- Chapter Thirteen: Amon Sul
- Written by Carithawen
- Writer's notes: Here's another chapter for your viewing AND reading pleasure. : )
The travelers settled down on a low ridge on the underside of Weathertop, which was the name that Amon Sul was sometimes called. Elfindel stood by Strider as the hobbits sat down, gathering much needed breath.
Strider took out four short swords, and passed one to each hobbit. "These are for you. Keep them close. Elfindel and I are going to have a look around. Stay here…"
* * *
Darkness fell over the plains around Amon Sul, and Frodo was stirred awake suddenly by the sound of quiet talking. He sat up slowly, blinking his eyes to wear off the sleepiness that swept him… and beheld Merry, Pippin, and Sam cooking something around a fire, which was burning brightly:
"My tomato's burst," Merry uttered to the other two.
"Could I have some bacon?" Pippin pleaded.
"Okay. Want a tomato, Sam?"
Frodo got up quickly, and walked quickly over to the fire. "What are you doing?!" he exclaimed urgently.
Merry looked up at him, smiling. "Tomatoes, sausages, nice crispy bacon…"
"We saved some for you, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied, holding up a small plate to Frodo.
Frodo did nothing but stamp his bare foot quickly onto the fire, putting it out. "Put it out, you fools! Put it out!"
"Oh, that's nice!" Pippin muttered. "Ash on my tomatoes...!"
The piercing shriek of the Nazgul was suddenly heard in the distance, and the hobbits, forgetting at once about their food, drew their swords. They glanced over the side of the mountaintop and beheld the Nazgul encircling Amon Sul.
Frodo quickly gestured for the others to go up to the top of the watchtower. "Go!!!"
The hobbits raced to the top, huddling in a close circle, facing outwards, their swords drawn. Suddenly, several Nazgul emerged out of the darkness, and started to close in on the four hobbits. Sam stepped forward. "Back you devils!!!"
The black riders drew their swords, and effortlessly swiped Merry, Pippin, and Sam out the way. Frodo looked up into their shadowed faces, and began to retreat backwards in horror. He suddenly stepped onto a loose rock, and stumbled backwards, hitting the floor. The riders continued to approach him, finally standing over him with their swords. In a last move of panic, Frodo slipped on the Ring and vanished once more into the world of shadows. When he looked up to observe the Nazgul, he could see their faces clearly in bright light, all gaunt and worn, as if belonging to decaying corpses. The leader, who was referred to as the Witch King, stepped forward, and began to speak to Frodo in the Black Language of Mordor. As a result, the hand that held the ring-finger began to involuntarily lift towards him. Horrified, Frodo quickly pulled his hand away from the Witch-King, who then, in a fit of rage, stabbed Frodo in the shoulder with the blade of his sword, sending a shearing pain throughout the hobbit's body, causing him to cry out loudly.
But his cries were soon replaced with the battle cry of a Man…
Strider suddenly appeared between Frodo and the Witch-King, with a torch in one hand, and a sword in the other. Following him was Elfindel, who radiated a glow of white light in the shadowed world, and the sword that she held gleamed all the brighter. They both began to swipe at the Nazgul as Frodo slipped off the Ring.
Sam finally noticed his wounded friend. "Frodo!" He quickly ran over to Frodo, kneeling next to his downed form.
Frodo slowly looked up at him. "Oh, Sam…"
Strider managed to set the Nazgul alight, and they fled from the watchtower. As soon as they knew that the Nazgul were gone, Elfindel and Strider turned to see Sam, Merry, and Pippin crowded around Frodo.
Sam turned to them. "Strider! Elfindel! Help him!"
Strider knelt in front of Frodo as Elfindel knelt on the side of his fallen form, her eyes full of concern, placing a hand on his shoulder…a hand that generated a welcoming warmth. Strider observed his wound, then picked up the fallen Nazgul sword at his side. "He has been stabbed by a Morgul blade…" The sword disintegrated in his hand. "…This is beyond my skill to heal… He needs High Elvish medicine…"
"We need to get to Imladris, and fast..." Elfindel breathed.
At that, he picked Frodo up, placing him over his shoulder. Soon after, the group headed off into the night, more in a race against time than anything in their journey to Rivendell.
* * *
"Hurry!" Strider shouted at the lagging hobbits.
"We're 6 days from Rivendell!" Sam responded. "He'll never make it!"
Aragorn glanced at Frodo form, still over his shoulder, as they pressed on. "Hold on, Frodo…" he whispered.
"…Gandalf!" Frodo cried out.
* * *
After what seemed like hours upon hours of running, Strider, Elfindel, and the hobbits rested. Strider eased Frodo off his shoulders to lay against the low rise of a large tree root.
"Mr. Frodo?" Sam placed his hand against Frodo's cheek. "He's going cold!"
Pippin worriedly glanced at Frodo. His eyes then traveled to the more concerned Elf, lingering on her somber image, his own face lowering into heavier grief. He turned to Strider. "Is he going to die?"
"He's passing into the Shadow World," Strider responded. "He will soon become a Wraith like them."
The sudden cry of the distant Nazgul made everyone stiffen.
"They're close!" Merry breathed
Strider looked around quickly, finally focusing on Sam. "Sam, do you know the Athelas plant?"
Sam looked puzzled. "Athelas?"
"Kingsfoil," Elfindel clarified.
"Kingsfoil, aye, that's a weed."
"It may help to slow the poisoning. Hurry!"
Strider handed Sam a torch, and they both quickly flew off into the deeper woods to look for the weed. Strider finally spotted some growing next to a tree, and took out his dagger to cut it… but soon found the end of a long sharp blade at his throat…