A/N: Sorry for the weird changes in fonts in my previous two chapters. I think FF is going goofy on me. Hopefully this chapter will turn out all right.
UPDATE: I have received a few questions, and I'll try to answer them. My beta (aka, my brother) strongly suggested I keep Aragorn and Arwen together. I highly disagree (I really don't like her) but hey, that's just me. So this is now a Legolas/OC fiction. Sorry for any disappointed readers. I hope you enjoy this, because I'm just reaching the tip of the iceberg. The next chapter will be about Arwen and Accalia's race to Rivendell. If you like Action/Adventure chapters, you'll love the next one!
Summary: Frodo is attacked by the Nazgul and Strider gets a few suspicions about Accalia.
Disclaimer: I own Accalia Ravenheart. Nothing else.
Weathertop had once been a majestic watchtower, keeping solemn guard over the plains of Aruosh. It had been filled with armories, a large kitchen, an infirmary, and several barracks were soldiers could be kept in a pinch. But now it was a crumbling ruin, overgrown with moss and weeds, broken stones littered about everywhere, and crumbled mortar scattered about. On one side of Weathertop Hill a cave had been scooped cleanly out of the hillside - this had once been the kitchens, but you would never know it. Now it was a smooth walled stone cave, perfect for keeping four small Hobbits and two disgruntled humans safe and secret for a short amount of time. Broken stairs led up to the very top of Weathertop, where pillars and half-crumbled bricks lay in hazardous places.
Frodo dropped to his knees when they were all safely inside. His legs were screaming in protest. He had never run so far in his life. His pale face had two spots of red on his cheekbones, and he felt as though he were sipping air through a tiny straw. Sam lay next to him, in a similar state of exhaustion. Merry and Pippin were too hungry to be tired, and they set about digging rations out of packs and dishing it out. Accalia was the only person who was seemingly unaffected by the long distances - she looked as calm and composed as she had when they left. Even Strider was tired, and he was used to running incredible marathons.
Strider stood, unsheathing his sword. "I'm having a look around," he announced. Accalia made no move to stand, she merely tattooed a hole in the wall with her fiery gaze. After he had left, she stood and sighed.
"Men," she said disgustedly. Frodo raised his head a fraction.
"Accalia," he said, his voice pleading. "Sing us a song, will you?"
Her hard expression softened, and she ruffled the small Hobbit's curly dark hair. "Silly Hobbit," she said. "You know all of my songs."
"I don't care," Frodo said wearily. "Sing the one about running, that one is nice."
Accalia sat back against the slick stone wall and closed her eyes. She began singing in a soft, low voice that was pure and gentle. The language was foreign, but somehow you got the general gist of it. Frodo could hear the cadence in her voice, the steady thumping of running feet. If he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, he could see a wolf running on a moonlit night, it's dark fur illuminated in shades of white and blue. Within moments Frodo was asleep, his breathing slackening to a steady, guttural sound that reminded Accalia of the ocean waves. She too closed her eyes, wishing she were wrapped in some wolf fur to keep her warm. So instead she rubbed her hands briskly along her arms to warm herself, then fell asleep.
When she woke, Strider had still not returned. The heady, delicious aroma of frying tomatoes and mushrooms hung in the air like a fine perfume. She sniffed the wind, relishing the unique scents that came floating to her. Then it struck her. If they were frying something, that meant….
"Put that out, you fools!" Frodo yelped, stamping on the fire. Accalia jumped to her feet, her dark gray eyes flashing dangerously.
"You just alerted every Ringwraith for miles!" Accalia said in a whisper. "Hurry, put the fire out!"
The shocked Hobbits doused the flames, but it wasn't quick enough - a primal scream tore through the calm summer air, accompanied by the wailing shriek of a horse. Hoof beats thundered down below them, and Accalia glanced over the lip of the cliff. She counted the five Nazgul that had pursued them earlier, but if they kept shrieking like that the other four would be on them soon. In her soul she knew she couldn't fight them all and live - but her prideful heart demanded that she at least try. She grasped the pendant around her neck and raised it to her lips.
Ouuuuuuurrrrruuuuuuu!
