In his guard house, the gatekeeper sat, getting out of the rain. Half
awake, thinking he was dreaming, he thought he heard the hoofs of a
galloping horse, coming to the gates of Bree.
Stirring and grumbling, he hopped from his sitting stool, very unhappy about the late night visitor interrupting his sleep. Coming to the gate, the rain poured down upon him as he reached for the tiny window that led his eyes to the world outside of this small, but lively, town.
"Who's out there?" he commanded, looking through the window. A horrifying expression came to his face as he saw them speeding to the gate, having no intent to stop. The gatekeeper, unfortunately, was not quick enough. Barging the gate down, all nine Black Riders sped into Bree upon their black beasts. Their destination was clear to any who watched from the side: The Inn of the Prancing Pony.
Finally reaching the hobbit rooms, the Black Riders dismounted their horses, following each other's actions in a single line. Coming to the small, round, and very wet, door, a thin voice was heard from the leader of the line of Black Riders.
"Open, in the name of Mordor!" it commanded. Not waiting for a second, it shoved down the door, letting it fall in the oozing mud that was everywhere.
Coming in, they followed behind each other, like a pack of wild dogs. Walking into the bedrooms where the hobbits were sleeping, silence hung; only did the light clanking of the Riders' footsteps were to disturb the tranquility of the room. The hobbits lay still in their small beds, obviously comforted in their dreamland; unaware of what fate awaited them.
Going to each of the hobbits' bed was a single Black Rider. Reaching down in unison, they drew their metallic swords, the clanking if the metal against the sheaths was quite loud. But nonetheless, the hobbits lay peacefully sleeping. Slowly, the Black Riders raised their swords vertically, high above the hobbits' bodies. Waiting for a moment, they all stood motionless, but hesitation in their minds was nowhere to be found. For the Nazgul had no minds: only a will to serve their lord, Sauron.
Waiting no longer, they released their hold, bring down their swords upon the innocent bodies of the hobbits, slashing and tearing away at them. They continued their grueling method for some moments, never quickening or slowing the pace of the thrashes to the hobbits. Finally, they stopped; noticing something was amiss.
Reaching down, they quickly ripped the sheets from the hobbits' beds, only to find they had been deceived. The shrill and maddening cry was heard throughout the entire town of Bree.
* * * * * * * * * * *
In the window, where a single candle stood lit, was Strider; watching the hobbit house being emptied of the nine Black Riders in the distance. In a shadowy corner lay Aniron, seeming to be asleep: though, no sleep could come to her that night. For the one thing she had the slightest fear for, was near her.
At the first cry of the Nazgul, Sam awoke with a startle. For all the while he slept, they haunted his dreams. Merry and Pippin, too, awoke with a horrified expression vacating their faces. On the corner of his bed sat Frodo, gravely watching Aragorn as he listened to the piercing screams of the Black Riders. Concerned deeply, he finally spoke up.
"What are they?" Frodo asked, worry deeply engraved in his once-to-be light and fair face.
Strider turned his head slowly to Frodo, still watching from the corner of his eye the Ringwraiths. Finally, he gave his full attention to Frodo.
"They were once men. Great kings of Men." Strider paused, looking down to Aniron who now returned his gaze. She continued for him.
"Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine Rings of Power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question." Aniron said darkly, retrieving herself from the floor to join Strider by the window. "One by one, falling into darkness." She stopped, letting Strider tell the ending of the tale. "Now they are slaves to his will." Strider said grimly, turning his gaze back to the window. Outside his room on the paved sidewalks, the Nazgul were mounting their horses quickly, angered now. Finally, Strider turned back to the hobbits, though directing his eyes to Frodo.
"They are the Nazgul, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the One." Strider paused once more, now his attention was all focused to Frodo. Though he wanted, Frodo could not turn away from the ranger's intense eyes. "They will never stop hunting you." At those words, the very blood in Frodo froze.
