As the first light of morning peaked its sleepy arms up into the clouds over Bree, Strider and the three hobbits that had spent the night with him ventured out of the room in which they'd hidden from the Nazgul. The halls of the inn were eerily silent as those who stayed the night in those rooms had either checked out to flee the terrors that had accosted Bree that night, or they were fearful of what lay beyond the doors and chose instead to remain hidden in bed.

As they moved through the quiet hallways to the room which should have been theirs, the hobbits and the ranger grew more and more uneasy. If their hallway had been silent, this one was death. It seemed that even the floorboards on which they walked were afraid to make noise and evoke the wrath of some nameless fear.

It became clear to the small group just exactly what they'd escaped when they rounded the corner and laid eyes on what should have been their deathbeds. For a moment, they stood in the doorway, paralyzed by shock and fear. At the sight of his companion's blood smeared over every surface in the room, Pippin became sick, rushing to the corner of the room to empty his stomach.

Frodo's attention, however, went immediately to the far wall. Leaned against the wall, his head laid to the side, was Shadow, and in his lap lay the blood stained Sam.

"Sam!" Frodo sprang forward, but was stopped when Strider placed a firm hand on his shoulder. Cautiously, the ranger moved toward the duo on the floor. Gently, as though trying not to wake Shadow, Strider lifted Sam from the Jedi's arms and examined his face. He appeared to be only sleeping.

"Samwise?" Laying Sam on a pile of bedding, the ranger spoke softly, and the hobbit responded by drawing his eyebrows into a frown. Slowly, to the delight of his companions, Sam opened his eyes and looked around.

"Mister Frodo," he said quietly, looking at his master. "He said you would be alright…said he'd make everything alright, he did."

"Sam, where are you hurt?" Strider lifted the hobbit's clothes to find the source of the blood that covered the room. He saw nothing on the Sam's pale skin…no marks at all! Not even the tiniest of scratches!

"I…I'm not hurt," Sam frowned, trying to remember what had occurred that night. "I mean, I was, to be certain, but now I'm not." Strider and the hobbits stared at him in utter confusion. "I suppose that's what Shadow was doing when he…where's Shadow?" Sam became suddenly frantic, having been hit hard with the horror of what he'd survived. He jumped up and scanned the room, suddenly feeling sick himself, but he swallowed it back, searching for the dark man he called "friend".

Seeing the Jedi slumped against the wall, tears sprang to Sam's eyes. He remembered the sound of Shadow's wet cough after the battle with the Nazgul. He remembered watching Shadow roll up his own sleeve, holding the very knife that had pierced Sam's side…a wound that was now non-existent.

"Mister Shadow…" he whispered through his tears.

Strider now knelt by the Jedi's side. Hesitantly, the ranger moved his hand into the black mist that hid Shadow's features. He drew his hand back when it met the Jedi's lips. He was shocked to find that the wetness that had caused his reflexive withdrawal was crimson blood.

"He fought off five of the Black Riders," Sam's voice trembled with his words. "That's what it did to him."

"No blade may touch a Nazgul without bringing a black spell down upon the wielder of the blade," Strider spoke in quiet wonder.

"Well, his touched four of 'em," Sam sniffled.

"And my guess is that this is not the first time," Frodo spoke up thoughtfully. "I overheard him speaking with Goldberry, and she cautioned him not to stand against them until he'd healed fully. He's been fighting with them since our journey began."

Strider gazed on the shrouded man before him with new respect. He looked around to see the empty robes of the four wraiths the Jedi had banished and shook his head.

If he has survived this, he will indeed be as marvelous a character as the hobbits have portrayed, Strider thought grimly as he reached out his hand once more. Knowing the location of Shadow's mouth, Strider aimed lower and his hand contacted the smooth skin of Shadow's neck. Gently, he pressed two fingers just below the jaw.

"He's alive," Strider breathed. He moved his hand upwards once more as the hobbits quietly celebrated behind him. Again, he found Shadow's blood smeared mouth, which he found to be shockingly normal in shape and feel given what Frodo had recently told him of Shadow's origin. Moving his hand up again, Strider placed it over Shadow's nose. The Jedi was indeed breathing, though it was shallow.

"Sam, I need you to tell me exactly what you remember about last night," Strider instructed as he moved to crouch beside Shadow. While he listened to Sam's story, beginning where he'd left the tavern, Strider took hold of Shadow's shoulders and used the trunk of his own body to lower the man to the floor. Again, the ranger was surprised by what he felt.

Despite his strength and courage, hidden beneath the layers of cloth the tall, mysterious man wore, his build was shockingly slight. Thin arms and shoulders were supported by a lean, muscular body that had been the last thing Strider had expected when he'd moved to support Shadow's decent to the floor.

To be honest, his assessment of Shadow had so distracted the ranger that he was barely listening at all until the very end of Sam's tale.

