As soon as she had reached the edge of the hill, Arya twisted out of her saddle and dropped to the ground. Findel brayed and bucked, stamping the ground behind her. The sound echoed loudly in the quiet lands. The hill rose up above them, dark and menacing, silhouetted by the moon.
Wasting no time, Arya started clambering up the boulders and rocks at the base. Twice she slipped and cut her knee on the sharp stone, but she kept going, heedless of the pain. She heard her companions bring their horses to a halt below her, but she did not wait for them.
The shouts and yells from earlier were no longer audible; Arya wondered for a moment if she was too late. Could they already be dead? That seemed unlikely, though. There had been no sound of battle as of yet. Perhaps the dark men were still searching for their quarry.
Her foot slipped on a loose stone, sending a shower of pebbles to the ground below. The loud clatter made her wince, but there was no response, or sign that anyone had heard. The shadows loomed dark and silent. Looking down, she realized suddenly how high up she was. A fall from there could be deadly. Her pulse quickened, but she took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. It was fine. She wouldn't fall.
After another minute of tedious climbing, she reached a narrow, stone path winding its way up the hill. She pulled herself onto it, breathing heavily, and rose to her feet shakily, glancing around. She was just about to start up the path, toward the top of the hill, when she heard a faint voice off to her left.
"What's that?" It gasped.
Another voice quickly shushed it.
Turning on her heel, Arya sped quickly toward the sound. She left the path, and climbed over the rough, earthen incline, making sure to step quietly and surely. The last thing she wanted now was to be spotted. Stopping, she listened for any more noise, but couldn't discern any. Continuing on in the same direction seemed to be the best option. She walked stealthily onward.
Then, from just ahead of her, there came the sound of a blade being drawn. Arya froze, dropping to the ground, and went forward in a crawl. Faintly, she could make out heavy breathing somewhere in the dark.
She came suddenly to the edge of a steep drop-off, which ended in a small dell about ten feet below. A fire was burning brightly in the center, illuminating four figures that were standing there. Three of them appeared to be children, and one was a tall, dark haired man. Two of the children were lying huddled on the ground, as if cowering in fear. The other was backing away from the edge of the dell, a sword clenched tightly in his grasp. The man wielded two flaming brands of wood, and was standing in front of the children protectively.
All of a sudden, many things happened at once.
A shrill voice cried out, breaking the silence. " O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!"
At the same time, a shadowy figure lept from the darkness, towards the people gathered in the center of the dell. The ground beneath Arya crumbled away, and with a muffled cry, she tumbled down, landing on her stomach next to the children curled up on the ground. A sharp scream of pain resounded to her right, echoing along the hillside.
The man with the flaming sticks ran forward, swinging them at the dark shape. With an icy hiss, it turned and fled, vanishing back out into the night. The child with the sword gave a yelp of fright when he saw Arya, and hefted his sword to strike her. She raised her hands defensively, but the blow never came. He was hesitating, looking at her in confusion.
"What?" He started. "Who-?"
The dark haired man looked over sharply and did a double take when he saw Arya lying on the ground. She dropped her hands and gave him a little wave.
"Hello. I'm Arya. I'm… here to help… you."
She winced, realizing how stupid she sounded. The man stared at her incredulously for a moment. Just as he was opening his mouth to respond, however, more dark shapes appeared at the edge of the hill. Arya sprang to her feet, drawing Needle with a flourish. There came a harsh ringing in answer as the dark figures drew wicked black blades.
"I…" The man was still looking at Arya in bewilderment. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it, and turned to face the shadows, once more raising his blazing branches.
"Sam!" He called over his shoulder, taking a deep breath. "Find your master and tend him as well as you can!" He looked to Arya. "If you would aid me, then do so. I am in as much need of it now as ever I have been."
The child with the sword, who Arya assumed was Sam, ran off to the side, out of the range of the firelight, and started shuffling around in the dark grass. Arya took the time to look more closely at her opponents. They were black; so black that they seemed to suck out all of the light around them. Cloaks and hoods adorned their body, but no flesh could be seen under the garments.
