oOoOo~*~THIS CHAPTER HAS NOT BEEN EDITED~*~oOoOo
Author's note: Er. blah blah, blah. I dunno what to put in this one. Er. mo0o0o0o0? Cheese is yummy. So are mushrooms. And you mustn't for get pizza and especially CHOCOLATE. Hmm.. Sounds like quite a yummy meal, no? Food. Meh! I want to go to track practice, why did I have to go and get sick?? And.. Happy half-birthday to me! (This author's note was written March 13th, 2003... The day Libby and April were dumped into Middle-earth! oOoOo And also the anniversary of Shelob's poisoning.. Aww, poor Frodo! *huggles Frodo dearest* Not MORE pain for him!) And if anyone is planning on suggesting a romance between Libby or April and others, don't even go there. I'm being sure to show that they're not into romance or flirting. Anyway, the fellowship guys are all at least 13 years older, starting with Pippin as the youngest, and I don't believe Tolkien meant for them to be pedophiles! That's why I loathe the Mary-Sues pairing a teenaged girl with say, Legolas, or Aragorn. *shudder* My personal favorite is human girl/hobbit. Er, cross-races? I know Aragorn and Arwen and Beren and Luthien were cross-race romances, but Men and Elves are similar heights! Besides, I bet those romances are exceptions to the rule, otherwise why would they be so renowned? *tries to imagine a hobbit and a human screwing each other*
Anyway, basic labels of Libby and April, though they don't really fit under any one label in my opinion. Libby's a tomboy/brainiac/computer geek while April's an artist/goth/punk/emo. Both laugh at those who try to fit neatly into cliques, both don't give a hot about romance or popularity. They both a separate set of friends which could be called "their clique" but they're basically their own entity because they basically trust each other and almost no other.
WeasleyTwinsLover1112: Haha, I know I'm a pervert. I invented the cornrows part myself, though the balls part is from a combo of a LOT of in-jokes among my friends concerning balls.. Anduril: Well, I did this chapter pretty fast, but I fear I'll take much longer in part 9.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~ Disclaimer: I already did seven of these, why do I have to do an eighth one? Just to mention something completely off-topic: I'd like to have an average of three or four reviews per chapter, please help me reach my goal.
When it was plain that the weary travelers could go no further that night, the guides led them about thirty yards or so away from the road, setting up the bedrolls in a field of tall grass, some of which was higher than the heads of the two shorter hobbits, Pippin and Sam, coming level with Merry, and even Frodo. Libby was annoyed by the grass which came up to her high waist, and she stomped on one patch in frustration. Aragorn gently prompted her not to make too much commotion. They set up their bedrolls, and almost the whole company fell asleep upon hitting their bedrolls. Frodo seemed to have drifted off on Asfaloth, and after Aragorn had gently checked to see if he was merely sleeping by bringing an indisposed Frodo out of what could become a comatose state, he carried the Ring-bearer to his bedroll. Aragorn and Glorfindel had noted his mounting unwillingness to stir and wake up, and had decided that it was inadvisable to let Frodo fall too deeply into sleep, despite the reality that the exhausted hobbit desired the relief.
Though tired, April and Libby volunteered to do part of a watch, as they had things they wished to whisper to each other in the dead of night, reminiscences of erstwhile times with friends. Glorfindel also stayed awake, so that the girls would be able to fall asleep if they wished. The Elf let the girls whisper to each other, figuring they were taking a much- needed break for exclusively socializing. He noted the faint circles outlining the eyes of all but Frodo, whose under eye circles were an ominous sort of greenish-yellow, to go along with his wan skin tone..
"You know what these night watches remind me of?" Libby whispered, huddled with April, as she tried to separate a knot in her golden-blonde hair with a frown. Her hair was really flaunting its naturally curly texture, as it hadn't been groomed since Libby could remember. She had a comb, but it had long ago lost its competence, and Libby figured she'd have to wet her hair to disentangle it. Her unruly curls looked dull and frizzy, and her fine hair was beginning to become identical to a yellow dust mop. April's usually glossy black hair, which as thick and straight, the total opposite of Libby's, did not have quite so obvious tangles, but it was hanging limp and dull.
"What?" said April, watching Libby struggle with her hair. She smiled; she knew that Libby's priorities were mainly realistic, but she did tend to have a slightly excessive concern for her appearance. She knew that Libby wasn't interested in popularity or romance, she just enjoyed dressing for fashion. "I wouldn't even bother, it'll just get messy again anyway."
"I want your hair, April!" Libby groaned with frustration. "Anyway, I feel like I'm on sentry duty at that boot camp I went to in Rhode Island. The good ones I had with Claudia Jameson, not that one where I was unfortunate enough to land with Nora Schlox. I'm surprised that she even joined ROTC.. I never pictured her as the military type. Wait, she likes hitting on everything walking around with a dick," she added in a low voice. "Gym class too.. Aargh, and she's scared of the ball!" Libby rolled her eyes, she viewed guys as fun to play sports with, not fun to date. Neither Libby nor April had ever had a true boyfriend or romantic interest in anybody they'd met, they just didn't care for "sappy love stuff."
April thought she could catch an expression of dislike upon Libby's face at the mention of Nora. It was no new information that Libby detested the girl though she was polite to her on the outside, she remembered Libby recently referring to her as that "ditzy, perky little bimbo." To be honest, she rubbed April slightly the wrong way, maybe because Libby wasn't normally such a harsh judge of people she made small-talk with. "Really? How were those anyway? We never got into boot camp because of all that other shit that distracted me. Tell me everything you can make yourself remember, please."
April gave Libby a small hug as she said this, feeling guilty for that time in which she'd neglected Libby slightly, causing Libby to withdraw and start spending more time with those who acted as if they enjoyed her company such as Cara Czynski and Traci Morris. However, April had finally resolved the traumatic events which nearly caused her to shatter the friendship, and it had withstood the sudden, unexpected trial, returning stronger than ever it had been before. She gave an involuntary shudder, but quickly regained her composure to finally make an effort to squeeze boot camp details out of Libby.
"The last night was the best," Libby said with relish, remembering how she and Claudia had stated over and over that they didn't really want to go to bed that night, but would gladly have pulled an all-nighter to allow the others to sleep. They had taken the earliest shift that night, after the graduation party consisting of pizza, soda, Pringles, and basketball. "Claud and I had so much fun."
"What did you and Claudia do?" April asked, half-expecting a tale of some escapade which could have ended in punishment, yet remembering that Claudia was a reserved sort who hated even bending the rules.
