Disclaimer: Tolkien's world is his own, though others walk its path daily.
I was restless one night and this is what came of it--a Ranger aids in Frodo's flight. (And, yes, I know there is only one paragraph to the entire story, so you don't have to point that out if you decide to review this. Like I said, it was late at night and I did not want to mess with it.)
*note: I wrote this before previews to the LotR were even released. Arynia is not my own replacement of Arwen in the movie. I think maybe me and Jackson just had the same idea around the same time. Hey, like they say, "great minds think alike."
Flight at the Ford
Arynia gripped the horse with naught but her legs as she pulled the arrow, released, and fired the shaft at the demonic horse before her. Her aim held true and the horse crashed to the ground, sending its Rider flying and then sprawling. She never turned to see if it rose as her horse flew pass. She aimed for the next Rider, this one further away. She released and watched as the horse stumbled but did not fall. It did, however, collapse when another shaft blossomed through its head. Two down, five to go. But before she could aim the next arrow, she found the horse beneath her suddenly disappear in a shriek and a whinny. The ground rushed up to meet her, and there was nothing she could do to save her the pain she knew would hit. The bow and arrow flew from her grasp even as the breath left her body. But she recovered fast and scrambled to her feet, looking about wildly until she saw a crumbled form only a few yards away. She made as if to reach that alarmingly still body, but stopped and turned as a shrilling wail burst from some unseen foe behind her. And the Rider bore down on her, its sword flashing in a deadly arc. Pain flared in her side even before she realized the steel had completed its swing and the Rider was thundering past. Again, the ground rushed up to meet her, though it swam unsteedily in her vision. Once again air escaped her and only once she had received it back did she crawl to her discarded bow and and single arrow. She took her quiver from her shoulder and found two arrows remained intacked beside the one within her grasp. The others had splintered in the fall. In one swift motion she turned to the rounding Rider and fired a shot that felled its horse and, hence, itself. She scrambled unsteadily to her feet and hurried to her fallen comrade, an unheeded trail of blood following her soft prints in the grass. She knelt at the still hobbit's side and shook him. "Master Took, Master Took," she called to him and he moaned and cracked his lids. She helped him to sit and he shook his head groggily. "What happened?" he asked hoarsely. "No time," she hissed. "Come, we must find Frodo!" "Frodo?" the hobbit youth whispered, then, "Ah, Frodo!" She helped him to his feet and the two dashed off after the fleeing Ring-bearer, passing their own felled horse as they topped the slanting rise. They looked down to see the ford. The Black Riders on one side; Frodo was upon the other. Aryn looked about. "There!" she gestured at some bushes, and hobbit and Ranger ran for them. Once there, she took out one of her last two arrows and notched it. She aimed for the Rider closest to the water and, hence, closest to Frodo. She let loose. The shaft sped true, though the distance was far, and struck the horse. Both Rider and animal fell with a splash in the river's cold, crystalline waters. At this sudden opposition, the other Riders turned and spotted her. She shivered at their gazed but did not duck back behind the bushes, for she was spotted and could do nought to save herself. But she could save one. She watched as their force split: three coming back up the slope to her and Pippin, the others crossing the ford to a suddenly stricken Frodo. The three rode fast and Pippin cried out in dismay. "I have only a dagger!" and she saw him hold up a small knife that glinted dully in the evening sun. "I have one arrow," she said, notching the last of her weapon. She looked down at the ford and saw the first of the Riders already halfway across the river, the Ring-bearer helpless upon the other side. Even as the other Riders bore down on her and Pippin, she knew what she must do. "Run, Pippin, run while you may!" she cried and notched her arrow. "The Ring-bearer must survive, but you must too if you can! Run!" And she let the arrow fly. The Riders came upon them in a shrieking tornado of steele and terror. Aryn didn't even turn to face them but watched as the Rider closest to Frodo fell, an arrow imbedded into the horse, into a suddenly receding river. The river rose against the Riders and came to swallow them. And suddenly a blackness took her. But before it encompassed her fully, she became aware the the Ring-bearer would not perish but go on, even if she, herself, would not.
*****
I think perhaps there will be more. I'm not going to leave Pippin hanging like that! Besides, who's this Ranger? Perhaps, too, there will be a prelude to this. I am not certain. But I like to mess around with ideas. Let me know what you think and give any ideas or comments you have.