A wolf howl echoed off the cliffs, sounding like a knell over the mountains. She gave it another long blast, just to be safe, and listened, every fiber of her wishing, hoping, praying…she couldn't fight them all…please answer…
An answering howl rent the night, coming from the south. Hope surged through Accalia, and she cupped her hands around her mouth and howled the way she usually did. It wasn't nearly as sweet sounding - actually, it sounded quite vicious - but the answering call was reassuring. Accalia boosted the Hobbits up onto the broken stairs. "Hurry, up there!" she cried. Sam helped Frodo to his feet and they took off, jumping the missing steps and trying hard not to stub their hairy Hobbit feet on the shattered masonry. Merry hauled Pippin to his feet and they followed them. Merry glanced behind them, and saw Accalia unsheathing her swords, a fiery light in her eyes.
"Accalia! You can't fight them all!" Pippin yelled. Accalia was strangely calm, and her gray eyes were shining bright silver in the beautiful moonlight. She looked so peaceful, it was hard to believe she was preparing for the fight of her life.
"Protect Frodo, Peregrin," Accalia called to them. "I'll hold them off until help arrives."
Pippin dithered for a moment, then felt himself being yanked from behind by Merry, and they stumbled up to the top of Weathertop. They stood there, panting, breathless, their hearts beating wildly in their chests. They could feel the blood pounding in their temples, and Frodo pulled out his short sword that Strider had given him. "Come on! We need to fight!" he said loudly, but his voice was shaky.
The five black-clad figures swarmed around them, creating a loose semicircle. Simultaneously five blades were withdrawn, making the lethal sounds of metal scraping against leather. No expression was on their shadowed faces as they advanced slowly, almost ceremoniously, as if they were preparing sacrifices for their god. Frodo's face went blank as he felt the ring calling to him in a sweet, soothing whisper.
Put me on…
They'll go away if you put me on…
His hands automatically reached for the gold ring, stroking it absentmindedly. It made sense, really, to put it on. How could they kill him if he was invisible?
Behind the five advancing figures there was a terrible growl. Frodo snapped out of his reverie just in time to see a gigantic wolf, tawny gold in color and larger then a horse, spring on top of one of the Ringwraiths. The cloaked creature stumbled and tried hacking the beast away, but the wolf clamped on hard to it's head and began to twist to one side. The once-mighty king gave a hollow scream, so chilling and awful Sam would have nightmares about it later, and the wolf drove it off the cliff. Then Accalia was among them, slashing with her twin blades, both of them as fast and deadly as a viper. Her footwork was impeccable, darting here and there, never staying in one place for long, ducking and weaving like a champion.
But the largest Nazgul saw Frodo.
He came over slowly, taking his time, and Frodo felt the world beginning to spin in lazy circles. It would make so much sense to put on the ring right about now. So, Frodo did the only sensible thing he could think of: he put the ring on.
It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The short time the ring had been on his finger back at the Prancing Pony had been unpleasant, but in the very presence of the Ringwraiths, it was almost torturous. Icy cold chill swept through him from head to foot, as if a bucket of icy water had doused him. Everything was slow and swirling about him in whites and grays. Something white-hot pierced his left pectoral and he screamed, a blood-curdling cry that made him cringe. Everything went from cold to hot, all at once, except for the incision where the dagger had stabbed him. Things swirled in one last circle, then everything went inky black.
o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O
Strider was busy snaring a rabbit when he saw it. He knelt, preparing to skin the hare in a few deft strokes like he had been taught when he heard a twig snap. His hooded head shot up and he narrowed his eyes, searching for an enemy. Carefully, slowly, silently, he stood and reached for his blade, looking around quickly for whatever had made the twig snap. His eyes fell upon a small Hobbit-size figure in the distance. He jutted his chin forward defiantly, anger flaring brightly in his chest. He had specifically told the blasted little runts to stay at Weathertop - !
He dashed forward, reaching for Frodo's shoulder, spinning him around. What he saw made his gut roil unpleasantly, his gorge rising as his belly prepared to hurl whatever scraps of food had been in his stomach.