"I don't know.. Maybe it was all that pizza and soda we got to eat in the watch, dunno. I know it wasn't the note-writing part, though that was actually funny though because people kept walking up and down stairs for some reason. There were lots of post of "unknown male comes up stairs. Unknown male makes head call. Unknown male goes downstairs. Unknown male comes back upstairs. Unknown male goes back downstairs. Unknown male comes back upstairs with two friends. All three go into head. All three go down and come back up, all three go down the hall.. Then the DI told us we only had to record people walking past our post. But it was really funny, him pacing up and down the stairs faster than I or Claudia could write."
April laughed, picturing major writer's cramp resulting from Libby trying to keep tabs on an unknown male. "Anything else you guys did?"
Libby frowned for a moment, then recalled something else. "The scale! We both really wanted to know if we'd lost any weight from boot camp, I know I certainly expected to! But they kept force-feeding us milk and juice so I didn't really lose anything, though she somehow lost like eight pounds. I was like, unfair!"
Libby broke off when they heard a loud crunching noise. Both girls jumped, but then realized that if had been Sam accidentally rolling right off his bedroll in his slumber. Glorfindel noiselessly got up and gently rolled Frodo's servant back onto the bedroll without even waking the chubby hobbit.
"Ahh, night-noises," April said. "Hold on.. I'm curious now.. What kind of night noises were at the boot camp?"
Libby gave her friend an odd look for caring about something such as night-noises, but then remembered that there /had/ been some rather interesting ones. "You mean besides the D.I.s yelling 'Get the hell out of bed right now, little shits!' while banging on the doors? Well, there was this one really windy night, and somebody had forgotten to shut a window. And I'm not kidding when say windy! Anyway, we all sleep with our dorm doors closed, but they were loosely hinged, you know? Y'know, from all the slamming we had to do at night and stuff. So this one night it was IMPOSSIBLE to sleep because the doors were creaking and rattling and basically making one hell of a noise. One door lacked the ability to even close all the way, the laundry room door, and it kept banging against the frame and opening up again. According to the night watch log, someone finally figured out that a window was open after what? Two hours of an almighty racket? Then there were the whispers... And believe me, they scared the life out of me, because I could have sworn I'd heard "Libby" and "Liberty" and "Artlong" in them, I was like, er, help? I'm hallucinating? It was like, "Liiiibby.. Libby Artlong.." Then I caught other things, nonsense about homework, and I asked Violet, you know, Violet van Dyke, from Library Club in 8th grade, if she could hear them, wondering if she would think I was nutso. But she said to me, "I do hear things like whisper.. They're scaring me!' So I answered, 'good, I'm not losing my sanity here then..' Then there were the flushing toilets and the constant whirring of the laundry machine.. Enough to drive one to the brink of insanity. I think the worst was the whispers, though."
"Did you ever find out what they were?" April asked, listening to her older friend literally going on and on about boot camp. She wished that she had attended ROTC from the get-go rather than deciding to join almost the full way into September. Then the Commander had said it was too late, and she would have to join the next year. April held a slight grievance against him for that, as she strongly suspected he'd done that because she was a girl. This thought was confirmed when Libby had said they were allowing new boys into the program, that the commander was being a male chauvinist. Not all girls are like those airheads that seem to run the student body of our school, we don't all focus the whole of our lives on hair and make-up! Just half an hour ad day if that, for Libby, even less for me.
"Oh, yeah.. Nora Schlox and Tia Teeterman, Tia and Claud and I have talked about boot camp at lunch a couple of times. Claud said she and her roomie Genevieve had heard the whispers too, and Tia admitted they were probably her and Nora. I was really tempted to be like, you guys were talking about me? Thanks!"
April wanted to chuckle, listening to her friend the Libster blather on in spite of weariness. That was Libby all over, and one of the things April liked about her when they wished to distract themselves from the seriousness of things.
"You know where I wish I was right now?" Libby asked after a lengthy moment of silence.
April looked up from her lap, wondering what on Middle-earth her friend could be talking about. Suddenly, with a start, she realized that she had thought something along the lines of what Aragorn or Frodo or any of the natives would be thinking. That's weird.. "Where, Libster?"
"I want to be back at that party fund-raiser thingy our school had a couple of weeks ago, playing volleyball. God, I had such fun that night.. It was right before I ended up sick nearly a week. A fluke actually occurred, and I was playing well, even 'showing up' a couple of guys!" Libby said, with an almost pensive laugh. April was startled; could Libby possibly be experiencing pangs of homesickness?
"I wish I could have gone, but my mom said no,. At least Cara and Josie were there, and Tyanne."
"Yeah.." Libby said, gnawing on her lip lightly. She laid herself down on her back, and stared up at the starry night. April rolled over onto her side.
Glorfindel watched the two girls falling asleep and decided not to awaken them. He was a perfectly efficient sentry on his own, while Libby and April were weary and somewhat unfocused. His clear blue eyes stared up at the stars, doing an inventory of their names in his Elvish mind while listening for a possibility of imminent jeopardy. He was beginning to feel a sense of foreboding, as if peril or Frodo's death were imminent. If his paranoia was not unfounded, Glorfindel hoped it was the former and former alone. Frodo would be all right, he had to be.
When the eight companions set out practically at the crack of dawn, the hobbits, Libby, and April were still sluggishly tired. They knew they could reach the ford that day if they tried, and staggered along at as quick a stride as their aching legs could manage. Frodo remained positioned on Asfaloth, flaccid and slumped onto the pony's neck, barely aware of the fact that he was alive and breathing, let alone the presence of his friends.
"Our peril will be at its height just ere we reach the river," Glorfindel confided in Aragorn. The Ranger's already fixed frown of concern deepened. "My heart warns me that pursuit is now swift behind us, and other danger may be waiting at the Ford."
Any who looked closely could see Aragorn's complexion etiolating considerably. The heir of Isildur's heart was already wrung with fear, compassion for Frodo, and slight culpability that there was no more in his power to do for the sick hobbit. He ardently hoped that Glorfindel was wrong, but Elves were rarely mistaken. Aragorn continued advancing downhill on his very long-legged pace with Glorfindel, followed by the hobbits, Libby, and April. Grass was on either side of the road, and the hobbits and teenaged girls walked in these grassy patches when they could in an effort to ease the discomfort in their aching feet. Libby had loosened the laces of her backless sneakers, which had been a nuisance whenever they were walking on a rocky terrain, and allowed her feet to continually slip out of the sneakers now that the ground was reasonably level. She was debating whether to just slip off her sneakers and carry them.
In the late afternoon, the procession came to a place where the road passed through a grove of pine trees, then plunged into a cutting through stone with steep walls of moist stone. Most of the travelers save Aragorn felt a surprise at the sudden change of scenery. The sounds of their every step seemed to ricochet throughout the cutting and Frodo's sore head, and there seemed to be the resonance of many footfalls following their own. They believed, or rather, hoped, that the footfalls were also mere reverberations of their own, though Glorfindel and Aragorn ha their doubts. Aragorn chose not to entertain such dark thoughts unless it was necessary, and kept his fears to himself.
