BOOK ONE:

A MAN OF THE WILD

Chapter Five:

A Cause for Concern

Brianna wasn't unaware of the danger Frodo was in. After further study, she saw the troubling nuances of his affliction. She was quite certain the tip of the blade was lodged inside. There wasn't much she could do about the wound, but she made some effort. She cleaned it with water, disinfected it with some heat, and placed him near the fire to keep warm.

The fire died and the logs long turned to ash. She glared at it until it rose from the ashes into a full blaze that she controlled. Satisfied with her work Brianna checked over the other hobbits and, upon discovering all of them were well, saw to her wounds.

Deft fingers gingerly prodded her collarbone and neck. She winced. Dark Fire wasn't much of a curse, but it certainly inflicted a well-rounded sting. It's use was still troubling.

Not to be overly melodramatic, but why didn't he try to kill me? She wondered.

When her enemies decided to capture her alive instead of dead it was usually because one of their leaders decided they needed her for something. Ba'al lusted for her because she looked like some long dead ancestor, Silmariel du Vengrata, the first queen of the elves. Ailya warned her Ba'al wouldn't be the last to covet her. The problem was she couldn't think of who would want her now.

Resigned to the fate of being unable to have her questions answered, Brianna unzipped her vest and slipped it off her shoulders. The heavy leather fell to the ground with a loud thud. A most assuredly not white anymore tank top was revealed. Brianna grimaced at the sight of it.

"Sam, you have some pots, can I borrow a few?" She asked absently.

He didn't respond for a few moments. Brianna didn't notice. The burn spread to her shoulder and chest just a small bit. No, they weren't trying to kill her, but Erebus certainly meant to incapacitate her. With black fire of all things! She could stop such minor curses quickly.

She just needed that bloody pot first.

"Um, miss Bri, you're a bit unclothed," Sam piped up tentatively.

She looked sharply up at the hobbits then took a moment to inspect her clothes. What on earth did he mean by that? She still had her pants on and all she removed was the top vest. Though the tank top was a bit singed and very much dirty, it hadn't ripped. As that thought finished; however, her eyes settled on her slightly exposed breasts.

Oh… oh! She thought.

In her battle vest and pants she looked relatively clothed, though she was quite certain she'd caught Strider's eyes roaming to her ass occasionally. A tank top was probably close to scandalous for these incredibly sheltered hobbits.

"I'm not unclothed, Sam, but if I don't treat this I will have to be soon if it spreads. Hand. Me. A. Pot," she said sternly.

To his credit, Sam did as ordered though he kept his eyes closed while doing it. Remarkably, he managed not to trip. He returned to the fire where Frodo lay and Merry and Pippin watched over him. Brianna sighed, shook her head, and drew moisture into the pot. By now the hobbits knew she could use magic, so she wasn't too concerned about freaking them out. She closed her eyes and called to the land, asking for a good plant to use for curses. The flora seemed to respond almost as if it was alive and she pulled some roots into mid-sized ferns. She crumbled them up and placed them in the pot. Carefully she warmed the water's temperature to a boil and then cooled it down to a comfortable warmth. With a flick of her wrist a stream of the water jumped into the air and surrounded her burn. A soft, barely heard sigh escaped her lips.

When was the last time she'd even bathed? It had to almost be two weeks! She eyed the steaming pot hungrily and didn't notice the prone figure of Frodo begin to stir.

"What has happened? Where is the pale king?"

Startled from her reverie Brianna turned to glance at Frodo and smiled, "Welcome back to the land of the living, Master Hobbit!"

Frodo looked at her dumbly then blushed when he noticed she was devoid of her tunic. Brianna grinned in an attempt to hide the blush threatening to wash over her cheeks and nose.

"Now," she said turning serious, "What did you mean by the pale king?"

"You didn't see him?" Frodo asked.

Brianna looked down at her water-covered wound and shook her head, "No, I was otherwise occupied by whom I am assuming to be their keeper. Strider fought the black Riders."

Frodo, bless him, looked confounded. Brianna wasn't surprised. According to Merry the poor boy had put the bloody ring on his finger and was injured while he was invisible.

