindel and said, "Yes, but now is not the time or place. Take her for me, and I will gather the others so that we may be on our way before the riders return. We will not have time to stop and rest, and it is yet many days before we may see the Last Homely House." Glorfindel eyed the woman with curiosity but took her nonetheless as Strider returned to where the hobbits were hiding.

A/N: Hello! I know it has been some time, but this isn't abandoned. This chapter was a little longer than usual, so I hope that helps. I know it is still sort of a transition chapter, but we have to get to Rivendell somehow, lol. Anyway, I hope this helps to set the scene for what is to come. Thanks for reading and cheers!