Chapter Seven
It was the fifth day out of Bree.
Estela groaned and scratched a small light pink bump on her arm caused by the biting of a midge back in the Midgewater Marshes. She looked eastward toward a line of hills. The highest of them was at the right of the others. It had a conical top, slightly flattened at the summit.
"That is Weathertop," said Aragorn. "The Old Road, which we have left far away on our right, runs south of it and passes not far from its foot. We might reach it by noon tomorrow, if we head straight towards it. I suppose we had better do so."
"What do you mean?" asked Frodo.
"I mean: when we do get there, it is not certain what we shall find. It is close to the Road."
Estela sighed and sat down on the ground. She had long since given up trying to understand what they said. She took Adrian's backpack off her shoulder and looked at it, brow furrowed in thought. What had happened to the girl? Surely she had not been transported to this freaky place, right? If so, where was she?
She looked up at Aragorn. His dark brown hair was dampened with sweat, every once in a while hanging in front of his grey eyes.
His long strong hand gripped the hilt of his sword then released it over and again while his other hand went to his brow to wipe the sweat out of his eyes.
His long weather stained cloak swayed slightly in the wind and his legs in the long faded-brown boots shifted slightly.
"You do make me feel uncomfortable and lonesome, Strider!" said Sam, snapping her out of her thoughts.
"What do you advise us to do?" asked Frodo.
"I think," answered Aragorn slowly, as if he was not quite sure, "I think the best thing to do is go straight eastward from here as we can, to make for the line of hills, not for Weathertop. There we can strike a path I know that runs at their feet; it will bring us to Weathertop from the north and less openly. Then we shall see what we shall see."
"Right," said Estela, climbing to her feet and dusting her knees of out of habit. "Then lets get going!"
~~~~~~~~~~~
It was mid-day on the sixth day out of Bree.
"Well, here we are!" said Merry, looking around.
They were standing in the midst of a wide ring ancient stonework, now crumbling or covered with age-long grass. But in the center a cairn of broken stones had been piled. They were blackened as if with fire. About them the turf was burned to the roots and all within the ring the grass was scorched and shriveled, as if flames had swept the hill-top; but there was no sing of any living thing.
"And very cheerless and uninviting it looks! There is no water and no shelter. And no sign of Gandalf. But I don't blame him for not waiting--if he ever came here."
"Who is Gandalf?" asked Estela. "I have heard his name mentioned a few times."
"Gandalf is an old, kind wizard," said Sam. "He's a great friend of Master Frodo, he is. Nice fellow, too. He said he'd meet us on Frodo's last birthday, but we've seen no head or tail of the fellow since he told us."
"I see. Why do you wish to go to Rivendell?"
The hobbits didn't answer right away. "It is because..." said Frodo, trying to answer the question without really revealing anything to her. "It has to do with something that I bear. I am brining it to Rivendell."
Estela nodded and saw out of the corner of her eye Aragorn, watching her carefully.
"I wonder," he said suddenly, looking away from her and to their surroundings thoughtfully. "Even if he was a day or two behind us at Bree, he could have arrived here first. He can ride very swiftly if need presses." He stopped suddenly and looked at the stone on the top of the cairn; it was flatter than the others, and whiter, as if had escaped the fire. He picked it up and examined it, turning it in his fingers. "This has been handled recently," he said. "What do you think of these marks?"
Estela peered over his shoulder at the rock. It had markings scratched on the flat underside.
"There seems to be a stroke, a dot, and three more strokes," said Frodo.
"The stroke on the left might be a G-rune with thin branches," said Aragorn. "It might be a sing left by Gandalf."
Estela's mind wandered back to Frodo's "thing that he bore" as they blabbed some more about the old wizard named Gandalf and his army sings he left behind.
'The ring that he must throw in the volcano,' she thought. 'I guess I'm not completely trusted, am I?' She huffed slightly and decided to get her mind off the subject.
