Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
The awful scream that erupted from the darkness was not that of the Black Riders, and Sam knew it.
The hobbit clambered to his feet, about ready to fight his way through the mass of dark, shrouded cloaks, when another shape came forth from the night and leapt into the center of them.
He held in his fingers a flaming torch and in his right hand was a glimmering blade. Strider swung both expertly as he cut and slashed at the Úlairi.
Taking their preoccupation to his advantage, Sam grasped his sword and hurried over to where Frodo had disappeared.
Worried and confused, the gardener walked carefully. He could not understand why he could not find his master. He could not even hear panting or screaming. This worried him highly, and he fell to his hand and knees; dropping his sword he began to scour the ground.
Aragorn had dragged the battle to the other end of the tower and was now twirling and ducking as he lunged the lighted torch forward, hoping to catch the wraith's cloaks afire.
Sharp cries erupted from the beings as their cloaks, hoods, and the entire rest of their garments caught fire.
Some ran, while others, who had yet to be touched by the searing flames, stayed and fought with the ranger.
Spinning skillfully, Aragorn brought up his sword and blocked a particular swing, then with speed flicked the flaming stick forward. It licked hungrily at the black robes of the Nazgûl and the thing screamed while it thrashed wildly.
Pippin watched in pure amazement.
He had never seen anyone fight so well - in truth; he did not think that it was possible for Strider to. But once again, he had been proven wrong.
Listening expertly now, Aragorn turned and cast the flaming torch from his grasp and into the last wraith's hood.
The Nazgûl writhed at the torch, screaming and hissing as it backed away. And then it fled with a howl to the night and disappeared from the sight of all on the tower's peak.
Stumbling, Aragorn pulled the cotton from his ears and let it fall useless to the ground. His breathing hitched and he sheathed his sword wearily, wiping sweat, and blood from his brow.
"Pippin," he called, trying to pick his way through the brushy grasses and hewn rocks.
Running forward, the halfling nodded bravely, ready to take any orders from this man. He had never seen a warrior before, but now he knew as he laid his green eyes on the ranger that he had a hero. And if it were to be any, it would be Strider.
They continued on to where Sam sat next to a prone figure, he was holding the hobbit's fingers tightly and breathing fearfully as he tried to waken his unconscious master.
Merry was up in an instant, standing in front of Frodo and separating the unconscious hobbit from the ranger, while Sam sat on the ground holding his friend's head and looking up at the approaching ranger with mournful eyes.
"Where's Frodo?" the man hissed, stopping when he was about three feet from Merry, who now held his blade outwards in a threatening manner.
Not paying attention to the question, he snarled and leapt closer while Aragorn took a step back, hands raised peacefully. "You get away from him!"
"Merry," Pippin's voice was drowned out as the angry Brandybuck shouted at Strider, his throat thick with uncontained emotion.
"You've done enough, Longshanks! Leave, you filthy smuggler, or so help me, I'll put this blade right in your middle! And don't think I won't!"
"Please," the ranger murmured quietly, moving to the left and trying to creep around the one side of Merry. "I just want to help him, he'll die if-"
A metallic sort of swish rang in Estel's ears. He tried to step away, but so surprised by the sudden attack and the odd ring that he could only muster a half step away from the vicious hobbit. He gasped when he felt cold, cruel steel rip through his overcoat, jerkin, and tunic. He stepped away just as Merry's blade made a serrated gash in his skin.
Almost as stunned, the hobbit pulled away slowly and looked at the blade that was now covered with a thick, crimson substance.
Pippin ran forward between the bent human and gaping Merry, trying to stop the madness before it ran clear out of control.
"Stop this at once!" he growled, stepping up and disarming his friend, who easily gave the blade.
Sam just watched the whole exchange with wide eyes, almost afraid of what would happen. He was not all against Strider, but he certainly did not trust the ranger either.
"Please, Merry," Pippin pled, trying to make the other hobbit understand. "I swear upon my life, he wants to help us."
The shock was finally wearing off, and the hobbit, though a little dismayed that he had actually tried to kill the ranger, was still against the human, and had no thoughts that made Aragorn favorable in his sight.