As they traipsed along the trail, Frodo ducked his head into Asfaloth's neck and held his useful arm over his head in an attempt to obliterate the painful echoes while his left arm drooped limp and lifeless at his side. He could still feel the echoes resonate all through his tender skull, and he screwed up his face in a grimace, twisted in pain, as he felt as if his shoulder and head were expressly selected to bear the brunt of flagellation. "I know I keep asking, Strider, but how much further is it to Rivendell?" Frodo whimpered dolefully, writhing in his seat slightly.
Aragorn cringed at the unshed tears that seemed to be clinging to his eyelashes, and felt remorseful that he was unable to administer any treatment sufficient to cure the hobbit of his wound. "We are nearly there, we will be there before today is old."
As they exited the tunnel, a sharp incline and then another bit of road nigh upon a mile's length stretched beyond them, and the Ford of Rivendell could be faintly seen in the distance. Frodo glanced up and his heart leapt with newfound hope, but another spurt of pain issued from his wounded shoulder, causing the injured hobbit to almost double up sitting upon the horse. Aragorn rubbed his back gently in an effort to encourage the hobbit. However, Frodo was not comforted. The pain was swelling by the millisecond, and he felt a wave of almost irresistible weariness fall upon him like a dark cloud. The Ring-bearer slouched forward, blanching, shivering like a leaf with the cold. Meanwhile, he felt as if he could detect an unnamed, ancient fear that was impelling his hurt to worsen in intensity.
Glorfindel's heart leapt upon spotting the Ford up ahead, but dropped like a stone when the Elf's quick ears picked up the still-existing echo as if feet were following. His worst fears were clearly confirmed, and he had to bid the Ring-bearer to flee, making for the Ford of Bruinen. He turned and listened, and, sensing the malevolent atmosphere about the noise of the treads, sprang forward with a loud, panicked cry.
"Fly!" Glorfindel called, a sound of supreme exigency in his very tone. "Fly! The enemy, the servants of darkness, are upon us!"
April muttered something sounding remarkably like, "Oh, crap, we're screwed." The white horse leapt forward at a canter. Merry, Sam, Pippin, and the girls ran down the sharp slope, skidding and stumbling, while Aragorn and Glorfindel took up the rear, ready to stave off the enemy when necessary. They'd only progressed halfway across the flat when the clamor of galloping horses reached their ears without warning. Panicking, the hobbits and girls sped up. If Libby was being timed, she would have beaten her personal record by at least half a minute with the surge of terrified adrenaline coursing through her system. She barely noticed the violent rapidity of her breathing or the "stitch" forming in her side. She was in the lead behind Asfaloth bearing Frodo, and April was second of those on foot, followed by Pippin, Merry, and Sam, bunched together and scampering in a mad dash. Out of the gate in the trees they had just left rode a Black Rider, who halted, reining in his horse and swaying portentously in his saddle. Four more followed their leader, the Witch-King.
"Ride forward!" Glorfindel cried imperatively to Frodo. "Ride forward!"
Frodo heard Glorfindel's cries, but also felt an outlandish reluctance seizing him, a present from the commanding wish of his enemies. He knew an attempt to resist would hurt him terribly and perhaps kill his squandering strength, so he inhibited his horse, pulling on the reins, and turned to look back.
The Riders sat upon their great steeds, as if threatening, maleficent statues upon the hill, dark yet in painful prominence in his line of vision. The background about them faded into a heavy mist, thicker than ever had it been before. His shoulder felt as if it would burst from the pain in his wound now tormenting him. Suddenly, a new thought awakened within the drained Baggins, and he recognized that they were telepathically demanding that he wait. Fear and hatred stirred in his tired soul, and the wrath gave him new vigor. Frodo's hand left the bridle, and gripped the hilt of his Elvish sword, the Barrow-blade, so tightly that his knuckles whitened. Then with a red flash Frodo drew his weapon.
Glorfindel realized that Frodo was having difficulty obeying his counsel. "Ride on! Ride on!" the Elf insisted. When Frodo checked the Elf- steed to a walk, Glorfindel knew that either he had no instincts for leaving, or the enemy had possessed his mind and will to such an extent that he could not move. Asfaloth was straining against the reins, almost begging Frodo to let them slacken in his hand. Glorfindel realized he would have to interfere, and when Frodo let go of the bridle and drew his sword, cried, "Noro lim, Asfaloth, noro lim!" bidding the horse to ride forward at maximum speed.
At once, the horse sprang forward, whipping forward like the wind along the last lap of the road, bearing the precious cargo in the direction of the Ford Bruinen. The horse and Frodo faded to a small speck in the distance. The black horses immediately sprang down the hill at maximum speed to pursue the Ring-bearer, drawn by the accursed piece of metal, as their Riders realized the danger of the impudent creature's escaping their grasp yet again. They made straight for the insolent being carrying the Ring, paying no notice of the friends. They could be dealt with after the Ring-bearer was overpowered. The small Halfling was now visible to them, on the doorsill of the world of darkness. The Witch-King felt a sadistic pleasure sweep throughout his malicious spirit, pleased to know that the wound of the Morgul-blade he'd inflicted upon the disobedient mortal was working quite nicely, causing immense pain and crushing his spirit.
"Get of the road!" Glorfindel shouted, springing aside with a shocking swiftness to avoid being knocked down and crushed beneath the hooves of the accursed horses. Aragorn followed after Glorfindel, running straight off the road.
"Run! Get off the road!" Aragorn repeated for Glorfindel with all the decibels his deep voice could emit. He knew that Frodo's only hope was Asfaloth, the speedy white horse, and that on foot even he and Glorfindel united couldn't overbear oppose all of the Nine at once. Sam and Merry immediately heeded Aragorn's words and dashed aside, but Pippin froze in the middle of the road. Merry, taking his life into his hands, grabbed his cousin's arm and pulled Pippin after him. Both narrowly missed being killed by the speeding horses. "Get off the road!" Merry squeaked loudly in the direction of Libby and April, who had not heard Aragorn. "Get off the Road!"
Libby sprang to the side. The horses were coming closer and closer to April, bearing down the girl in the path. April felt she couldn't jump aside in time. Suddenly, chancing everything, April threw herself aside and rolled out of the way, only just managing to avoid being ridden down, and was covered in a cloud of dust in the process. Libby helped her shaking, dusty friend to her feet.