She begin to see and old man with big, bushy, white eyebrows and a long white beard dressed in camouflage and a camouflaged helmet, standing upright and straight, and holding a crop in his right hand. "Hut two, three, four! Hut two, three, four!" said her mind's version of a army Gandalf. It started walking back in forth, taking two strides then turning abruptly and taking two strides in the opposite direction.
She giggled and went to another creation.
Her version of Lord Elrond formed. He was three-thousand years old, making him wrinkled and bald. He wore a long, white, flowing robe that glided across the floor as he walked. Because he was wise, he carried a scroll around in his left hand, every once in a while stopping, opening it and spouting out unimportant facts. "There are forty-billion-katrillion-bazzilion-million oatmeal flakes eaten a year!" he shouted, jumping at the sound of his loud croaky voice echoing in her mind.
She laughed, making the others look at her for a brief moment before talking again.
Another picture formed in her mind, this time of Bilbo Baggins.
A fat short man, Bilbo, walked around in a room furnished with a long table, a white tablecloth covering it, and on chair at one end. The table was covered with many different kinds of foods, all looking extremely good. Estela could feel her mouth watering as she watched the hobbit stop for a moment and stare at the food with a shocked expression on his face. His hands flew to his mouth and he quickly scrambled to get into the chair. He reached his hand out to take a drumstick off a turkey sitting a few inches in front of him, but Army Gandalf and Wise Old Lord Elrond came in at that moment and ate everything in about .2 seconds. Gandalf and Lord Elrond quickly left the table, leaving and distressed Bilbo who was on the edge of tears. "But...why didn't they leave the marmalade?" he cried.
By now Estela was laughing so hard at her mind's creations that the others were staring at her surprised and slightly frightened.
"Yes, eh, well...a fortnight?" asked Frodo, addressing Aragorn. "A lot may happen in that time!"
"It may," said Aragorn softly.
They stood silently for a while on the hilltop, near its southward edge.
Frodo gave a cry suddenly, and clutched Aragorn's arm. "Look," he said pointing downwards.
At once Aragorn threw himself down on the ground behind the ruined circle, pulling Frodo down beside him. Merry threw himself down alongside.
"What are you guys doing?" asked Estela, staring down at the frightened hobbits and Aragorn. Aragorn didn't respond, pulling her down on the grown beside him. "Lay flat and still," he said.
"What is it," whispered Merry.
"I do not know, but I fear the worst," answered Aragorn.
Slowly they crawled up to the edge of the ring again, and peered through a cleft between two jagged stones. The light was no longer bright, for the clear morning had faded, and clouds creeping out of the East had now overtaken the sun, as it began to go down.
Estela looked at the black specks below and squinted. Her eyes widened in surprise as the specks soon became clear. Black horses with riders, clad in black, that slouched slightly.
"The Black Riders," she whispered.
"Yes," said Aragorn grimly, staring at the Riders. "The enemy is here!"
Hastily they crept away and slipped down the north side of the hill to find their companions.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Estela was sitting down on the ground, listening to Aragorn and Merry talk, and getting extremely frustrated at not knowing what was going on.
"Can the Riders *see*?" asked Merry. "I mean, they seem usually to have used their noses rather than their eyes, smelling for us, if smelling is the right word, at least in the daylight. But you made us lie down flat when you saw them down below; and now you talk of being seen, if we move."
"I was to careless on the hilltop," answered Aragorn with a sigh.
"I'm going to the spring," stated Estela, climbing to her feet, tired of not understanding them. She stretched out her cramped arms, a satisfying crack coming from both of them.
"Do not go far," cautioned Aragorn.
"Alrighty then," she sighed, walking away to the spring.
Once there, she found a great rock some ten yards away that was about 5'7''--as tall as she was. She climbed it and undid her hair from the black hair band that she had found in her jeans pocket and let the soft breeze blow through it. She liked being up high, knowing that some things couldn't reach her, and being able to see more.