Frodo's cheerful face, with his dark curly hair, was melting, sagging off of his high cheekbones, as though he were a candle hovering too close to a fire. His melted flesh dripped off his chin, pattering on the earth between his hairy feet, and a skull emerged, glowing a sinister shade of white. His eyes shone a demonic red, boring into Strider, and a ghoulish grin spread across Frodo's normally-handsome features. Then, he morphed, or changed, or melted, into a Ringwraith, with thick black cloths obscuring his ghastly face. His back twisted, and black leathery wings ripped through his vest and tunic, beating the air twice. The Frodo-Demon shrieked the familiar cry of the Nazgul and flapped off towards Weathertop.
Strider raised his gaze to Weathertop, and his heart sank to his toes.
He could dimly make out the forms of five tall figures dueling savagely. He could barely make out the smaller forms of the Hobbits from this distance, but it was all he needed. The Ringwraiths had arrived at Weathertop to fetch the ring. Hurriedly he unsheathed his blade and began running forward, his battle blood singing in his veins. It was time for a fight.
o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O
Pure white light emanated from Accalia, and her hair shone a silvery blonde. Her blades sang in the night air, slashing through the heavy black robes of the Nine, piercing their undead flesh and making them howl. But that was not the only thing making them howl. She chanted as she fought, her skills with magic far surpassing her skill with a sword. The Nazgul grew weaker and more clumsy as she chanted quickly, and two of them actually stumbled on the hems of their long robes. When they actually stopped fighting, disoriented, she knew she had succeeded.
Without a backward glance, she leapt off the edge of the cliff, the tawny wolf following close behind her.
On the ledge where they had been sleeping, five beings were crouched there. A huge raven, the size of a sheep, a gigantic spider that was easily the size of a human head, a small dragon that was still the size of the wolf, and two vultures that were the size of cows. She readied her blades, sweat causing her blonde bangs to point into upside down V's. A feral snarl formed on her pretty face, and the wolf's muzzle rippled, baring bloodied fangs.
You are always getting into trouble, my rider, the wolf growled through their mental link. Accalia threw herself on the dragon and began fighting savagely, twin blades winking and twirling in the weak moonlight. The wolf lunged at one of the vultures, sinking his fangs into a dirty wing. The vulture squawked, flapping distractedly.
That's why I have you, Hzrathgur, Accalia said simply. You can always get me out.
Not this time, foolish girl. Hzrathgur snarled. How can you rip apart them like that? You know Sauron didn't intend for their deities and their host bodies never to be parted.
Which is why they're so weak, Accalia said triumphantly, sawing off the dragon's head with another cleave of her sword. And why Strider ought to be able to take on their host bodies while I'm tackling these.
o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O
Which was exactly what Strider was doing.
He hurled the flaming branch at the last Nazgul, and watched run off with a look of grim satisfaction on his handsome features. It was bizarre, really, how easy they had been to fight. Almost as if they were unused to dueling or something along those lines. His adrenaline soon disappeared like a punctured balloon the second he heard Frodo's raspy groans coming from the floor. Strider whirled around, and, seeing the stricken Hobbit lying prone on the floor, sprang over to him.
"Frodo," he muttered, then swore in Elvish. Frodo's eyes were milky white, and his breath was coming in short, rapid bursts. A sickening blackish-red blood was seeping slowly from his wound, and Strider's keen eyes saw the rusty blade lying near him. He picked it up and it disintegrated into ashes.
"He has been stabbed with a cursed blade." he said grimly.
"What does that mean?" Sam cried, his voice squeaky with fear and tension.
"He is passing into the Shadowrealm. Soon he will become a wraith like them." Strider said solemnly. "This is beyond my skills as a healer. He needs Elvish medicine. We need to get him to Rivendell as soon as possible."
"But it's five days to Rivendell!" Merry protested. "He'll never make it!"
As if to accentuate this, Frodo gave a wheezing yelp, writhing on the floor, clutching his belly with his forearms. Strider's mind thought frantically, running through mental lists of all the healing herbs he knew. "Sam, do you know the Altheas plant?" he asked urgently.
"Altheas?" Sam said, his eyes unfocused. Strider shook him by the shoulders, snapping him back to reality. Sam jerked awake.