Glorfindel and Aragorn did an about-face while still jogging and sprinted back to the Road, heading straight for the hobbits. "A flood will come down if the Black Riders try to cross, the power of my people ought to protect Frodo if he ever makes it across," the Elf said, panting daintily. "There is a small hollow beside the road hidden by a few stunted trees, we have to start a fire to deal with any remaining of the Nine!" At that, they dashed past the hobbits and them Libby and April, directing them to follow behind with all possible speed.
Upon reaching the hollow, Aragorn and Glorfindel hastily made a fire rubbing two sticks together as Libby, Merry, and Pippin made a pile of tinder and fuel. In what seemed like no time they had produced a roaring inferno. They all took up torches, prepared to jump in giving everything they had, but Glorfindel raised his hand, saying, "Wait for the flood to hit." They tensely gripped their torches, wishing this were over with for good or for evil. Pippin was whmpering slightly out of fear, and Libby had to resist an urge to wipe her sweaty palms inside the pocket of her sweatshirt.
Meanwhile, Frodo was frenziedly attempting to contend with Sauron's most vile forces, the Ring and the Nazgul, depleting the miniscule residue of his physical strength and mental energy. He heard one of the Nazgul call out as he sped away, the chilly wind whipping his face, body, and his very being, causing him to undergo severe agony from the combination of the external and internal discomfort. To his horror, he could see two horses hurtling madly in his direction, prepared to ambush him from either side. They grew ever larger and darker as their route converged with his own straight road to the river. To his utter dismay, two others were rocketing towards the Ford of Bruinen to cut off his only means of escape. Meanwhile, a tiny, ill-meaning voice within his own head urged him to slip on the Ring and disappear. However, Frodo knew better after the encounter of Weathertop. He'd slipped on the Ring in the dell intending to vanish from view, and found himself with a deadly, tremendously excruciating wound. This pain was all that prevented him from slipping the Ring onto his finger in this final desperation. He would have to remain perceptible to the unaided eye, for good or for evil.
Frodo chanced a brief glance over his shoulder, causing himself some unnecessary pain, hoping for a glimpse of his friends. However, they were no linger in view. The five pursuing him from behind were getting smaller and smaller with every gallop of the white steed he was riding, the great steeds no match for Asfaloth. This diminutive prospect of luck was immediately dashed when Frodo reverted his attentions to what was ahead of him, and the thought crossed his mind that there was no chance of reaching the Ford before he was cut off by those who'd lain in ambush. Evasion seemed to be an impossibility. They were burning clear to his eyes, and their cold eyes seemed to glare holes right through him.
Frodo felt as if his very mind were drowning in fear. His sword was forgotten as he shut his eyes, clinging to Asfaloth's mane for dear life as the bells attached to the harness sounded loud and shrill in his ears. The wind was causing him quite an earache, and he felt sore all over. A breath of deadly cold pierced Frodo as if it were a poisoned spear, as the horse put on an extra spurt of speed, barely averting tragedy as it whizzed passed the briefly stunned Ringwraith.
Frodo heard a splash of water as Asfaloth waded into the Loudwater and began wading across. It foamed about his feet as Asfaloth crossed across the deepest part, instigating the chills trouncing Frodo's body triggered by the wound of the Morgul-blade to double. He could no longer see anything but the Nazgul, but he felt the quick jolt as Asfaloth left the Ford of Bruinen and labored up the steep bank. He had made it across the Loudwater still living.
However, the Riders were at close proximity. At the top of the riverbank, Asfaloth halted and turned around, neighing hostilely. The Nine were at the water's edge below, and Frodo quailed at the very threat of their uplifted faces. He thought they could cross just as easily as he himself had done, and conquer him, Nine against one, at last. They would get the One Ring and take it to Sauron, to the ruin of all of Middle-earth. He had failed, losing the Ring upon the threshold of security. It would be useless to try to follow an uncertain path to Rivendell if the Riders traversed the river. Meanwhile, he was once again being commanded to halt, and had not the strength to rebuff their commanding wish, despite the hatred boiling in his blood. He was entirely too fraught with the odious agony enveloping his very form.
The foremost Rider dourly urged his horse forward. An inch from the beginnings of the water, the horse reared upward, sensing the danger within the splash of the Loudwater. With a colossal effort, Frodo straightened, going against every substantial instinct in his mind concerning the avoidance of agony, and raised his sword in his good hand while his left arm dangled useless. He felt the situation futile, but he knew he had to go down fighting.
"Go back!" Frodo entreated, begging the Riders to depart and leave him in peace with the fibers of his mind. "Go back to the land of Mordor and trouble me no more!" His voice sounded thin and shrill, a voice unlikely to be obeyed.
The Riders stopped in their tracks, taunting him with a harsh, cold laughter that froze Frodo's very bones. His enemies mimicked him, crying in their fell voices, "Come back, come back! To Mordor we shall take you!"
Frodo nearly urged Asfaloth back towards the Loudwater, hypnotized by the empty clairvoyant urgings of his enemies, but caught himself in time. "Go back," he said, his voice no more than a faint whisper to break the silence. "Go back," he pleaded.
"The Ring! The Ring! Give up the Ring!" they cried in their noxious voices, and the leader urged his great black horse into the water, two others following suit, and then two more.
"By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair," Frodo said, with a renewed, final effort, raising his sword once more, "you will have neither the ring nor me. I carry nothing you shall possess ever again."
The leader rose to his full menacing stature in his stirrups, raising his hand. Frodo's tongue cleaved to his mouth, rendering him speechless, and his heart pounded in his ears. Frodo's sword broke with the strain of the leader's thoughts concentrated fully against Frodo, and fell out of the Ring-bearer's quivering hand. The elf-horse reared, nearly throwing its cargo off.
At that moment, Frodo heard a roaring, then a rushing sound. Dimly, the river rose in front of his nearly blinded eyes, and he thought he could see the waves in the shape of a cavalry. He half-thought he could see white riders upon white horses with frothing manes, the total contrast of the Ringwraiths, light against the darkness.
"With the remainder of his final failing senses, Frodo fancied that he'd heard shouts and saw a shining white figure on the further shore, with small shadowing forms behind it bearing flames flaring red in the blackness descending upon his world. Frodo was no longer able to fight, and he finally gave in to the confusion and the black void.
The black horses were stricken with an odd madness, and they leapt forward in utmost terror brought about by their own malevolence, bearing their riders directly into the rushing flood. Their piercing cries diminished as they were borne away. Then Frodo felt himself falling, as if the mystification had engulfed him along with his enemies. All went black as he fell into the void, and his senses left him completely as his small, frail form hit the ground facedown. Asfaloth remained stock-still, standing over the lifeless form of the hobbit. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~
Author's Note: Well, that's it for now! It may be a while before I get the next part because I have so many projects piled upon me by my teachers that it isn't even funny. I'd list them but I'm already at the brink of a stress breakdown. Anyway, your feedback is vastly appreciated.