She closed her eyes and let the sounds of Middle-Earth surround her.
Soon the sound of Aragorn's soft deep voice made its way toward her, allowing itself to be heard because of her enhanced hearing.
The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbles tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinúviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves,
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantel and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.
Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
In the winter woodland wavering.
He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantel glinted in the moon,
As on a hilltop high and far
She danced, and at her feet were strewn
A mist of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came.
Tinúviel! Tinúviel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
His voice laid upon her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinúviel
That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinúviel the elven-fair,
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore,
O'er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.
The singing stopped and Estela opened her eyes, straining to hear what was said.
There was a sigh and then a pause before Aragorn's voice could be heard. "That is a song," he said, "in the mode that is called ann-thennath among the Elves, but it is hard to render in our Common Speech, and this is but a rough echo of it. It tells of the meeting of Beren son of Barahir and Lúthien Tinúviel. Beren was a mortal man, but Lúthien was the daughter of Thingol, a King of Elves upon Middle-Earth when the world was young; and she was the fairest maiden that was ever among all the children of this world. As the stars above the mists of the Northern lands was her loveliness, and in her face was a shining light. In those days the Great Enemy, of whom Sauron of Mordor was but a servant, dwelt in Angband in the North, and the Elves of the West coming back to Middle-Earth made war upon him to regain the Silmarils which he had stolen; and the fathers of Men aided the Elves. But the Enemy was victorious and Barahir was slain, and Beren, escaping through great peril, came over the Mountains of Terror into the hidden kingdom of Thingol in the forest of Neldoreth. There he beheld Lúthien singing and dancing in a glade beside the enchanted river Esgalduin; and he named her Tinúviel, that is Nightingale in the language of old...
Aragorn continued telling about Lúthien and Beren while the hobbits, sitting around the fire with eager faces, and Estela, sitting on the rock near the spring , listened.
The story soon ended and all was silent for a moment before Estela heard Frodo's alarmed voice, "Did you *see* anything?"
"No, sir," replied Sam's voice. "I saw nothing, but I didn't stop to look."
"I saw something," said Merry; "or thought I did--away westward where the moonlight was falling on the flats beyond the shadows of the hilltops, I *thought* there were two or three black shapes. They seemed to be moving this way."
Immediately Estela was off the rock and running wildly toward the small camp that they had made.
"Keep close to the fire, with your faces outward!" cried Aragorn. "Get some of the longer sticks ready in your hands!"
Estela stopped, ten yards away from the camp, and looked at the ground for a long stick. She found a thick one and was about to run back to the camp but she stood there, not moving an inch as if rooted to the ground.
The terrifying silence settled around her allowing her to hear the heavy *thud* of her quick beating heart in her chest. Her breathing, quick and heavy, seemed hardly to fill her lungs, suffocating her.
"What's that?" gasped Pippin suddenly, making her jump.
'Yes, what is that? Perhaps I would know if I was there...' she thought guiltily, but made no move. 'I can't move...I'm not going to go...no. I can't.'
There was silence again for a few moments then the sound of two light bodies hitting the ground sounded and soon Frodo's crying, "O Elbereth! Githoniel!" At the same time a shrill cry erupted, ripping through the silence of Weathertop.
"Oh, no...the Black Riders," moaned Estela. The stick fell from her hand and she sank to her knees on the ground, covering her ears. She hadn't felt fear like this since... "Oh, no, no, no...please go away!" She squeezed her eyes shut and screaming a scream that rivaled even that of the Nazgûl until she couldn't breathe anymore.
She scrambled to her feet desperately and looked once more at the camp where Aragorn, Pippin, Merry, Frodo, and Sam were then took off running in a random direction.
Soon she heard another shrill scream and then the thudding of hooves close behind her.
"Oh, please no..."
Well, here you go. I like reviews, if you haven't already noticed : ) Thanks for reading, Lúthien Arnatuilë.