"I am sure he wants to help us-" he snorted - "into a coffin!" He stood angrily as he glared at the ranger.
"Betrayal?" Strider stood up straight and began to limp towards Frodo, his hood cast far over his face, shadowing any sentiment that they may have seen. "What sets you against me, Merry? Sam?"
Sam was at first hesitant to let the human touch his master, frightened that he might actually kill Frodo. But he moved back as Aragorn carefully touched the wounded hobbit's head compassionately.
"Pippin, I need you and Merry to build a fire; as quickly as you can. We will need to bathe the wound with heated water and some herbs."
Merry blanched and gaped as Pippin pulled him along. This sent the older of the two into a tirade and he tried to stop Strider as he opened Frodo's coat, vest, and shirt to check to wound. "You don't touch him, Longshanks!" The hobbit's voice was venomous as Pippin grabbed hold of his cousin, pulling him back and leading him the other way.
"I swear, you touch him," Merry's call echoed and the ranger shut his eyes in pain, inhaling as the hobbit's voice rang harshly in his ears. "I'll not miss next time; that sword will go straight through and out your back!"
Willing the noise from his mind, Aragorn continued to feel cautiously around the wound, his fingers brushing Frodo's clammy skin.
"He's never been so angry…"
Sam's soft voice was a comfort to the now awkward silence and Strider smiled. "I suppose fear does that to a man."
The gardener chuckled, looking up into Aragorn's dark hood. "Even a hobbit?"
"Yes, even the stout heart of a halfling can have a shot of fear. Especially when his loved ones are in danger. He adores Frodo, that much is easy to see."
Sam thought a moment as he watched Strider's hands drag carefully over his master's skin. Such skillful movements made the hobbit sit in wonder. He watched quietly for a few moments. Eyes traveled to the blackness of the hood, then back down to the human's digits.
His eyes shot up to the ranger, and Sam looked worriedly at his master's face as he heard an annoyed hiss. "What is it? What's wrong with 'im!"
Aragorn let up one hand as he touched the wound on the hobbit's shoulder. An icy chill ran up his spine and into his heart as he felt the wound with sympathetic fingers. "This wound is beyond my skill to heal," he sighed. "I can only keep him from the darkness for a time-he needs elvish medicine."
"But it's six days to Rivendell…"
Strider nodded quietly. "No fear, Sam. Your friend is made of much tougher stuff than I had once guessed. He isn't dead yet."
Softly, the hobbit bobbed his head in understanding as he took off his cloak and wrapped it around his master, trying to stave off the shivering that seemed to be plaguing Frodo.
With a flitter of a smile, the man picked up the wounded hobbit, cloak and all, and walked carefully to the center of the tower top. He knelt and smoothed back the halfling's damp, raven locks, whispering quietly in elvish.
"Hey," he started a little as Sam followed him, carrying his pack. "That's elf speak," he announced as the human chuckled.
Pulling his hood away, the ranger brought his ear to Frodo's chest, listening for the gentle thumping against his breast. He timed the beats carefully and frowned a bit.
"Sam, would you reach into my pack and bring out the athelas? I will need it to treat your master's wound better."
"Athelas?"
"Kingsfoil, some call it."
Sam cringed, rubbing the back of his head as he sifted through the interesting contents in Aragorn's satchel. He wove through, picking up random items that caught his attention; a metal tube, some herbs, a whetstone…
"Kingsfoil is a weed, you know." It was more of a statement than a question and Strider nodded plainly.
"Well, it actually has amazing healing properties when applied to Morgul wounds. Weed or not…"
Shrugging, the hobbit continued looking through the mass of instrument, his hand closed around a long pipe; its mahogany color glimmering in the faint moonlight.
"Ah, you smoke?"
Laughing, Strider nodded wearily. "A habit, but it often calms my thoughts; I need that from time to time." He smiled looking back to Sam, even though he was only barraged by more cruel darkness. "My father advises me against it often, saying he is sure that it has to have some harm on the lungs."
"Pah!" The gardener waved off the comment and put the pipe back in its place, continuing his onward trek through the pack, his search becoming more important.
"Well, he is the best healer this side of Arda, Master Gamgee. I would probably do well to listen to his knowledge; but no, I have a stronger love for my pipe."