"I didn't see the Riders," he said, still dazed, "all I saw were these pale men with crowns on their heads as pale as moonlight."

Brianna frowned. It wasn't she didn't believe him, because she did, but it certainly hadn't lined up with what she'd seen. She glanced at Frodo, who she knew put the ring on before he was stabbed, and observed his frantic expression.

"What is under the wraith's cloaks, anyone know?" She asked.

"Nothing any of us are likely to see if we are lucky."

Sam started and grabbed a log to brandish it at Strider as the man materialized from the black night. Brianna rolled her eyes to cover up her own surprise at his sudden appearance.

For a human, she mused, he moves silently.

"You don't have to scare the poor hobbits, Strider. You could announce yourself like a civilized person," she said.

His brow ticked towards his hairline and his lips twitched into a brief smile as he replied, "I'll endeavor to be better, my lady."

Strider inclined his head and walked past Sam, who threw the log back into the fire, and settled himself in a space next to her. He didn't comment on her bare skin. In fact, he didn't look at her at all. Instead, his eyes settled on the plant next to her. She raised an eyebrow. Oddly, Brianna felt disappointed. Part of her took pleasure from making the man squirm.

"Athalas. How did you…," he blinked and breathed out, "You made it grow."

She nodded, "It's a thing I can do." Brianna glanced longingly at the pot before waving her hand in its direction, "If it will help Frodo's wound use it. I made enough."

He stared at her, expression devoid of emotion. Strider wasn't always easy to read, but Brianna caught his tendency to become cold and detached when something she said or did rocked his delicate sense of normalcy. With a sigh, she averted her gaze and cut a bunch of the athalas at her side and held it out to him. Strider stared at it, frowning, before tension left his brow and he accepted the offering.

"Thank you, Brianna," he said and moved the pot to where Frodo was to wash and dress his would.

Brianna shook her head and checked her wound. The charcoal stain on her skin slowly receded. She glanced at the plant Strider had named athalas and tilted her head. For all intents and purposes, it looked like a weed. Most herbs were weeds, so the plant's appearance didn't surprise her. The obvious magical properties did. Plants like Lavender, Frankincense, and Cinnamon were both edible, smelled nice, and could be synthesized to help promote healing, coagulation and act as anti-inflammatory agents. Frankincense helped a person's skin and, if mixed with the right oils and soaps, helped soothe dry, flaky skin and heal lesions. Athalas; however, seemed to actively break dark curses.

Earth didn't have a lot of things. Powerful talismans that could spell the end of the world if the enemy acquired it? Nope. Naturally occurring plants with magical properties all on their own? Certainly not.

While Strider worked, Frodo recounted his version of events. Brianna considered every troubling detail. According to him, after the elf, Erebus, appeared and Brianna engaged him, the Riders had pushed their way in to meet the end of Strider's fire. The two who slipped past Strider approached the hobbits who were struck with a great fear that kept them rooted in place. Frodo was compelled to put on the ring. When he did the Riders before him turned into pale kings.

"They actually looked like kings?" Brianna asked, halting Frodo's story.

"Yes, but they were muted. As if they were ghosts, but yet weren't," he elaborated.

Brianna frowned. Instances of necromancy were uncommon on Earth. Most sorcerers tended to remain committed to the pursuit of sorceric magics only. Necromancy wasn't an easy path to follow and mutated the user's body beyond recognition. Specters, wraiths, and ghouls were created by necromancers most skilled in the black art and usually necessitated the sorcerer's close presence when such conjurings were used for attack.

She shuddered then fixed her eyes on Strider. The man watched her, blue eyes as troubled as she felt, and Brianna raised an eyebrow. He inclined his head and returned his attention to Frodo's wound.

"This sounds like necromancy, though not anything I've seen before," she said cautiously. "But I'm young, so I won't claim to have seen everything."

"Your intuition is accurate," Strider confirmed. "These are the Nine Kings of mortal men for whom The Dark Lord crafted nine rings of power. He is well renowned for this fell power and masqueraded as a mere sorcerer in Dol Goldur until The White Council banished him."