It was the fifth day out of Bree.
Estela groaned and scratched a small light pink bump on her arm caused by the biting of a midge back in the Midgewater Marshes. She looked eastward toward a line of hills. The highest of them was at the right of the others. It had a conical top, slightly flattened at the summit.
"That is Weathertop," said Aragorn. "The Old Road, which we have left far away on our right, runs south of it and passes not far from its foot. We might reach it by noon tomorrow, if we head straight towards it. I suppose we had better do so."
"What do you mean?" asked Frodo.
"I mean: when we do get there, it is not certain what we shall find. It is close to the Road."
Estela sighed and sat down on the ground. She had long since given up trying to understand what they said. She took Adrian's backpack off her shoulder and looked at it, brow furrowed in thought. What had happened to the girl? Surely she had not been transported to this freaky place, right? If so, where was she?
She looked up at Aragorn. His dark brown hair was dampened with sweat, every once in a while hanging in front of his grey eyes.
His long strong hand gripped the hilt of his sword then released it over and again while his other hand went to his brow to wipe the sweat out of his eyes.
His long weather stained cloak swayed slightly in the wind and his legs in the long faded-brown boots shifted slightly.
"You do make me feel uncomfortable and lonesome, Strider!" said Sam, snapping her out of her thoughts.
"What do you advise us to do?" asked Frodo.
"I think," answered Aragorn slowly, as if he was not quite sure, "I think the best thing to do is go straight eastward from here as we can, to make for the line of hills, not for Weathertop. There we can strike a path I know that runs at their feet; it will bring us to Weathertop from the north and less openly. Then we shall see what we shall see."
"Right," said Estela, climbing to her feet and dusting her knees of out of habit. "Then lets get going!"
~~~~~~~~~~~
It was mid-day on the sixth day out of Bree.
"Well, here we are!" said Merry, looking around.
They were standing in the midst of a wide ring ancient stonework, now crumbling or covered with age-long grass. But in the center a cairn of broken stones had been piled. They were blackened as if with fire. About them the turf was burned to the roots and all within the ring the grass was scorched and shriveled, as if flames had swept the hill-top; but there was no sing of any living thing.
"And very cheerless and uninviting it looks! There is no water and no shelter. And no sign of Gandalf. But I don't blame him for not waiting--if he ever came here."
"Who is Gandalf?" asked Estela. "I have heard his name mentioned a few times."
"Gandalf is an old, kind wizard," said Sam. "He's a great friend of Master Frodo, he is. Nice fellow, too. He said he'd meet us on Frodo's last birthday, but we've seen no head or tail of the fellow since he told us."
"I see. Why do you wish to go to Rivendell?"
The hobbits didn't answer right away. "It is because..." said Frodo, trying to answer the question without really revealing anything to her. "It has to do with something that I bear. I am brining it to Rivendell."
Estela nodded and saw out of the corner of her eye Aragorn, watching her carefully.
"I wonder," he said suddenly, looking away from her and to their surroundings thoughtfully. "Even if he was a day or two behind us at Bree, he could have arrived here first. He can ride very swiftly if need presses." He stopped suddenly and looked at the stone on the top of the cairn; it was flatter than the others, and whiter, as if had escaped the fire. He picked it up and examined it, turning it in his fingers. "This has been handled recently," he said. "What do you think of these marks?"
Estela peered over his shoulder at the rock. It had markings scratched on the flat underside.
"There seems to be a stroke, a dot, and three more strokes," said Frodo.
"The stroke on the left might be a G-rune with thin branches," said Aragorn. "It might be a sing left by Gandalf."
Estela's mind wandered back to Frodo's "thing that he bore" as they blabbed some more about the old wizard named Gandalf and his army sings he left behind.
'The ring that he must throw in the volcano,' she thought. 'I guess I'm not completely trusted, am I?' She huffed slightly and decided to get her mind off the subject.
