Minerva: You know the nature of this chapter bugs me...smoking is bad for you!

Artemis: Yeah, Arwen's trying to get Aragorn to kick the habit.

Minerva: Speaking of Arwen you will notice in this chapter that we are following the movie version of LOTR.

Artemis: ::nods:: Bear with us LOTR junkies, there are those who...haven't read the books!

Minerva: Harry Potter fanatics also need to keep in mind that one of us can barely remember what she has read of the books as she has only read them ONE time each! ::gasps in horror!::

Artemis: Believe it or not I haven't read Quidditch Through the Ages either. Anyway, thanks for the positive comments and please review more!

Minerva: The threat of the magical baguette is still in place for non- reviewers. (You too Art if you don't get readin') Also there is a reason that this chapter may seem a little..different...to you and that would be because it was written by a crazier...I mean different person.

Artemis: ::cough::gandalfkicksdumbledoresarse::cough:: Enjoy

Alius Latus

Chapter 2: Osp ni itaur

An exodus of smoke rose from Aragorn's mouth as he exhaled deeply. Leaning

against the rough bark of an enormous fir, he sighed and took another puff of his pipe.

Though he appeared lost in his own thoughts, he was keenly straining his human senses

for any rupture of the cool serenity around him. He sighed again, and closed his eyes

wearily. Suddenly, they snapped open. A smell, for the slighted moment, had made a

fleeting assault on his nostrils. He pulled out his pipe and exhaled. That was it again,

dancing through the air, teasing his senses. He thought for a moment where he might

have encountered it before. He sniffed once more, and there it was, for a mere instant. It

was rich and woody, like smoke. Too harsh to be the burning of pipe weed, it had the

distinct scent of a campfire. The pipe fell along the needles of the forest floor, forgotten.

Through the trees he ran, momentarily smelling it again. As the forest thinned, the scent

thickened, unhindered by the thick greenery. He ran faster. Soon he had escaped the

wood altogether, and still running like no normal human could, Aragorn came stumbling

to the top of a ridge. As soon as he crested it, the darkness consumed him. He had been

practically unaware of the starless night in the forest, relying completely upon Elvish

taught skills to safely navigate the trees. He needed no light however, for there in the

distant darkness atop the peak of Weathertop there was a gleam. Muttering Elvish curses,

Aragorn reached for the torch he kept in his pack. If he could adequately discern the

scent, they would be on the trail soon too.

He fumbled to strike flint with steel and was soon rewarded with a spark which

matured to a controlled blaze on his torch. Holding this tightly in one hand he drew his

sword, and taking care for naught but haste raced up towards the blinking light in the

distant abyss of dark. By what Elvish magic or workmanship the light stayed lit, Aragorn

did not know, but he was grateful to see that its flame never wavered as he plunged

through the darkness. About half way there he heard the screams of wraiths up ahead.

With no breath for curses he simply ran faster.

When he had climbed to the top of the mountain he saw them, the Nazgul. He

counted at least two and estimated multiple others to be hidden in the folds of shadow

and night. He ran at the nearest one, brandishing the flame, when suddenly several human

voices rang clear through the night and from the unseen depths of the shadows issued

forth four silvery creatures. 'What new devilry of Sauron's is this?' Aragorn wondered as

he dodged back to avoid the unexpected threat. To his surprise however, the black riders

also fled the creatures. Down the mountain they ran, the piercing screams fading as they

went. Aragorn, unmoved, turned to face this new enemy. He stealthily slipped into the

shadows, and in the night's confusion snuck behind the origin of the silvery wisps. To his

chagrin, he saw four indistinct figures, but with an adamant will not to fail Frodo again,

he charged at them. Unseen until his blade met the neck of the one he deemed to be their

leader, he stopped short of a kill, for as the light from his torch claimed the darkness

around them, Aragorn saw his opponent to be no more than a child. "Who are you, and

what is your business here?" he demanded gruffly, carefully applying his blade lightly

enough so that it broke no skin but keeping the boy aware of its presence beside his neck.

The child stiffened, and his comrades turned to face Aragorn, who pulled his captive into

his grasp. "Harry!" one of them cried. Aragorn drew closer the blade and a trickle of

blood fell. "Answer!" He ordered. "We are children, from England. We mean you no

harm, we don't even know how we came to be here, just please, don't hurt our friend!

Please let him go." pleaded one of them desperately.