"…that's when Mister Shadow appeared out of thin air and started fighting with the Riders…to be honest, I don't remember much of that bit, but then after, I remember hearing Shadow coughing and wheezing and carrying on. He lifted the bed off me somehow, and I remember seeing him sorta fuzzy-like leaning over me. He rolled up his sleeve and held up the knife they'd stabbed me with, and…that's when everything goes blank." Sam sighed in frustration. "Next thing I know, I'm looking up at you lot. I don't know what happened to Mister Shadow after that."

"I'll tell you what happened," Strider's voice was a mixture of sorrow and awe as he lifted the Jedi's lifeless arm. He pulled back the black sleeve and pulled up the glove to reveal the make-shift bandage Shadow had tied around his wrist to stop the flow of blood after he'd rescued Sam. The tie had worked for the most part, but blood continued to seep around the tight knot.

"What's that?" Merry leaned over Strider's shoulder to examine the bandage.

"It would appear that your friend somehow saved your life, Sam," Strider shook his head in amazement, "by slicing his own wrist. I don't know how he did it…or what exactly he did, bu—"

"I cut my wrist, and used my abilities to transfer my blood to him," Strider almost fell backwards in shock at the Jedi's sudden voice. With a groan, Shadow pushed himself up into a sitting position. "I then used my abilities to knit the cells inside his wound back together…something like this."

To the horror of those watching, Shadow suddenly removed the bandage from his arm causing a new river of blood to cascade to the floor. He took a deep breath and held a hand inches above the wound. The onlookers watched in amazement as first blood vessels and then skin came together and bonded, leaving only a thin line as evidence there had been a wound at all.

"It was taxing on so severe a wound as Sam's, but it would seem it paid off in the end."

"That's incredible," Strider breathed. "How does it work? Can all of your people do that?"

"All have the ability," Shadow said slowly, cradling his head in his hands, fighting to remain sitting. "I am one of the few who have taken the time to master the art, however. It is a limited skill, and not quite as useful in the galaxy of the Jedi as it would be here."

"How do you mean?" Pippin pressed. "I don't see how that could possibly not be useful." Shadow thought for a moment before responding.

"It would still be useful, I suppose, but only for simple, everyday wounds. Most of the weapons there are like my lightsaber, which is pure energy harnessed into a single beam of light." Shadow went ahead and paused to answer the question in their eyes before they asked it. "Think of the sun. If you're in its rays for too long, it burns you, right? Well, if you were to take the rays of a thousand sunny days and concentrate them in one place…that would be one lightsaber."

"Now," he continued, "for the process of healing, one must simply understand the biology of cells and tissues, which I picked up a great deal of knowledge about in my travels to the future. I simply use the Force to control cellular production on a molecular level and "knit" the severed tissue back together. However, when a wound is inflicted by such a weapon as my lightsaber, the tissues are destroyed…burned away. There is nothing left to put back together. Additionally, even if the wound is a cut or stab, if the person is already too far into the afterlife, I cannot retrieve them. Luckily this time, I was able to get to Sam before that point of no return…also luckily, he's a small being, so I was able to spare enough blood to keep him on this side of eternity."

"But you almost gave enough to send yourself to the other side," Strider commented.

"Indeed…" the reply was soft…dark. "Well, we'd better start preparing for the rest of our journey. I only delayed the Nazgul for a short time. They will return."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Strider protested, "You almost killed yourself last night! We should stay put for at least a few days to let you heal."

"Staying here won't let me heal," Shadow's answer was flat and firm. "As I just said, they will return. It's only a matter of how long it takes them to regain their forms, and this time, they won't be fooled by cheap tricks like the one we almost pulled off last night. I cannot encounter them again this soon after a battle with them or I will certainly die and will not be of any more help to you. We need to get on the road."

Shadow struggled to stand. The very attempt left him reeling. His blood supply was still critically low, and every inch of his body burned with excruciating pain from the last night's efforts.

"Besides," he gasped, leaning on the window in order to maintain his stooped posture, "I'm a Jedi…the Force will accelerate my healing once I am able to fully tap into it again."

The hobbits had never unpacked their things the previous night, so preparing for the journey was a simple matter. With a great deal of assistance, Shadow was helped on to a scraggly little pony Strider purchased for the journey. Once seated there, the Jedi lay forward against the pony's neck, losing consciousness once again.

The Jedi was astonishing his companions with his resilience, but he was nowhere near out of the woods, and everyone knew it. It was up to Strider now to guide them on a road that would put the most time and distance between that moment and the next encounter with the Nazgul, hopefully not meeting with them again at all. Shadow's life…and perhaps the lives of them all depended on it.

~#*ITS*#~

A/N: I know this is really soon after the last chapter, but I had a moment, so I thought I'd write with it. Haha! I bet you can guess that though they will try, another encounter with the Nine is inevitable…we can't just leave out Whethertop, now can we? :] You know the drill! Reviews wanted and welcomed!