She begin to see and old man with big, bushy, white eyebrows and a long white beard dressed in camouflage and a camouflaged helmet, standing upright and straight, and holding a crop in his right hand. "Hut two, three, four! Hut two, three, four!" said her mind's version of a army Gandalf. It started walking back in forth, taking two strides then turning abruptly and taking two strides in the opposite direction.
She giggled and went to another creation.
Her version of Lord Elrond formed. He was three-thousand years old, making him wrinkled and bald. He wore a long, white, flowing robe that glided across the floor as he walked. Because he was wise, he carried a scroll around in his left hand, every once in a while stopping, opening it and spouting out unimportant facts. "There are forty-billion-katrillion-bazzilion-million oatmeal flakes eaten a year!" he shouted, jumping at the sound of his loud croaky voice echoing in her mind.
She laughed, making the others look at her for a brief moment before talking again.
Another picture formed in her mind, this time of Bilbo Baggins.
A fat short man, Bilbo, walked around in a room furnished with a long table, a white tablecloth covering it, and on chair at one end. The table was covered with many different kinds of foods, all looking extremely good. Estela could feel her mouth watering as she watched the hobbit stop for a moment and stare at the food with a shocked expression on his face. His hands flew to his mouth and he quickly scrambled to get into the chair. He reached his hand out to take a drumstick off a turkey sitting a few inches in front of him, but Army Gandalf and Wise Old Lord Elrond came in at that moment and ate everything in about .2 seconds. Gandalf and Lord Elrond quickly left the table, leaving and distressed Bilbo who was on the edge of tears. "But...why didn't they leave the marmalade?" he cried.
By now Estela was laughing so hard at her mind's creations that the others were staring at her surprised and slightly frightened.
"Yes, eh, well...a fortnight?" asked Frodo, addressing Aragorn. "A lot may happen in that time!"
"It may," said Aragorn softly.
They stood silently for a while on the hilltop, near its southward edge.
Frodo gave a cry suddenly, and clutched Aragorn's arm. "Look," he said pointing downwards.
At once Aragorn threw himself down on the ground behind the ruined circle, pulling Frodo down beside him. Merry threw himself down alongside.
"What are you guys doing?" asked Estela, staring down at the frightened hobbits and Aragorn. Aragorn didn't respond, pulling her down on the grown beside him. "Lay flat and still," he said.
"What is it," whispered Merry.
"I do not know, but I fear the worst," answered Aragorn.
Slowly they crawled up to the edge of the ring again, and peered through a cleft between two jagged stones. The light was no longer bright, for the clear morning had faded, and clouds creeping out of the East had now overtaken the sun, as it began to go down.
Estela looked at the black specks below and squinted. Her eyes widened in surprise as the specks soon became clear. Black horses with riders, clad in black, that slouched slightly.
"The Black Riders," she whispered.
"Yes," said Aragorn grimly, staring at the Riders. "The enemy is here!"
Hastily they crept away and slipped down the north side of the hill to find their companions.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Estela was sitting down on the ground, listening to Aragorn and Merry talk, and getting extremely frustrated at not knowing what was going on.
"Can the Riders *see*?" asked Merry. "I mean, they seem usually to have used their noses rather than their eyes, smelling for us, if smelling is the right word, at least in the daylight. But you made us lie down flat when you saw them down below; and now you talk of being seen, if we move."
"I was to careless on the hilltop," answered Aragorn with a sigh.
"I'm going to the spring," stated Estela, climbing to her feet, tired of not understanding them. She stretched out her cramped arms, a satisfying crack coming from both of them.
"Do not go far," cautioned Aragorn.
"Alrighty then," she sighed, walking away to the spring.
Once there, she found a great rock some ten yards away that was about 5'7''--as tall as she was. She climbed it and undid her hair from the black hair band that she had found in her jeans pocket and let the soft breeze blow through it. She liked being up high, knowing that some things couldn't reach her, and being able to see more.