"Well," Aniron said with a sigh, "I suggest you all get rest. Rest while you can little hobbits.." she paused. "..it'll be at least six days until we get to there."
* * * * * * * * * * *
The morning light was rising through the windows as Frodo and Sam gathered their belongings. Many thoughts crossed through their minds as they headed down the stairs: for this would maybe be their last time at Bree. That thought especially scared them.
Coming out in the open of Bree, the hobbits followed in a line behind Strider and Aniron. Sam ended the line with a small, poor-looking pony they had bought from Bill Ferny: a much despised and mistrusted man, more than likely a spy for Sauron. And as they left, Ferny sat behind a bush along the path, calling out to them all.
"Morning, longshanks!" he said sarcastically, directing his comment to Strider. "Off early? Founds some friends at last?" Strider nodded, but did not answer.
"Lady Desire!" Ferny called to Aniron. "Haven't seen you for a while. You, too, got some new friends?" Aniron shook her head, following Strider's actions.
"Morning, my little friends!" he said to the others. "I suppose you know who you've taken up with?" Ferny asked slyly, a wry smile coming to his face. "That's Stick-it-naught Strider, that is! Oh! Can't forget, Lady Desire, here! Though, I've heard, for both of them, other names not so pretty. Watch out tonight!" Ferny paused, now directing his looks and comments to Sam.
"And you, Sammie, don't go ill-treating my poor, old pony! Pah!" he spat.
At that, Sam turned quickly and replied, taking a break from his apple.
"And you, Ferny! Put your ugly face out of sight, or it will get hurt!" With a sudden flick of his wrist, the apple left Sam's hand, hitting Ferny square in the nose. He had ducked too late, and curses were heard from behind the shrub. Sam shook his head regretfully and said to himself:
"Waste of a good apple." and running up to catch up with Frodo and the rest to begin their journey with Strider and Aniron in the Wild.
Hope you're liking it! LOOK FORWRAD TO THE NEXT CHAPTER VERY, VERY SOON! Also, PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW!!! Thank you! ^_^
Stirring and grumbling, he hopped from his sitting stool, very unhappy about the late night visitor interrupting his sleep. Coming to the gate, the rain poured down upon him as he reached for the tiny window that led his eyes to the world outside of this small, but lively, town.
"Who's out there?" he commanded, looking through the window. A horrifying expression came to his face as he saw them speeding to the gate, having no intent to stop. The gatekeeper, unfortunately, was not quick enough. Barging the gate down, all nine Black Riders sped into Bree upon their black beasts. Their destination was clear to any who watched from the side: The Inn of the Prancing Pony.
Finally reaching the hobbit rooms, the Black Riders dismounted their horses, following each other's actions in a single line. Coming to the small, round, and very wet, door, a thin voice was heard from the leader of the line of Black Riders.
"Open, in the name of Mordor!" it commanded. Not waiting for a second, it shoved down the door, letting it fall in the oozing mud that was everywhere.
Coming in, they followed behind each other, like a pack of wild dogs. Walking into the bedrooms where the hobbits were sleeping, silence hung; only did the light clanking of the Riders' footsteps were to disturb the tranquility of the room. The hobbits lay still in their small beds, obviously comforted in their dreamland; unaware of what fate awaited them.
Going to each of the hobbits' bed was a single Black Rider. Reaching down in unison, they drew their metallic swords, the clanking if the metal against the sheaths was quite loud. But nonetheless, the hobbits lay peacefully sleeping. Slowly, the Black Riders raised their swords vertically, high above the hobbits' bodies. Waiting for a moment, they all stood motionless, but hesitation in their minds was nowhere to be found. For the Nazgul had no minds: only a will to serve their lord, Sauron.
Waiting no longer, they released their hold, bring down their swords upon the innocent bodies of the hobbits, slashing and tearing away at them. They continued their grueling method for some moments, never quickening or slowing the pace of the thrashes to the hobbits. Finally, they stopped; noticing something was amiss.