"This is same Dark Lord who made the… thing Frodo carries?" she asked.

"One and the same."

Of course! She thought.

"So their rings tether them to this world long after their bodies are gone?" She asked.

"Correct," Strider grunted.

Brianna, disturbed, nodded for Frodo to continue. The hobbit explained how he drew his sword in response to the pale king's appearance and attacked him crying the name of Elbereth. He struck the king, but felt something like a poison dart jab into his shoulder. Once all was told, Strider beckoned for Sam and Brianna to follow him to the front of the hollow.

"I think I understand things better now," he said in a low voice once they were well away from the others.

"What sort of things?" Sam asked.

Brianna placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. She met Strider's blue gaze.

"You know what sort of wound Frodo's sustained?" She guessed.

Strider nodded, "There seem only to have been five of the enemy. Why they were not all here, I don't know; but I don't think they expected to be resisted. They have drawn off for the time being. But not far, I fear. They will come again another night, if we cannot escape. They are only waiting, because they think that their purpose is almost accomplished, and that the Ring cannot fly much further. I fear that they believe your master has a deadly wound that will subdue him to their will."

Brianna swallowed. The wound was cursed, but she hadn't been sure what that curse was and how it worked. Strider seemed to be implying that…

"Are you saying Frodo's turning into a wraith?" She asked, alarmed.

Sam choked with tears and she drew him into a hug. Something about the hobbits brought out her rarely used maternal instincts and this was serious news.

"We shall see!" Strider said hastily. "Don't despair! Your Frodo is made of sterner stuff than I had guessed, though Gandalf hinted that it might prove so. He is not slain, and I think he will resist the evil power of the wound longer than his enemies expect. I will do all I can to help and heal him. Go back to him now, I must speak with Miss Davis."

*Sam retreated into the hollow. Brianna watched before returning her attention to Strider. His expression was grave and she worried her lip, feeling uneasy at his scrutiny.

"What healing do you know?" He asked.

She shrugged, "Not enough. Healing was never a focus of my training. Nothing beyond what we consider field medicine, at least."

Strider sighed and Brianna simultaneously beheld the weight of many years on his brow, but also the helplessness of youth. Tentatively she rested her right hand gently on his left arm. He looked at her with haunted eyes.

"How long until we reach Imladris?" She asked gently.

"Fifteen days with luck on our side," he said.

She grimaced. Even with the little they could do, it would take a miracle for Frodo to make it unscathed. Despite her lack of knowledge in the healing arts, Brianna knew there were some things one could do to stay the effects of a complex curse until skilled hands could work their magic.

"I'm not much of a healer, but I'll do what I can," she promised.

Hope sparked and a tentative smile played across his bearded lips. She swallowed, mouth dry, and the warmth kindled in her chest revealed itself across her cheeks. His large hand grasped hers and brought her knuckles to his lips. To her utter mortification, the blush burned hotter.

"Thank you, Brianna," he said and released her hand.

Wordlessly, Strider stepped into the night. Brianna watched until he disappeared into the thick mist. The skin on the back of her hand tingled where his lips had been causing her blush to spread to her neck.

What is wrong with me? It's just a courtesy, a show of gratitude! Why am I acting like some hormone-driven schoolgirl over a man - a bloody human - who only just began to trust me? She wondered.

It took longer than she was willing to admit for her to regain composure. Once she did, Brianna stepped back into the hollow and returned to the hobbits.

Far into the downs by the road that led from Bree a Knight Elf stood before the wraiths. None expected resistance. Erebus knew **Doctor Davis was with that little party of rugged travelers. What he hadn't anticipated was the competence of the human guiding them. The human was a large man, a little over six feet tall, with shoulder length matted black hair and beard.

Brianna Davis favored setting eighty percent of her enemies on fire. Fighting her was a challenge. According to those who served Ba'al before the god's fall, Doctor Davis lived a portion of her life without the ability to touch and utilize her magic. This time of magical dryness forced her to learn more creative ways to fight her opponents and was a strategy she later adopted as she learned to use magic offensively. She could have overpowered him - and had done so in the past - but concern for her decidedly magic-less friends caused her to show more restraint than he remembered.