Author's note: Er. blah blah, blah. I dunno what to put in this one. Er. mo0o0o0o0? Cheese is yummy. So are mushrooms. And you mustn't for get pizza and especially CHOCOLATE. Hmm.. Sounds like quite a yummy meal, no? Food. Meh! I want to go to track practice, why did I have to go and get sick?? And.. Happy half-birthday to me! (This author's note was written March 13th, 2003... The day Libby and April were dumped into Middle-earth! oOoOo And also the anniversary of Shelob's poisoning.. Aww, poor Frodo! *huggles Frodo dearest* Not MORE pain for him!) And if anyone is planning on suggesting a romance between Libby or April and others, don't even go there. I'm being sure to show that they're not into romance or flirting. Anyway, the fellowship guys are all at least 13 years older, starting with Pippin as the youngest, and I don't believe Tolkien meant for them to be pedophiles! That's why I loathe the Mary-Sues pairing a teenaged girl with say, Legolas, or Aragorn. *shudder* My personal favorite is human girl/hobbit. Er, cross-races? I know Aragorn and Arwen and Beren and Luthien were cross-race romances, but Men and Elves are similar heights! Besides, I bet those romances are exceptions to the rule, otherwise why would they be so renowned? *tries to imagine a hobbit and a human screwing each other*
Anyway, basic labels of Libby and April, though they don't really fit under any one label in my opinion. Libby's a tomboy/brainiac/computer geek while April's an artist/goth/punk/emo. Both laugh at those who try to fit neatly into cliques, both don't give a hot about romance or popularity. They both a separate set of friends which could be called "their clique" but they're basically their own entity because they basically trust each other and almost no other.
WeasleyTwinsLover1112: Haha, I know I'm a pervert. I invented the cornrows part myself, though the balls part is from a combo of a LOT of in-jokes among my friends concerning balls.. Anduril: Well, I did this chapter pretty fast, but I fear I'll take much longer in part 9.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~ Disclaimer: I already did seven of these, why do I have to do an eighth one? Just to mention something completely off-topic: I'd like to have an average of three or four reviews per chapter, please help me reach my goal.
When it was plain that the weary travelers could go no further that night, the guides led them about thirty yards or so away from the road, setting up the bedrolls in a field of tall grass, some of which was higher than the heads of the two shorter hobbits, Pippin and Sam, coming level with Merry, and even Frodo. Libby was annoyed by the grass which came up to her high waist, and she stomped on one patch in frustration. Aragorn gently prompted her not to make too much commotion. They set up their bedrolls, and almost the whole company fell asleep upon hitting their bedrolls. Frodo seemed to have drifted off on Asfaloth, and after Aragorn had gently checked to see if he was merely sleeping by bringing an indisposed Frodo out of what could become a comatose state, he carried the Ring-bearer to his bedroll. Aragorn and Glorfindel had noted his mounting unwillingness to stir and wake up, and had decided that it was inadvisable to let Frodo fall too deeply into sleep, despite the reality that the exhausted hobbit desired the relief.
Though tired, April and Libby volunteered to do part of a watch, as they had things they wished to whisper to each other in the dead of night, reminiscences of erstwhile times with friends. Glorfindel also stayed awake, so that the girls would be able to fall asleep if they wished. The Elf let the girls whisper to each other, figuring they were taking a much- needed break for exclusively socializing. He noted the faint circles outlining the eyes of all but Frodo, whose under eye circles were an ominous sort of greenish-yellow, to go along with his wan skin tone..
"You know what these night watches remind me of?" Libby whispered, huddled with April, as she tried to separate a knot in her golden-blonde hair with a frown. Her hair was really flaunting its naturally curly texture, as it hadn't been groomed since Libby could remember. She had a comb, but it had long ago lost its competence, and Libby figured she'd have to wet her hair to disentangle it. Her unruly curls looked dull and frizzy, and her fine hair was beginning to become identical to a yellow dust mop. April's usually glossy black hair, which as thick and straight, the total opposite of Libby's, did not have quite so obvious tangles, but it was hanging limp and dull.
"What?" said April, watching Libby struggle with her hair. She smiled; she knew that Libby's priorities were mainly realistic, but she did tend to have a slightly excessive concern for her appearance. She knew that Libby wasn't interested in popularity or romance, she just enjoyed dressing for fashion. "I wouldn't even bother, it'll just get messy again anyway."
"I want your hair, April!" Libby groaned with frustration. "Anyway, I feel like I'm on sentry duty at that boot camp I went to in Rhode Island. The good ones I had with Claudia Jameson, not that one where I was unfortunate enough to land with Nora Schlox. I'm surprised that she even joined ROTC.. I never pictured her as the military type. Wait, she likes hitting on everything walking around with a dick," she added in a low voice. "Gym class too.. Aargh, and she's scared of the ball!" Libby rolled her eyes, she viewed guys as fun to play sports with, not fun to date. Neither Libby nor April had ever had a true boyfriend or romantic interest in anybody they'd met, they just didn't care for "sappy love stuff."
April thought she could catch an expression of dislike upon Libby's face at the mention of Nora. It was no new information that Libby detested the girl though she was polite to her on the outside, she remembered Libby recently referring to her as that "ditzy, perky little bimbo." To be honest, she rubbed April slightly the wrong way, maybe because Libby wasn't normally such a harsh judge of people she made small-talk with. "Really? How were those anyway? We never got into boot camp because of all that other shit that distracted me. Tell me everything you can make yourself remember, please."
April gave Libby a small hug as she said this, feeling guilty for that time in which she'd neglected Libby slightly, causing Libby to withdraw and start spending more time with those who acted as if they enjoyed her company such as Cara Czynski and Traci Morris. However, April had finally resolved the traumatic events which nearly caused her to shatter the friendship, and it had withstood the sudden, unexpected trial, returning stronger than ever it had been before. She gave an involuntary shudder, but quickly regained her composure to finally make an effort to squeeze boot camp details out of Libby.
"The last night was the best," Libby said with relish, remembering how she and Claudia had stated over and over that they didn't really want to go to bed that night, but would gladly have pulled an all-nighter to allow the others to sleep. They had taken the earliest shift that night, after the graduation party consisting of pizza, soda, Pringles, and basketball. "Claud and I had so much fun."
"What did you and Claudia do?" April asked, half-expecting a tale of some escapade which could have ended in punishment, yet remembering that Claudia was a reserved sort who hated even bending the rules.
