There was the endless shadow, swirling about and rendering the forms of trees and rocks into unrecognizable masses of black and darker black. Frodo shrank back against a boulder with fright, grasping with terror for something solid and tangible. He was afraid. He looked at Boromir, and saw that the great warrior of Gondor was afraid also. His face seemed unusually pale, his brow knitted, and his hands were trembling. But the small child with wild hair, he seemed unfazed by the darkness. Rather, he seemed to be enjoying it.
"Well?" The child said tauntingly. "Will you not choose, o great warrior? Will you delay our little game? Surely you are not afraid to simply choose a ring?"
The tall man swallowed and said with difficulty, "I am afraid of nothing."
With that he extended his arm. For a while his hand hovered above the pile of rings, shaking violently. At last with a galvanic movement his hand lurched forward and snatched up a ring. The man brought the ring before his eyes and looked it closely, murmuring and muttering. There was a look of madness on his face.
Suddenly he turned towards the child standing before him, crying, "I have chosen one, and I am certain it is the One Ring. What more of your game, child?"
The child smiled and said, "Now I choose one."
He bent down and picked up a golden ring, his hand was sure and never hesitated or shook. The child straightened. Looking at Boromir he smiled again. "Now we wait and see." He said with a soft laugh.
Slowly the shadows faded, thinning and vanishing into the morning sunlight. The golden rings on the ground began to disappear as well. One by one they faded, gone without a trace. At nothing was left save for the circle of gold in the child's hand, glinting under the sunlight. Dumbly Boromir stared at his own hand, which was now empty, before he shifted his gaze to the ring in the child's hand. There was a stunned silence; finally he closed his fist tightly.
"You trickster!" He snarled, his face distorted with rage. "What twisted game is this? You want the ring for yourself! Miserable wretch, curse you! Hand me the Ring, now!" With that he pulled his sword out of its sheath with a clear ring of steel, and stepped forward menacingly
The child did not falter. There was a sudden gold glow about him, as he said in a low voice, "You have consented to a Shadow Game, and will not accept the result. You leave me very little choice." Bring his hand up he shouted, "Mind crush!" Even as Boromir's sword reached his neck.
The tall warrior stopped right in his track with a shocked look. For a few seconds he stared about wildly with unfocused gazes, and finally he fell back on the rocky ground, stiff and unmoving.
The child glanced at the fallen man with an indifferent look, before turning his otherworldly ruby eyes to the hobbit. "So this is the secret of your company?" He asked with a smile, fingering the ring. There was a darkness about him, and he had the air of a king.
The hobbit stayed silent, neither denying nor admitting anything.
"You will not speak to me." The child tilted his head and said in a curious tone. "You wish to keep your secrets. But I have seen enough. This little trinket, it holds great power, does it not? Power of unbroken darkness, that I can see. Such power can corrupt even the greatest."
Still the hobbit said nothing. The child glanced at the shorter being, then turned his attention back to the ring. Daftly he toyed with the little gold trinket. Suddenly, he slipped the ring on his finger. He did not vanish; instead, everything instantly went dark.
It was not dark like the gathering of storm clouds casting shadows over the land, nor dark like the deep shades of night, nor dark like the lightless depth of some unknown cavern, but dark like light has never existed. It was silent, except now and again there was a sound of passing water, vague like a distant echo. The hobbit looked about frantically, and saw the form of the child, standing a little distance away. His form was melted with the shadows, but his presence was unmistakable. The child was staring at into the bland darkness, as if seeing some fascinations in the depth that others could not fathom.
"You must be wondering where we are." The child said, an odd satisfaction in his voice. "I shall tell you, even though you may not understand. We are at the very depth of Shadow Realm, near the chaotic water of Nun, from which the great Atum rose. There is the source of life and death, where creation and destruction lay together in the same watery bed. And with the aid of this Ring, I shall gain access there. I shall have the power that holds even the Creator Atum a-sway."
His form was no longer distinguishable in the darkness. It was simply a sweep of shadows, faintly lit with a ghostly glow of gold. Frodo stared, fearful and uncomprehending. The blackness was starting to choke him. Just then another form appeared, glowing with a new light and transparent like a ghost. It was the same child with wild hair and many gold trinkets, yet it was not him. There was no otherworldly ruby glare in his eyes, nor the air of a king about him. He seemed now truly an innocent child. Beside him, twined within the shadows, the other presence hovered there.
The little boy shouted something, frantically and rapidly in a tongue that Frodo had never heard before. There was silence, and the darkness seemed to grow thicker with tension. Finally there was a wild sweep of shadows, a glare of gold light, and the child stood there once more. No longer part of the shadows, nor filled with light, he stood stout and solid.
He turned towards Frodo then, and spoke in a soft and gentle voice, "I hope I did not frighten you too much." He paused, before adding wistfully, "I was mad, drunk on the promise of power. I dared to envision such forces that the gods do not even control. Forgive me."
The child pulled the ring off his finger. Swiftly and surely the shadows evaporated without a trace. They were back in the sunlight filled glade again, with green leaves swaying in the wind. Frodo breathed again, and looked up towards the sun with gratitude.
"Why do you bear this trinket? And what do you plan to do with it?" the child asked.
After a moment of pondering, Frodo finally answered, "The Ring came to me by chance, and I am travelling to the place where it was made, hoping the fire there can destroy it."
The child passed the ring to the hobbit, and said, "Go then. I shall ask you no more. Go wherever you will, you need to fear no hindrance from me."
Frodo looked at the child with amazement. He seemed so young, no more than a boy, and surely not yet a man. Yet he was old at the same time, aged like the deathless Elven kind. His ruby eyes spoke of everything and nothing, an eternal enigma. And he had the air of a king. Not the air of a king like that of Aragorn, perhaps, for he was neither tall nor commanding. Yet his presence was no less stately, and the glory of an empire was behind him.
With trembling hand Frodo took the ring, and ran without turning back a glance.
The sound was chaotic. The harsh and hoarse shouts of orcs rose and fell, mingled with the ring of steel and the deep-throated cries of horns. The entire forest resounded the sudden strife. Aragorn sprang down the steps, leaping down the path. Racing across the wooded hill, he headed towards the direction of the horn call.
About a mile from Parth Galen in a little glade he found Boromir. The tall warrior of Gondor was sitting with his back to a great tree, pierced with many black arrows. Beside him, his horn was cloven in two.
Aragorn knelt beside him. Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came, "I tried to take the Ring from Frodo," He said, "And I lost it to the Shadows. I could not save it. Beware of that child, Aragorn! He is not who he seems." He paused, and after a moment he spoke again, "Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed."
"No!" Said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his brow. "You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall."
Boromir smiled
"Where are the hobbits?" Asked Aragorn gently.
"Gone, they have gone." Boromir answered wearily, his eyes slowly closing, "Orcs took them. I think they are not dead. Orcs bound them."
"Which way did they go? Was Frodo there?" Said Aragorn.
But Boromir did not speak again.
The sky was growing red.
AN: Egyptian mythology time, everyone! I am using most Heliopolis references here, with slight variances, just to clear things up here. Nun is the name of the water that is believed to be the source of life by the Egypatians. Atum is the creator, who rose out of Nun, and made everything else. Since Yami is from the 16th or 18th dynasty, Amun-Ra is going to be held in special reverence.