This news brought the halfling's face upward as he stared at Strider few moments, mouth gaping.
He knew of the greatest healer this side of the misty mountains, but he could scarcely believe that this lowly ranger of the north, a human, was a son of…
"Lord Elrond?" he blurted, nearly loosing all he had inside in confused and frantic blubber. "He's your father? That's impossible…" Grabbing up the pack of herbs, the hobbit scooted closer, obviously interested in hearing what the ranger had to say.
"How?" Aragorn countered as he grabbed the bag. "If you help me, master Samwise, and promise to not go against me, I will tell you."
How could he miss out? This was a whole lifetime of questions that he had gathered, and now, he was about to learn all that this human was, would be… and he would learn about elves!
"Tell me!" The unbelief in the halfling was enough to send Aragorn into a fit of laughter. Never had he heard so much confusion, so much want for understanding.
"First you relate to me how you know of Elrond," the human breathed quietly as he put an ear to Frodo's chest again, careful not to press against his wounds.
Sam, finally fishing out another bag of herbs, shrugged a little. "Oh, Mister Bilbo used to tell me about 'is adventures," he chuckled. "'Bout the trolls, an' Rivendell…" He sighed whimsically as he passed the leather pouch to Strider. "I do miss Mister Bilbo," he said with a mourning glance to the sky.
"Ah, and I am sure he misses you too, Master Samwise." Reaching back, Strider placed a tentative hand on the young hobbits shoulder. Half of him feared that the contact would drive Sam further away… but the other half told him fiercely that he must.
Looking into the ranger's face, he let a little tear roll down his cheek. "You think he's still livin'?"
Aragorn wished the he could answer the inquiry boldly, but he had not visited Imladris in long months. He had no idea whether Frodo's uncle still continued to draw breath. He remembered the years ago that he had seen Bilbo.
"I do not know," the ranger answered with a truthful frown. "I saw him nigh on two years ago. He had been in Imladris for many years then and I had just returned from a scouting expedition. He welcomed me home excitedly and we had a few meals together at my father's table." Estel chuckled. "I even tried to beat him at a few riddles-" a pause followed.
"Well?" Sam inquired, impatiently.
"I never won," he stated at he chewed a bit of the athelas and placed it onto the other hobbit's open wound. As he pressed and stretched himself, he was reminded of the wound to himself by Merry's blade.
He was sure it was not deep, but it hurt like balrog's fire; another effect of his lack of sight. Hissing quietly, he backed away from Frodo and nodded to him with his bedraggled head. "Press the Kingsfoil into his wound, gently."
Comprehension dawned and Sam gulped a bit. "Are you alright, sir?" he asked, hardly believing that he could be asking this man if he was hurt.
For much of the time during the trek, he had wished harm upon Strider, and now he was afraid that if he died, so would Frodo.
Waving him off, the man chuckled. "Oh, yes. I am fine. Just do as I say, please. It is imperative that we introduce that first bit now, that way we will know if he has a negative reaction."
"Can someone have a negative reaction to Kingsfoil?"
"Well, I have yet to see one, but better safe than sorry."
Sam laughed quietly. "That's what my old gaffer says." He was a little astonished, but kept on pressing on Frodo's wound. He felt his friend move beneath him, but took it only as a response to the pressure he was applying.
"So," said the gardener as he worked on Frodo. "How is your father an elf?"
Aragorn was pulling away the blood soaked garments around his wound as he heard the hesitant question. Pressing a careful finger to the long, jagged slash on his side, the man smiled. "My, my. Hobbits do not forget, do they?"
"Nope. 'Specially not about elves, sir."
Estel laughed and breathed out as the wound nearly took his breath away. "Well, then," he began, trying to take his mind off the pain. "Lord Elrond is my father because he adopted me when I was but a wee child."
"'Ow old were you?"
Sifting through his bag, Aragorn counted back the years as he answered. "I was two."
Shaking his head sadly, Sam leaned away from his master and touched his own cheek. "Mister Frodo wasn't too old neither when his parents were drowned."
"Aw, my parents were slaughtered by orcs."