This ranger; however, posed a problem.

He was an unknown - to both himself and the Nine - and went by the name of Strider. According to Bill Ferny, he'd taken up with the hobbits shortly after they arrived. Erebus hadn't gleaned much else and the townsfolk knew little of the man besides his occupation and pseudonym. The Nine knew a little more - that rangers were dwindling descendants of a greater race of humans called numenoreans - but the identity of the man was unknown. All rangers kept their true names unknown and changed their appearances while amongst the general populace. Initially The Nine held the belief there was little power in the ranger as their race all but stamped it out.

It was a problem that needed solving. Both elf and human were a liability in and would resist them at every turn. Due to the sensitive nature of their mission, the problem both posed couldn't be dealt with after weeks of careful planning. Erebus would have to make do with the boon the Nazgul offered.

Erebus stood before the Riders - a dark frown marring his otherwise beautiful face. One of the kings lost his cloak and he saw the faint outline of the one known as the Witch King. Ring wraiths were pale. Milky eyes stared at him from sunken sockets and thin sheets of skin covered bony flesh. The king was naked - all of them were - with the need for clothes discarded long ago.

It truly was an ingenious bit of necromancy.

"Are you certain the hobbit had the ring?" He asked.

"Yes," hissed the wraith.

Erebus hummed. Yes, he could use the hobbit's deteriorating condition to his advantage. Hunt Doctor Davis and the ranger and kill them once it was time to acquire the hobbit. It was a simple solution. Such a wound would slow the progress of the party and force them to tread kinder roads. He grunted, but refused to touch the cause of his ongoing pain. The wound in his stomach throbbed as the magic from ***Armaros worked its healing magic.

"And you stabbed him with…?" he asked.

"A morgul blade. The blade has a curse that will serve to bring him into our control. Once the poison does its work, we will take the hobbit to the Dark Lord," explained the wraith.

Erebus inclined his head and turned away from them and searched the rocky landscape before settling his gaze on Weathertop. The little company hadn't departed. He saw Doctor Davis' distant figure gaze into the distance, but couldn't catch her expression. One of the downsides of binding his being to Armaros was the loss of his sight's clarity. Not every Fallen dimmed elven eyes, but Armaros' inclination for darkness and cursed poisons took much of his born elven gifts from him. The trade was fair, in his eyes, as what he gained far outweighed the small things of his old life.

"Did you see the she-elf?" He asked them.

The five hissed.

"Evidently," he remarked dryly. "My masters wish for her capture. Leave her to me and focus solely on apprehending your hobbit."

"Capture?" The Witch King asked.

Erebus chucked, "Of course! Her great grandmother is Prince Aries' half-sister. He would be delighted to finally meet her."

He smirked at the thought. Yes, he'd enjoy facilitating their meeting.

"Why?" The Witch King asked.

"Prince Aries wants what should have been his birthright. She is the key to it," he explained.

The Nazgul didn't need further explanation. Their leader inclined his pale head and nodded to the others. One by one, they departed to their horses until the leader remained.

"We will ensure the capture of Baggins and the she-elf," promised the wraith.

Erebus smiled, "Of course."

Strider returned to find his companions in good spirits. Brianna, free to use her magic without fear of recourse, set traps along the perimeter of their camp. He had no illusions about avoiding them and knew she'd likely heard his approach as he entered their small camp unmolested. For that he was grateful. He had no wish to be on the receiving end of such a malevolent bit of trickery and, from what he'd learned of her so far, Strider suspected her capable of being exceptionally cruel to those she deemed deserving.

She sat by the fire helping Sam cook. The firelight reflected in her long braided hair. He found himself held in momentary awe by how her hair reminded him of bronze. Elves typically had three types of hair color: silver, blond and brown. While there were a few different shades they were few and far between. None of them could ever be described with her arrayment.