"It's also known as kingswort. Do you know what it looks like?" he asked. Sam nodded once, vigorously.
"Aye, kingswort, that's a weed," he said.
"Go and find some," Strider said, getting up. "I'll help you. It may slow the poison."
They both got up and began searching through the thick bushes and weeds. His searches soon brought him far beyond the crest of Weathertop, where he was relatively alone. His keen eyes spotted a tiny clump of white flowers, no larger then periwinkles, all bunched together. He withdrew his knife to slice some when he felt a blade at his neck.
"What's this?" said a disdainful, singsong, feminine voice. "A ranger, caught off his guard?"
o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O
Accalia climbed back on the summit of Weathertop, and, noting the absence of Sam and that useless Ranger, knelt next to Frodo. "What happened?" she demanded of Pippin.
"Where did you go?" Pippin shot back. "We needed you, and you disappeared!"
"For your information, Peregrin Took, I was busy saving your sorry arses from extinction! You ought to be worshipping the ground I walk on!" Accalia snapped heatedly. Merry folded his arms, scowling.
"Oh, really? 'Cos it looked like to me you ran off from a fight. Care to explain that, Accalia Ravenheart?" he asked mockingly. Accalia closed her eyes, praying for patience. They snapped open again when Frodo gave a weak gasp. She felt for his pulse, then saw the bleeding wound, and cursed in her native tongue.
"Meredith, don't you dare contradict me. Go tell Strider where we are, he should have a friend with him," she said. At least, I hope he does, she said to herself.
She had sent for the elf a long time ago, and apparently she had taken her sweet old time getting here. It was a long ways off from the patrol, Accalia knew, but even so, the elf should have recognized the distinctive summoning spells of the Riders and rushed to their aid. It would be a story to tell her grandchildren - how she rescued a Rider from one of the worst fates imaginable. But nothing had appeared, and every precious second that ticked by was a wasted one.
Merry came back with Strider and a beautiful elf riding on a snowy white horse. Strider caught sight of Accalia, still damp from battle, her eyes wild and her teeth bared. "Where the devil have you been, Accalia?" he growled.
"None of your business, Ranger," Accalia grunted. Arwen slid smoothly off her horse and dropped to her knees in front of Accalia.
"My Lady!" Arwen said in an awed whisper. "It is truly an honor to be in your presence."
Accalia dragged Arwen unceremoniously to her feet by her elbow, tossing her close to Frodo. "Yes, yes, she-elf, now go tend to the ring bearer!" she snapped impatiently. Arwen gathered her skirts and began mumbling in Elvish over Frodo's twitching form. After a moment, she lifted her head and looked at Strider.
"He is bad," she pronounced finally. "He will not last much longer. He must be treated by my father. Only he can heal the little Hobbit."
"If I ride hard, I can reach Rivendell by the day after tomorrow," Strider mused. Arwen's brow knotted, her blue eyes growing hard and cold. She balled her fists and went over to stand by her pure white horse.
"If you ride hard? Estel, I should ride. I know the way." she said firmly. Strider - or was it Estel? - touched her hand, gripping it tightly.
"Arwen, you stay here with the Hobbits and Accalia. I will send horses for you when I reach Rivendell." Strider said quietly. Arwen opened her mouth to argue, but a sharp retort from Accalia silenced them both.
"Don't fight, you bloody fools," she purred, her voice low and deadly. "Elf, you're coming with me. Ranger…" she sniffed disdainfully. "You stay here and protect the Hobbits. No doubt they will be in need of your…skills…"
"But what will you ride?" Strider snapped waspishly. Arwen looked scandalized.
"Estel, do you not know - !" she began, but a warning look from Accalia silenced her. Strider looked between the two of them curiously.
"Do I not know what?" he asked. Accalia picked up Frodo, laying him tenderly on the large white horse. She checked his temperature, then laid a hand on his sweaty forehead. She grimaced.
"Nothing, Ranger." she growled. "Elf, mount your horse. I need to get a few…things…from the woods."
Accalia strode off into the undergrowth, and after a moment, Arwen followed her, leaving behind a very confused ranger and three despairing Hobbits.