"Oh." The light haired hobbit smiled sympathetically and rubbed the back of his head. "I'm sorry, I bet they were great people. I mean, you 'ad to inherit it from somewhere, right?"
With a start, Aragorn looked up, his expression pure amazement as he listened to the steady breathing of the Gamgee.
"I am sorry for doubting you, Longshanks." Sam felt his chest constrict as the words slipped from his throat. "I am sorry."
Strider could only sit in wonder, but he and Sam did not sit long. After a few minutes, Pippin called up the stairs, his breath quick with weariness.
"I got the wood, Strider!"
TBC
All right, sorry it took so long again. J I hope you all liked it though! J I gotta go, but please do tell me what you think.
MSL: LOL! It's all right. I mean really, who's the one forgetting to post the stinkin' story. (All point to Firn) Um, ya. Anyway- sorry. (Blushes) Wow! A compliment, about my grammar! LOL! And my dad was just ragging on me because I used 'funner' instead of 'more fun'. LOL! Thanks, glad you liked the chapter! J God bless!
Arlindor: Woohoo! Two compliments in a row, I'M ON A ROLL! Oh, my name? Um, kinda funny story actually- You see, me and my friend like to roleplay (LotR mostly) and so another of my friends came over and told us that she could find our names in elvish. Well, so she came back and she told us our names is elvish, dwarvish, westron, orckish, and all those other languages. And to this day I am not sure if 'firniswin' was the name she said- but it was the first name that came to me when I got my CouncilofElrond account, so anyway… that's how I got it and it holds special meaning to me because it was one of the last times I played roleplaying with my friends at my old house. (Sighs) So! That's the story. And thanks! Actually, my name is actually, if you want the whole thing, Brennil Firniswin Arien of Imladris. (Grunts) It's a mouthful! But anyway, I was gonna say that I like your name as well. J And now, enough about me- thanks again! God bless!
Elven Kitten: Not quite. I think that Merry just does not want to accept that maybe he is wrong. Plus, he doesn't want to jump to conclusions because he still feels the need to protect Frodo. Thanks! Blessings!
Kirsten: Was I quick enough this time, Kirsten? Blessings!
Lovethosehobbits: Can I start calling you Tree then instead of 'Lovethosehobbits'? It's a smaller word and easier to type without messing up. J Anyway, thanks for the suggestion, but I would rather not email them because they will become interested in me and why I want to get them to change their rules and then they will see that I have not taken down my songfics. Wish I could, maybe once I put my stories on another website and get everything settled I will question them, but not at the moment. J Thanks though, and may God bless you!
Nessa ar-feiniel: Ya, well, like I said before; I think that Merry just does not want to accept that maybe he is wrong. Plus, he doesn't want to jump to conclusions because he still feels the need to protect Frodo. Thank you for your comments! J God bless!
Catmint: Brilliant? Wow! You flatter me catmint! (blushes) Blessings!
Azla: Oh, well, don't see it! It's absolutely PAINFUL to watch! Most of the time… God bless!
Linchi: What web address? You mean the one I am moving my stories too? Or my website URL? (confused glance) Thanks! Blessings!
Iwishchan: (High fives) YES! I totally agree with you! (Smiles and starts dancing) Finally someone else remembers Glorfindel! I hate how Arwen gets all the credit now-a-days. It's rather frustrating! Anyway- Blessings and thanks!
Lindahoyland: Did it really say they thought he was in league with the black riders? Shoot!
So, I have made the decision to another website, I am not absolutely sure which one, I have plenty that I am able to post on, but a bunch of them are a little strict on grammar and take a while to actually get the chapters up, so I have decided to keep looking and if I can not find one I will most likely continue posting my newer fics on Nice-A-Nilme or whatever.
Anyway- I will give you more of an idea when I have one. As for now, I will just continue to post on until they take my account off themselves cause I am not taking it off right now and I can not all the song lyrics out of my fics. There are just too many, and like other people, I do have a life and things that are, sadly, far more important than my account.
So- God bless and I will update soon as I can! J May the many blessings of God be upon you mellyn nin!
Psalms 86:11
Teach me your way O'Lord and I will walk in your truth, give me an undivided heart that I may fear Your name.