Reaching down, they quickly ripped the sheets from the hobbits' beds, only to find they had been deceived. The shrill and maddening cry was heard throughout the entire town of Bree.
* * * * * * * * * * *
In the window, where a single candle stood lit, was Strider; watching the hobbit house being emptied of the nine Black Riders in the distance. In a shadowy corner lay Aniron, seeming to be asleep: though, no sleep could come to her that night. For the one thing she had the slightest fear for, was near her.
At the first cry of the Nazgul, Sam awoke with a startle. For all the while he slept, they haunted his dreams. Merry and Pippin, too, awoke with a horrified expression vacating their faces. On the corner of his bed sat Frodo, gravely watching Aragorn as he listened to the piercing screams of the Black Riders. Concerned deeply, he finally spoke up.
"What are they?" Frodo asked, worry deeply engraved in his once-to-be light and fair face.
Strider turned his head slowly to Frodo, still watching from the corner of his eye the Ringwraiths. Finally, he gave his full attention to Frodo.
"They were once men. Great kings of Men." Strider paused, looking down to Aniron who now returned his gaze. She continued for him.
"Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine Rings of Power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question." Aniron said darkly, retrieving herself from the floor to join Strider by the window. "One by one, falling into darkness." She stopped, letting Strider tell the ending of the tale. "Now they are slaves to his will." Strider said grimly, turning his gaze back to the window. Outside his room on the paved sidewalks, the Nazgul were mounting their horses quickly, angered now. Finally, Strider turned back to the hobbits, though directing his eyes to Frodo.
"They are the Nazgul, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the One." Strider paused once more, now his attention was all focused to Frodo. Though he wanted, Frodo could not turn away from the ranger's intense eyes. "They will never stop hunting you." At those words, the very blood in Frodo froze.
"Well," Aniron said with a sigh, "I suggest you all get rest. Rest while you can little hobbits.." she paused. "..it'll be at least six days until we get to there."
* * * * * * * * * * *
The morning light was rising through the windows as Frodo and Sam gathered their belongings. Many thoughts crossed through their minds as they headed down the stairs: for this would maybe be their last time at Bree. That thought especially scared them.
Coming out in the open of Bree, the hobbits followed in a line behind Strider and Aniron. Sam ended the line with a small, poor-looking pony they had bought from Bill Ferny: a much despised and mistrusted man, more than likely a spy for Sauron. And as they left, Ferny sat behind a bush along the path, calling out to them all.
"Morning, longshanks!" he said sarcastically, directing his comment to Strider. "Off early? Founds some friends at last?" Strider nodded, but did not answer.
"Lady Desire!" Ferny called to Aniron. "Haven't seen you for a while. You, too, got some new friends?" Aniron shook her head, following Strider's actions.
"Morning, my little friends!" he said to the others. "I suppose you know who you've taken up with?" Ferny asked slyly, a wry smile coming to his face. "That's Stick-it-naught Strider, that is! Oh! Can't forget, Lady Desire, here! Though, I've heard, for both of them, other names not so pretty. Watch out tonight!" Ferny paused, now directing his looks and comments to Sam.
"And you, Sammie, don't go ill-treating my poor, old pony! Pah!" he spat.
At that, Sam turned quickly and replied, taking a break from his apple.
"And you, Ferny! Put your ugly face out of sight, or it will get hurt!" With a sudden flick of his wrist, the apple left Sam's hand, hitting Ferny square in the nose. He had ducked too late, and curses were heard from behind the shrub. Sam shook his head regretfully and said to himself:
"Waste of a good apple." and running up to catch up with Frodo and the rest to begin their journey with Strider and Aniron in the Wild.
Hope you're liking it! LOOK FORWRAD TO THE NEXT CHAPTER VERY, VERY SOON! Also, PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW!!! Thank you! ^_^