Brianna turned her attention to him and slowly rose. The tunic she wore still discarded, but the dark burn disappeared. She smiled, a cautious one, as their truce remained tentative. Strider nodded to her. She need not fear any lingering mistrust on his part. As if reading this, a smile spread across her lips and her eyes brightened. Strider returned her smile with a small one before he could stop himself.

"I found more of the plant and then a few others for Frodo's pain and discomfort. There is little in this wilderness, but a few medicinal herbs grow," he said and handed the stems and carefully cut roots.

She stared at her hand, eyes wide, and asked, "How did you know I'll need this?"

"I know the land and have grasped a rudimentary understanding of the nature of your magic," he said.

He turned away and inspected the entrance of the hollow in the daylight. A black cloak pooled on the stone in a crumbled heap. Strider knelt and lifted it up to inspect. A tear near the hem was the only indication of a wound inflicted.

"This," he said, showing the cloak to him, "is the evidence of Frodo's defense. It is; however, the only damage done to the enemy."

Brianna reached for the cloak. Strider handed it to her solemnly and watched as she inspected the cut made by Frodo's small sword. She frowned.

"When Frodo put the ring on he could see through these cloaks," she muttered and glanced at the hobbit who was now awake and watching, "I honestly can't think of any enchanted jewelry that can plunge a person into the world between life and death."

Strider observed her as she closely studied the cloak. It bothered her though he couldn't fathom the reason. One hundred and sixty-nine years of living and she'd spent most of it studying and fighting monsters and shadows. Her insight would be valuable, though likely nothing older elves like Lord Elrond hadn't already divined. Despite this Strider believed it best to hear her conclusions on the matter of the ring with the little information they could give her.

While Brianna thought quietly to herself on matters of the otherworld Strider inspected the ground below again. The object he found turned his blood to ice.

"This," he said and drew the gaze of the others, "was more dangerous to Frodo."

He held up a long knife notched at the end. As it caught in the light the blade melted to the hilt. Brianna started and went white.

"Son of a bitch!" She cursed.

She rushed to his side and took the hilt from him to better inspect it. Strider observed her real eyes and how they widened in horror at what she saw. Slowly she turned to gaze at Frodo with a look of utter horror etched along the lines of her eyes and mouth.

"What is it?" Frodo asked.

"A blade of dark magic. The curse is evil and its purpose is to enslave you to their will. You will fade away until you become little more than a shade to them – lesser than the black rider who stabbed you – all for the purpose of obtaining the ring," Strider explained.

Brianna looked pale and her eyes were fixed on the handle with the expression of one who had seen something disgusting and needed to glare at it until it went away. Strider watched her trace the hilt with one small but thin finger. Her eyes burned and body coiled like a tense spring.

"I can do something for Frodo with what we have and with my skill, but not much else," she told him after a while.

He nodded, "Do what you must."

Wordlessly she handed the hilt back to him and moved towards Frodo. Strider looked from her to the hilt of the knife. Brianna didn't seem worse for wear after touching it. Elves of Arda could barely brush against evil relics of the past let alone a cursed knife carried by one of the black Riders.

But you are not from Arda, he thought, and I suspect we will all be reminded for as long as you walk among our peoples.

I hate curses! They're tricky and terrible and make me feel weak for not being able to do anything about them! She thought irately.

Brianna bent to inspect the wound. The arm connected to his shoulder, she told him, was rendered useless by the curse. They worked to heat more water and crush the leaves of the Athalas plant she'd grown. Brianna took out her knife and began to boil water around the blade. The metal heated so a red sheen glowed around the edge. Carefully she cooled it just as the leaves reached a boiling point and filled their little camp with a fragrant aroma.

"The smell makes my wound hurt less, but I can't lift or feel my arm," Frodo told them.

"I'll fix that for a time, Frodo, but you're not going to enjoy the process," she told him.

She circled her index finger in the air and their concoction of leaves and water began to lift into the air in a steady stream. Brianna turned to him and pointed the knife's point at his arm.

"I need you to lift your sleeve," she instructed.

"Why?" He asked.

"Best you just do it," she said gravely.