One of them headed for the man with the fire. The other one moved toward Arya, and it seemed almost to drift across the ground, it stepped so smoothly. It emanated a chilling sort of fear, which pierced the very heart of those who felt it. Arya stood her ground, though her legs shook ever so slightly.
She lunged forward, thrusting Needle toward the creature. She expected it to dodge the strike, or at least to block it, but it just stood there and let the sword impale its abdomen. Even more surprising, however, was the fact that Needle seemed to pass through open air. Arya looked up, alarmed, and withdrew her arm, but was too late. The dark figure took advantage of the fact that she was off balance, and, with a quick, disciplined strike, it disarmed her.
Needle went flying off into the darkness.
Arya stumbled back, stunned, and fell. She propped herself up on her arm, and raised her head just in time to see the dark shape towering over her. It raised its long, straight blade. Arya tried to crawl backward, but she knew there was no hope. She braced herself for the blow. Faintly, she thought she heard somebody calling her name.
But at that moment, her outstretched hand brushed against something hard and cold lying on the ground behind her. Without looking, she reached back and grasped it, feeling the firm, familiar touch of a hilt. With a yell, she lashed out blindly, swinging her newly found weapon toward her attacker. This time, she felt it connect with something solid.
What followed was the loudest, most ear-piercing scream Arya had ever heard. It was similar to the ones they had heard earlier, but this one did not fill her with fear. It was a cry of pain and anguish, and it ripped through the night like the sound of sheet-metal being torn in two. But Arya, too, felt a stab of white-hot pain race through her sword arm. It was relentless, numbing her senses. She collapsed back to the ground, gasping.
Dimly, she was aware of more shrieks and screams coming from the shadowy creatures, but they seemed to be fading into the distance, growing quieter and quieter.
A face appeared above her suddenly, taking up her field of vision. It was the tall man. His face was dirty, scratched, and weary, and his hair a greasy mess. Yet he had a strange sort of kingly beauty about him, and his eyes were full of a wisdom beyond his years. His brow was creased in confusion and worry.
"Truly," He said, "That was valor unlooked for in one so young. And yet it seems, you have paid the price."
"My… Arm…" Arya moaned. In fact, she could no longer feel anything with that arm other than the piercing pain within it.
The man nodded. "It is a grievous wound, but not fatal, and not beyond my skill to heal, with time. I cannot say the same about the sting you gave your enemy."
"Did… Did I kill it?"
"No." The man smiled softly. "I think not. They would not be so easily destroyed. But you hurt him greatly, and he will remember your bite sorely. "
He reached over to the side and picked up the sword she had stabbed it with. But even as he did, it dissolved into dust and drifted away in the air. He looked in awe at the particles as they drifted away.
"Now here is a wonder." He said aloud. "That dagger came out of the Barrow Downs, and before that, out of the lost kingdom of Arnor. Surely it was woven with some spell of great potence, enough leave a mark on such a terrible foe. Fortune was in your favor, that you stumbled upon it in the dark."
Arya nodded mutely. The pain was growing even more intense, and dark spots swam across her vision. She couldn't think clearly; her mind was a jumbled mess, darting around and clinging on to random ideas. A panicked cry came from off to the side.
"Strider!" Arya recognized the voice as Sam's. "Strider, come quick! It's Mr. Frodo, sir!"
The man stood and turned, hurrying off in the direction of the shout. Arya wondered what it might be about. Not that she really cared. It was hard to care about anything, when the entire left side of her body was on fire. Another face appeared over her, also full of worry. This time, it was Colden.
"Arya!" He shouted. "Come on! Stay awake! You have to stay awake!"
She frowned. Did she really have to? But she was so tired. So tired. She looked upward, trying to distract herself. Her gaze wandered, going out past Colden's face. Past the top of the hill, crowned in ruins. Past the great grey clouds, moving Westward over the plains. Her eyes settled on the moon, slender and bright, directly above her.
It was so beautiful, she thought, and smiled sadly. Too beautiful for such a cruel world. And yet it shone on, like some beacon of hope, blazing white against the night sky for all to see.
With that thought, the darkness and pain flooded her senses, and everything went dark.