"I don't know.. Maybe it was all that pizza and soda we got to eat in the watch, dunno. I know it wasn't the note-writing part, though that was actually funny though because people kept walking up and down stairs for some reason. There were lots of post of "unknown male comes up stairs. Unknown male makes head call. Unknown male goes downstairs. Unknown male comes back upstairs. Unknown male goes back downstairs. Unknown male comes back upstairs with two friends. All three go into head. All three go down and come back up, all three go down the hall.. Then the DI told us we only had to record people walking past our post. But it was really funny, him pacing up and down the stairs faster than I or Claudia could write."
April laughed, picturing major writer's cramp resulting from Libby trying to keep tabs on an unknown male. "Anything else you guys did?"
Libby frowned for a moment, then recalled something else. "The scale! We both really wanted to know if we'd lost any weight from boot camp, I know I certainly expected to! But they kept force-feeding us milk and juice so I didn't really lose anything, though she somehow lost like eight pounds. I was like, unfair!"
Libby broke off when they heard a loud crunching noise. Both girls jumped, but then realized that if had been Sam accidentally rolling right off his bedroll in his slumber. Glorfindel noiselessly got up and gently rolled Frodo's servant back onto the bedroll without even waking the chubby hobbit.
"Ahh, night-noises," April said. "Hold on.. I'm curious now.. What kind of night noises were at the boot camp?"
Libby gave her friend an odd look for caring about something such as night-noises, but then remembered that there /had/ been some rather interesting ones. "You mean besides the D.I.s yelling 'Get the hell out of bed right now, little shits!' while banging on the doors? Well, there was this one really windy night, and somebody had forgotten to shut a window. And I'm not kidding when say windy! Anyway, we all sleep with our dorm doors closed, but they were loosely hinged, you know? Y'know, from all the slamming we had to do at night and stuff. So this one night it was IMPOSSIBLE to sleep because the doors were creaking and rattling and basically making one hell of a noise. One door lacked the ability to even close all the way, the laundry room door, and it kept banging against the frame and opening up again. According to the night watch log, someone finally figured out that a window was open after what? Two hours of an almighty racket? Then there were the whispers... And believe me, they scared the life out of me, because I could have sworn I'd heard "Libby" and "Liberty" and "Artlong" in them, I was like, er, help? I'm hallucinating? It was like, "Liiiibby.. Libby Artlong.." Then I caught other things, nonsense about homework, and I asked Violet, you know, Violet van Dyke, from Library Club in 8th grade, if she could hear them, wondering if she would think I was nutso. But she said to me, "I do hear things like whisper.. They're scaring me!' So I answered, 'good, I'm not losing my sanity here then..' Then there were the flushing toilets and the constant whirring of the laundry machine.. Enough to drive one to the brink of insanity. I think the worst was the whispers, though."
"Did you ever find out what they were?" April asked, listening to her older friend literally going on and on about boot camp. She wished that she had attended ROTC from the get-go rather than deciding to join almost the full way into September. Then the Commander had said it was too late, and she would have to join the next year. April held a slight grievance against him for that, as she strongly suspected he'd done that because she was a girl. This thought was confirmed when Libby had said they were allowing new boys into the program, that the commander was being a male chauvinist. Not all girls are like those airheads that seem to run the student body of our school, we don't all focus the whole of our lives on hair and make-up! Just half an hour ad day if that, for Libby, even less for me.
"Oh, yeah.. Nora Schlox and Tia Teeterman, Tia and Claud and I have talked about boot camp at lunch a couple of times. Claud said she and her roomie Genevieve had heard the whispers too, and Tia admitted they were probably her and Nora. I was really tempted to be like, you guys were talking about me? Thanks!"
April wanted to chuckle, listening to her friend the Libster blather on in spite of weariness. That was Libby all over, and one of the things April liked about her when they wished to distract themselves from the seriousness of things.
"You know where I wish I was right now?" Libby asked after a lengthy moment of silence.
April looked up from her lap, wondering what on Middle-earth her friend could be talking about. Suddenly, with a start, she realized that she had thought something along the lines of what Aragorn or Frodo or any of the natives would be thinking. That's weird.. "Where, Libster?"
"I want to be back at that party fund-raiser thingy our school had a couple of weeks ago, playing volleyball. God, I had such fun that night.. It was right before I ended up sick nearly a week. A fluke actually occurred, and I was playing well, even 'showing up' a couple of guys!" Libby said, with an almost pensive laugh. April was startled; could Libby possibly be experiencing pangs of homesickness?
"I wish I could have gone, but my mom said no,. At least Cara and Josie were there, and Tyanne."
"Yeah.." Libby said, gnawing on her lip lightly. She laid herself down on her back, and stared up at the starry night. April rolled over onto her side.
Glorfindel watched the two girls falling asleep and decided not to awaken them. He was a perfectly efficient sentry on his own, while Libby and April were weary and somewhat unfocused. His clear blue eyes stared up at the stars, doing an inventory of their names in his Elvish mind while listening for a possibility of imminent jeopardy. He was beginning to feel a sense of foreboding, as if peril or Frodo's death were imminent. If his paranoia was not unfounded, Glorfindel hoped it was the former and former alone. Frodo would be all right, he had to be.
When the eight companions set out practically at the crack of dawn, the hobbits, Libby, and April were still sluggishly tired. They knew they could reach the ford that day if they tried, and staggered along at as quick a stride as their aching legs could manage. Frodo remained positioned on Asfaloth, flaccid and slumped onto the pony's neck, barely aware of the fact that he was alive and breathing, let alone the presence of his friends.
"Our peril will be at its height just ere we reach the river," Glorfindel confided in Aragorn. The Ranger's already fixed frown of concern deepened. "My heart warns me that pursuit is now swift behind us, and other danger may be waiting at the Ford."
Any who looked closely could see Aragorn's complexion etiolating considerably. The heir of Isildur's heart was already wrung with fear, compassion for Frodo, and slight culpability that there was no more in his power to do for the sick hobbit. He ardently hoped that Glorfindel was wrong, but Elves were rarely mistaken. Aragorn continued advancing downhill on his very long-legged pace with Glorfindel, followed by the hobbits, Libby, and April. Grass was on either side of the road, and the hobbits and teenaged girls walked in these grassy patches when they could in an effort to ease the discomfort in their aching feet. Libby had loosened the laces of her backless sneakers, which had been a nuisance whenever they were walking on a rocky terrain, and allowed her feet to continually slip out of the sneakers now that the ground was reasonably level. She was debating whether to just slip off her sneakers and carry them.
In the late afternoon, the procession came to a place where the road passed through a grove of pine trees, then plunged into a cutting through stone with steep walls of moist stone. Most of the travelers save Aragorn felt a surprise at the sudden change of scenery. The sounds of their every step seemed to ricochet throughout the cutting and Frodo's sore head, and there seemed to be the resonance of many footfalls following their own. They believed, or rather, hoped, that the footfalls were also mere reverberations of their own, though Glorfindel and Aragorn ha their doubts. Aragorn chose not to entertain such dark thoughts unless it was necessary, and kept his fears to himself.