Frodo nervously did as instructed. She watched him while keeping note of the blade's temperature. She didn't want it to cool down too much, just enough so it would only cauterize the wound she was about to inflict.

"Take a deep breath," she instructed and readied the knife.

He did and Brianna sharply stabbed the point into his forearm. He cried out and she willed the water to thin into a near microscopic stream before it entered his muscle tissue and the one blood vein she dared open. Then she pushed the remaining water back into the pot. Promptly, Brianna heated the knife again and pressed the flat of the blade against his skin. Frodo cried out again, this time much louder, and Strider moved to hold him in place. Brianna removed the knife from his skin and lifted the Athalas infused water to press against the burn and soothe it into a healing stance.

"What did that do?" Sam asked.

"This will give Frodo some use of his arm, but not for long and I won't be able to do this again. Infusions like this are bad for anyone's body let alone a hobbit's. If I had a needle and an infusion kit it would have been a different story, but I don't," she said.

All of them, including Strider though he was far more subdued than the rest, blinked owlishly at her. It was incredibly surreal to be around a group of people who had absolutely no knowledge of the basic medical terminology of twenty-first century Earth. She was grateful the portal took her to an entirely different world and hadn't slung her back in time on Earth. The locals of a Middle Ages, England would have charged her with witchcraft and burned her at the stake.

At least, they would have tried, she thought smugly.

"What do we do now?" Asked Merry.

"Leave as quickly as we can," Brianna said, "Though I wouldn't suggest trying to make Frodo walk. I don't think he'd make it."

"He wouldn't," Strider agreed, "we will put him on the back of Bill and divide the packs between us."

All of them turned to study the once-thin-now-fattening pony grazing on a bit of grass in a little mock-pen Sam has concocted for him. Brianna hadn't given much thought about the pony. It hadn't been of much note other than to observe Sam's clear and present love for the thing.

"Will he be able to keep Frodo on his back?" Pippin asked.

"It's… possible. He can support the weight of our packs," Brianna said.

"We will have to make due. The going will be slower, but I suppose we can't help that," Strider said.

They set about gathering their things and eating a fast cold meal along the way. Brianna used bits and pieces of leather and cloth to pull together a rough saddle for Frodo. When they strapped him into it the hobbit seemed stable and Bill the Pony wasn't straining from the added weight.

Once all looked as secure and ready as they could make it Strider led them out to the east with every intention of cutting past and over the road and into a heavily wooded area where firewood could be easily accessible. Brianna led Bill with every intention of keeping an eye on Frodo. Her thoughts were far away from their journey and her charge; however, for each thought in her head warred with her consciousness concerning Erebus.

The knight elf couldn't be the only one that crossed over. There had to have been more than him.

I can't even make an educated guess, she thought, Erebus, according to my aunt, hadn't declared for anyone for a very long time. Who on earth is he working for?

"I feel a bit better," Frodo said after a while.

She smiled at him, "Good. It won't last forever, but it might help for a while."

They continued on in what Brianna assumed was a comfortable silence. She was lost in thought. A sense, a small piece of vital information, was lost on her recollection. She couldn't pull it no matter how hard she tried.

"Thank you, Miss Davis," Frodo spoke and effectively shattered her train of thought, "you've been particularly kind to us."

She smiled, "My people exist as servants and protectors. I never would have abandoned you no matter how untrusting you were."

She was referring more to Strider than the hobbits. The latter had been surprisingly trusting of her presence yet possibly the most in danger. Carefully she led Frodo and Bill over a set of jagged rocks.

"I'm afraid," he said, "I don't want to turn into a wraith."

"I won't let that happen!" She said. "We will get you to Rivendell alive. I promise you that."

No more, she thought, no more failure. Frodo will live.

*FOOTNOTES*

*I've changed this interaction because it feels… right? I allude to their relationship changing at Weathertop in later chapters, but the earlier iteration of the first five chapters never really showed their evolving relationship (at least, not to my satisfaction).

** Erebus only knows Brianna as Doctor Davis as he only interacted with her after she formally left OLYMPUS.

***One of the first angels to turn against the Triune.