She closed her eyes and let the sounds of Middle-Earth surround her.
Soon the sound of Aragorn's soft deep voice made its way toward her, allowing itself to be heard because of her enhanced hearing.
The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbles tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinúviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves,
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantel and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.
Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
In the winter woodland wavering.
He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantel glinted in the moon,
As on a hilltop high and far
She danced, and at her feet were strewn
A mist of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came.
Tinúviel! Tinúviel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
His voice laid upon her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinúviel
That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinúviel the elven-fair,
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore,
O'er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.
The singing stopped and Estela opened her eyes, straining to hear what was said.
There was a sigh and then a pause before Aragorn's voice could be heard. "That is a song," he said, "in the mode that is called ann-thennath among the Elves, but it is hard to render in our Common Speech, and this is but a rough echo of it. It tells of the meeting of Beren son of Barahir and Lúthien Tinúviel. Beren was a mortal man, but Lúthien was the daughter of Thingol, a King of Elves upon Middle-Earth when the world was young; and she was the fairest maiden that was ever among all the children of this world. As the stars above the mists of the Northern lands was her loveliness, and in her face was a shining light. In those days the Great Enemy, of whom Sauron of Mordor was but a servant, dwelt in Angband in the North, and the Elves of the West coming back to Middle-Earth made war upon him to regain the Silmarils which he had stolen; and the fathers of Men aided the Elves. But the Enemy was victorious and Barahir was slain, and Beren, escaping through great peril, came over the Mountains of Terror into the hidden kingdom of Thingol in the forest of Neldoreth. There he beheld Lúthien singing and dancing in a glade beside the enchanted river Esgalduin; and he named her Tinúviel, that is Nightingale in the language of old...
Aragorn continued telling about Lúthien and Beren while the hobbits, sitting around the fire with eager faces, and Estela, sitting on the rock near the spring , listened.
The story soon ended and all was silent for a moment before Estela heard Frodo's alarmed voice, "Did you *see* anything?"
"No, sir," replied Sam's voice. "I saw nothing, but I didn't stop to look."
"I saw something," said Merry; "or thought I did--away westward where the moonlight was falling on the flats beyond the shadows of the hilltops, I *thought* there were two or three black shapes. They seemed to be moving this way."
Immediately Estela was off the rock and running wildly toward the small camp that they had made.
"Keep close to the fire, with your faces outward!" cried Aragorn. "Get some of the longer sticks ready in your hands!"
Estela stopped, ten yards away from the camp, and looked at the ground for a long stick. She found a thick one and was about to run back to the camp but she stood there, not moving an inch as if rooted to the ground.
The terrifying silence settled around her allowing her to hear the heavy *thud* of her quick beating heart in her chest. Her breathing, quick and heavy, seemed hardly to fill her lungs, suffocating her.
"What's that?" gasped Pippin suddenly, making her jump.
'Yes, what is that? Perhaps I would know if I was there...' she thought guiltily, but made no move. 'I can't move...I'm not going to go...no. I can't.'
There was silence again for a few moments then the sound of two light bodies hitting the ground sounded and soon Frodo's crying, "O Elbereth! Githoniel!" At the same time a shrill cry erupted, ripping through the silence of Weathertop.
"Oh, no...the Black Riders," moaned Estela. The stick fell from her hand and she sank to her knees on the ground, covering her ears. She hadn't felt fear like this since... "Oh, no, no, no...please go away!" She squeezed her eyes shut and screaming a scream that rivaled even that of the Nazgûl until she couldn't breathe anymore.
She scrambled to her feet desperately and looked once more at the camp where Aragorn, Pippin, Merry, Frodo, and Sam were then took off running in a random direction.
Soon she heard another shrill scream and then the thudding of hooves close behind her.
"Oh, please no..."
Well, here you go. I like reviews, if you haven't already noticed : ) Thanks for reading, Lúthien Arnatuilë.