As they traipsed along the trail, Frodo ducked his head into Asfaloth's neck and held his useful arm over his head in an attempt to obliterate the painful echoes while his left arm drooped limp and lifeless at his side. He could still feel the echoes resonate all through his tender skull, and he screwed up his face in a grimace, twisted in pain, as he felt as if his shoulder and head were expressly selected to bear the brunt of flagellation. "I know I keep asking, Strider, but how much further is it to Rivendell?" Frodo whimpered dolefully, writhing in his seat slightly.
Aragorn cringed at the unshed tears that seemed to be clinging to his eyelashes, and felt remorseful that he was unable to administer any treatment sufficient to cure the hobbit of his wound. "We are nearly there, we will be there before today is old."
As they exited the tunnel, a sharp incline and then another bit of road nigh upon a mile's length stretched beyond them, and the Ford of Rivendell could be faintly seen in the distance. Frodo glanced up and his heart leapt with newfound hope, but another spurt of pain issued from his wounded shoulder, causing the injured hobbit to almost double up sitting upon the horse. Aragorn rubbed his back gently in an effort to encourage the hobbit. However, Frodo was not comforted. The pain was swelling by the millisecond, and he felt a wave of almost irresistible weariness fall upon him like a dark cloud. The Ring-bearer slouched forward, blanching, shivering like a leaf with the cold. Meanwhile, he felt as if he could detect an unnamed, ancient fear that was impelling his hurt to worsen in intensity.
Glorfindel's heart leapt upon spotting the Ford up ahead, but dropped like a stone when the Elf's quick ears picked up the still-existing echo as if feet were following. His worst fears were clearly confirmed, and he had to bid the Ring-bearer to flee, making for the Ford of Bruinen. He turned and listened, and, sensing the malevolent atmosphere about the noise of the treads, sprang forward with a loud, panicked cry.
"Fly!" Glorfindel called, a sound of supreme exigency in his very tone. "Fly! The enemy, the servants of darkness, are upon us!"
April muttered something sounding remarkably like, "Oh, crap, we're screwed." The white horse leapt forward at a canter. Merry, Sam, Pippin, and the girls ran down the sharp slope, skidding and stumbling, while Aragorn and Glorfindel took up the rear, ready to stave off the enemy when necessary. They'd only progressed halfway across the flat when the clamor of galloping horses reached their ears without warning. Panicking, the hobbits and girls sped up. If Libby was being timed, she would have beaten her personal record by at least half a minute with the surge of terrified adrenaline coursing through her system. She barely noticed the violent rapidity of her breathing or the "stitch" forming in her side. She was in the lead behind Asfaloth bearing Frodo, and April was second of those on foot, followed by Pippin, Merry, and Sam, bunched together and scampering in a mad dash. Out of the gate in the trees they had just left rode a Black Rider, who halted, reining in his horse and swaying portentously in his saddle. Four more followed their leader, the Witch-King.
"Ride forward!" Glorfindel cried imperatively to Frodo. "Ride forward!"
Frodo heard Glorfindel's cries, but also felt an outlandish reluctance seizing him, a present from the commanding wish of his enemies. He knew an attempt to resist would hurt him terribly and perhaps kill his squandering strength, so he inhibited his horse, pulling on the reins, and turned to look back.
The Riders sat upon their great steeds, as if threatening, maleficent statues upon the hill, dark yet in painful prominence in his line of vision. The background about them faded into a heavy mist, thicker than ever had it been before. His shoulder felt as if it would burst from the pain in his wound now tormenting him. Suddenly, a new thought awakened within the drained Baggins, and he recognized that they were telepathically demanding that he wait. Fear and hatred stirred in his tired soul, and the wrath gave him new vigor. Frodo's hand left the bridle, and gripped the hilt of his Elvish sword, the Barrow-blade, so tightly that his knuckles whitened. Then with a red flash Frodo drew his weapon.
Glorfindel realized that Frodo was having difficulty obeying his counsel. "Ride on! Ride on!" the Elf insisted. When Frodo checked the Elf- steed to a walk, Glorfindel knew that either he had no instincts for leaving, or the enemy had possessed his mind and will to such an extent that he could not move. Asfaloth was straining against the reins, almost begging Frodo to let them slacken in his hand. Glorfindel realized he would have to interfere, and when Frodo let go of the bridle and drew his sword, cried, "Noro lim, Asfaloth, noro lim!" bidding the horse to ride forward at maximum speed.
At once, the horse sprang forward, whipping forward like the wind along the last lap of the road, bearing the precious cargo in the direction of the Ford Bruinen. The horse and Frodo faded to a small speck in the distance. The black horses immediately sprang down the hill at maximum speed to pursue the Ring-bearer, drawn by the accursed piece of metal, as their Riders realized the danger of the impudent creature's escaping their grasp yet again. They made straight for the insolent being carrying the Ring, paying no notice of the friends. They could be dealt with after the Ring-bearer was overpowered. The small Halfling was now visible to them, on the doorsill of the world of darkness. The Witch-King felt a sadistic pleasure sweep throughout his malicious spirit, pleased to know that the wound of the Morgul-blade he'd inflicted upon the disobedient mortal was working quite nicely, causing immense pain and crushing his spirit.
"Get of the road!" Glorfindel shouted, springing aside with a shocking swiftness to avoid being knocked down and crushed beneath the hooves of the accursed horses. Aragorn followed after Glorfindel, running straight off the road.
"Run! Get off the road!" Aragorn repeated for Glorfindel with all the decibels his deep voice could emit. He knew that Frodo's only hope was Asfaloth, the speedy white horse, and that on foot even he and Glorfindel united couldn't overbear oppose all of the Nine at once. Sam and Merry immediately heeded Aragorn's words and dashed aside, but Pippin froze in the middle of the road. Merry, taking his life into his hands, grabbed his cousin's arm and pulled Pippin after him. Both narrowly missed being killed by the speeding horses. "Get off the road!" Merry squeaked loudly in the direction of Libby and April, who had not heard Aragorn. "Get off the Road!"
Libby sprang to the side. The horses were coming closer and closer to April, bearing down the girl in the path. April felt she couldn't jump aside in time. Suddenly, chancing everything, April threw herself aside and rolled out of the way, only just managing to avoid being ridden down, and was covered in a cloud of dust in the process. Libby helped her shaking, dusty friend to her feet.
Glorfindel and Aragorn did an about-face while still jogging and sprinted back to the Road, heading straight for the hobbits. "A flood will come down if the Black Riders try to cross, the power of my people ought to protect Frodo if he ever makes it across," the Elf said, panting daintily. "There is a small hollow beside the road hidden by a few stunted trees, we have to start a fire to deal with any remaining of the Nine!" At that, they dashed past the hobbits and them Libby and April, directing them to follow behind with all possible speed.