Judging them to be less of a threat than he had first suspected, Aragorn eased on his

grip upon the captive. "From whence came the silver beasts which caused the black riders

to flee?" he asked a bit softer. They looked at each other, and when he got no answer

Aragorn sheathed his sword. He pulled from the hand of the boy a small wooden stick,

and looked at it strangely. It had surely been made for some purpose, but could not be

expected to serve as a club by any means. "Give that back!" cried the boy, but Aragorn

held it out of reach. "Strider!" called a new voice. He turned to see the four Hobbits.

They looked scared as rabbits, all huddled together, but they seemed relatively no worse

for wear. He met Frodo's eyes, and the Hobbit shook his head. Relief washed over

Aragorn. Luck had been with them. "Who's this then Strider?" asked Pippin. Aragorn

shook his head and looked to the boy and his friends, all of whom seemed shocked at the

sight of the hobbits. Aragorn spoke again, "Give up your weapons, and you shall come to

no harm." He declared, and with no other choice they did. Each of them had only small

smooth sticks like the first. Aragorn, seeing no other place for concealed weapons on

their persons placed the sticks in his belt. Suddenly a Nazgul's cry pierced the air.

Now fully comprehending that the silvery creatures were merely a temporary

deterrent, the ranger realized they would have to make a break for Rivendell. "There will

be a time for explanations later." He said to the strangers. "For now, follow me if you

wish to live. Do not lose your way, as I go back for no one. Hobbits, make haste."

Aragorn moved swiftly to the edge of the incline, and in a moment he was joined by the

new quartet. "Where are we going?" asked a girl. "We shall all answer questions at a

safer time." He answered, but before she could display her dissatisfaction, the Hobbits

appeared and Aragorn took off at an incredible pace down the mountain.

They all ran after, and although they never caught up to him, he never slowed. Every

few moments the scream of the black riders would sound again, and Aragorn would stop,

and turn to be sure they (specifically Frodo) were keeping up. As day broke they reached

a forest, and without stopping Aragorn plunged into it. He paused to hear the strains of

the Nazgul once more and judged them to be no more than five hundred paces from the

wood. He kept running, hearing Frodo's sure stride behind him. After some time he

paused, allowing Frodo, then the others to catch up. He was certain he had detected the

sound of another, less ominous gallop.

Suddenly, into their path dashed an enormous mare, and astride her, the most

beautiful creature any of them had ever seen. "Arwen." Aragorn spoke her name with a

mixture of relief and distress. "Frodo," she said, never dismounting. "Come, let us hurry!

All nine of the riders are after you and we must make haste to escape them." Frodo

nodded numbly, but Aragorn reached for her reins. "Aragorn, you know I am the faster

rider." She said. He frowned at her, but softly lifted Frodo onto her horse. "May the lady

deliver you both into the safety of Imladris." He prayed aloud. Nodding, she turned the

beast, and with no word of goodbye rode off. Aragorn turned to the Hobbits and gave

them a hopeful look. "Arwen is right, we need not worry. She will deliver Frodo safely to

Rivendell, and as long as he is not among us we need not fear the Ringwraiths." The

Hobbits nodded unconvincingly, and tried to smile back.

Meanwhile, Aragorn surveyed his company. Furrowing his brow, he spoke, "Were

there not four of you who first ran with us?" he asked the two strangers, both girls. "They

looked to each other in puzzlement, then gazed around them. "Harry and Ron!" one of

them cried, "They must have fallen behind and gotten lost!"

"Sam's not here either." reported Merry.

Aragorn sighed, "Then we must pray that they find their way to each other and then to

shelter for the night." He said resignedly. "What??" one of the girls said, "You can't

possible say that you mean to just keep going and leave our friends behind!" cried the

other. Aragorn placed his head in his hand and began to massage his temples with his

thumb and forefinger, "I warned you all that you must keep pace with me at all costs. We

must hurry if we are to make it to Rivendell by nightfall. I know naught of this wood,

save the main way through it, but perhaps in the city you can find one who might be able

and willing to help you find your comrades. Until then, they need not worry after the

wraiths. The monsters care not for them." "Surely there are other dangers in this wood

besides those dement.er wraiths." She retorted. Aragorn's lethargy was growing and he

had been thrown off by the unexpected incidences of the night. Fortunately for the

newcomers he was a patient man, a compassionate man, and he felt more pity for them

than frustration. He slowly rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, "I have not the

strength to argue with you my lady. You must accept my apologies. I will say no more."

and without another word he spun and marched off through the trees.