Upon reaching the hollow, Aragorn and Glorfindel hastily made a fire rubbing two sticks together as Libby, Merry, and Pippin made a pile of tinder and fuel. In what seemed like no time they had produced a roaring inferno. They all took up torches, prepared to jump in giving everything they had, but Glorfindel raised his hand, saying, "Wait for the flood to hit." They tensely gripped their torches, wishing this were over with for good or for evil. Pippin was whmpering slightly out of fear, and Libby had to resist an urge to wipe her sweaty palms inside the pocket of her sweatshirt.
Meanwhile, Frodo was frenziedly attempting to contend with Sauron's most vile forces, the Ring and the Nazgul, depleting the miniscule residue of his physical strength and mental energy. He heard one of the Nazgul call out as he sped away, the chilly wind whipping his face, body, and his very being, causing him to undergo severe agony from the combination of the external and internal discomfort. To his horror, he could see two horses hurtling madly in his direction, prepared to ambush him from either side. They grew ever larger and darker as their route converged with his own straight road to the river. To his utter dismay, two others were rocketing towards the Ford of Bruinen to cut off his only means of escape. Meanwhile, a tiny, ill-meaning voice within his own head urged him to slip on the Ring and disappear. However, Frodo knew better after the encounter of Weathertop. He'd slipped on the Ring in the dell intending to vanish from view, and found himself with a deadly, tremendously excruciating wound. This pain was all that prevented him from slipping the Ring onto his finger in this final desperation. He would have to remain perceptible to the unaided eye, for good or for evil.
Frodo chanced a brief glance over his shoulder, causing himself some unnecessary pain, hoping for a glimpse of his friends. However, they were no linger in view. The five pursuing him from behind were getting smaller and smaller with every gallop of the white steed he was riding, the great steeds no match for Asfaloth. This diminutive prospect of luck was immediately dashed when Frodo reverted his attentions to what was ahead of him, and the thought crossed his mind that there was no chance of reaching the Ford before he was cut off by those who'd lain in ambush. Evasion seemed to be an impossibility. They were burning clear to his eyes, and their cold eyes seemed to glare holes right through him.
Frodo felt as if his very mind were drowning in fear. His sword was forgotten as he shut his eyes, clinging to Asfaloth's mane for dear life as the bells attached to the harness sounded loud and shrill in his ears. The wind was causing him quite an earache, and he felt sore all over. A breath of deadly cold pierced Frodo as if it were a poisoned spear, as the horse put on an extra spurt of speed, barely averting tragedy as it whizzed passed the briefly stunned Ringwraith.
Frodo heard a splash of water as Asfaloth waded into the Loudwater and began wading across. It foamed about his feet as Asfaloth crossed across the deepest part, instigating the chills trouncing Frodo's body triggered by the wound of the Morgul-blade to double. He could no longer see anything but the Nazgul, but he felt the quick jolt as Asfaloth left the Ford of Bruinen and labored up the steep bank. He had made it across the Loudwater still living.
However, the Riders were at close proximity. At the top of the riverbank, Asfaloth halted and turned around, neighing hostilely. The Nine were at the water's edge below, and Frodo quailed at the very threat of their uplifted faces. He thought they could cross just as easily as he himself had done, and conquer him, Nine against one, at last. They would get the One Ring and take it to Sauron, to the ruin of all of Middle-earth. He had failed, losing the Ring upon the threshold of security. It would be useless to try to follow an uncertain path to Rivendell if the Riders traversed the river. Meanwhile, he was once again being commanded to halt, and had not the strength to rebuff their commanding wish, despite the hatred boiling in his blood. He was entirely too fraught with the odious agony enveloping his very form.
The foremost Rider dourly urged his horse forward. An inch from the beginnings of the water, the horse reared upward, sensing the danger within the splash of the Loudwater. With a colossal effort, Frodo straightened, going against every substantial instinct in his mind concerning the avoidance of agony, and raised his sword in his good hand while his left arm dangled useless. He felt the situation futile, but he knew he had to go down fighting.
"Go back!" Frodo entreated, begging the Riders to depart and leave him in peace with the fibers of his mind. "Go back to the land of Mordor and trouble me no more!" His voice sounded thin and shrill, a voice unlikely to be obeyed.
The Riders stopped in their tracks, taunting him with a harsh, cold laughter that froze Frodo's very bones. His enemies mimicked him, crying in their fell voices, "Come back, come back! To Mordor we shall take you!"
Frodo nearly urged Asfaloth back towards the Loudwater, hypnotized by the empty clairvoyant urgings of his enemies, but caught himself in time. "Go back," he said, his voice no more than a faint whisper to break the silence. "Go back," he pleaded.
"The Ring! The Ring! Give up the Ring!" they cried in their noxious voices, and the leader urged his great black horse into the water, two others following suit, and then two more.
"By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair," Frodo said, with a renewed, final effort, raising his sword once more, "you will have neither the ring nor me. I carry nothing you shall possess ever again."
The leader rose to his full menacing stature in his stirrups, raising his hand. Frodo's tongue cleaved to his mouth, rendering him speechless, and his heart pounded in his ears. Frodo's sword broke with the strain of the leader's thoughts concentrated fully against Frodo, and fell out of the Ring-bearer's quivering hand. The elf-horse reared, nearly throwing its cargo off.
At that moment, Frodo heard a roaring, then a rushing sound. Dimly, the river rose in front of his nearly blinded eyes, and he thought he could see the waves in the shape of a cavalry. He half-thought he could see white riders upon white horses with frothing manes, the total contrast of the Ringwraiths, light against the darkness.
"With the remainder of his final failing senses, Frodo fancied that he'd heard shouts and saw a shining white figure on the further shore, with small shadowing forms behind it bearing flames flaring red in the blackness descending upon his world. Frodo was no longer able to fight, and he finally gave in to the confusion and the black void.
The black horses were stricken with an odd madness, and they leapt forward in utmost terror brought about by their own malevolence, bearing their riders directly into the rushing flood. Their piercing cries diminished as they were borne away. Then Frodo felt himself falling, as if the mystification had engulfed him along with his enemies. All went black as he fell into the void, and his senses left him completely as his small, frail form hit the ground facedown. Asfaloth remained stock-still, standing over the lifeless form of the hobbit. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~
Author's Note: Well, that's it for now! It may be a while before I get the next part because I have so many projects piled upon me by my teachers that it isn't even funny. I'd list them but I'm already at the brink of a stress breakdown. Anyway, your feedback is vastly appreciated.
