Chapter Five: Of Darkness and Fruitcakes.
"You're on your own now, we won't save you,
your rescue-squad is too exhausted,
and if you complain once more,
you'll meet an army of me."
- Björk, Army of Me.
"You really are a fruitcake, you know that?" She remarked, heaving herself up onto a nearby rock to rest.
"No, I didn't. Why, may I ask, am I a 'fruitcake'?"
"I'm not telling." Sometimes, it's highly amusing to annoy people. She didn't even have a reason for him being a fruitcake. He just was.
"So, where are we going?" Asked Pippin, bounding after the ranger. She dragged herself off the rock, ignoring the throbbing in her feet and the aching in her legs. They had been walking for what felt like years. Elizabeth's cramps had increased on the pain scale as well as her general bitchiness and they were all tired and miserable. Strider wasn't harsh, but his long steps were hard to keep up with, pride got in the way of telling him they couldn't keep up.
"We are resting tonight at Weathertop. He indicated a hill not so far away. It was once the great watchtower of Amon Sul." Rest? Thank God, I was beginning to think- "I couldn't help but notice you are carrying little." Called Strider from up ahead.
She grinned. "Nah, I'm carrying my amazingness. It weighs a ton." It was true, she hadn't packed much into her bag and chose to carry it rather than burden Bill.
"Where of your possessions?" He pressed.
She shrugged, wincing as her torso ached. "I didn't come here with much to begin with."
He contemplated this for a moment. "You are wise to travel light. You are unlike any woman I have seen." She let this slide, not really know how to react. She still held her Frick, despite his attempt to give her a proper weapon; a small, shiny dagger, deciding the smooth steel would be completely useless against anything, unless it was within reaching distance. A Frick is much more practical. Buffy would be proud.
The sun was slowly setting over the horizon when they collapsed on the ground to rest. All were exhausted, Strider being the exception. She didn't think much of Weathertop. To her, it was sad to see the once magnificent watchtower reduced to a circle of rubble. The view was spectacular. (Spectacular, except for the five Ringwraiths that were most likely stalking the countryside.) Her heart was heavy from knowing of what was to come that night. Squaring her shoulders, she thought, If they lay one... Hand? Claw? What do Nazgul have? Anyway, if they harm me, they will fear the wrath of Alan! Alan being the name of her weapon, of course.
"These are for you." Said Strider, dumping 4 small swords at their feet. "Keep them close. I'm going to have a look around. Stay here." The hobbits picked them up awkwardly, never had they handled real swords before.
"How inconsiderate, not leaving one for me!" She muttered.
"I thought you didn't want one?" Said Merry.
"I don't, but it's the principle that counts." She said, sighing. "Tell me of the Shire, then. I've heard it's very, um, green." She knew perfectly well about the Shire, but they looked so crestfallen that maybe speaking of their homeland would help. They told her. Boy, did they tell her. They talked of the Brandywine river and the parties and a million other wonderful things. Though it warmed her heart to see their faces lit up with joy at the thought of home, the weariness got the better of her and she dozed off, Frodo still singing praises of Bag End.
"Frodo! You sent her to sleep!" Said Merry, laughing.
"She is funny. She knows of so many things, yet seems to not know, or not to tell, much about herself or her homelands." Murmured Sam. ("Can you not tell us of your home, Miss. Elizabeth?"
"Erm, not really. Been sworn to secrecy. You know how the government gets.")
She mumbled in her sleep, something that sounded suspiciously like 'In the Jungle'. Frodo succumbed to sleep soon after, body twinging from hours of hiking. Sam, Pippin and Merry however had different ideas. As we all know, Hobbits are hungry things and have 7 meals a day, so when Frodo awoke he was alarmed to find the 3 huddling over a small fire, food sizzling in a pan.
"What are you doing?" Cried Frodo, Elizabeth still being conked out.
"Tomatoes, sausages and nice, crispy bacon." Replied Merry happily.
"We saved some for you, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, holding out a plate in offering. She stretched out sleepily, acutely aware of the cold earth that she used as a bed still being exceedingly bitter. Frodo desperately tried to kick dirt over the fire, striving to smother the flames.
"Oh, that's nice! Ash on my tomatoes!" Said Pippin, mourning the loss of his fruit.
She got up, snapping straight into action as the unearthly shriek pierced her ears. Shit! She struggled to stand, searching for Strider who wasn't there. She saw them before they did. Five figures hooded in black. "Mr. Tolkien is so going to pay." She mumbled as the mist started creeping in smoky tendrils. How cliché. Mist, full moon and the five psycho killing machines wanting to destroy us. Perfect.
"Go!" Screamed Frodo, pushing them into a ring of broken stones. She whipped out the Frick, her blood running cold as they approached. She froze, hardly daring to breathe, utterly rooted to the spot. Her only thought was of how this was all happening far too quickly. The Ringwraiths glided in, clasping gleaming swords. Adrenaline pumped into her bloodstream, making it easier to move her sleep-ridden limbs. She clung to Alan, aware of the knowledge that the Frick would be no match for the sharp blades. She shivered.
"Back you devils!" Sam shouted, swinging his sword bravely, lacking skill. The Nazgul blocked the blow effortlessly, shattering it. A fist connected with Sam's stomach, sending him flying into a wall. Merry and Pippin were overcome with horror, but stood valiantly in front of Frodo, striving to protect him. They didn't triumph. They were swatted aside like two particularly bothersome insects, leaving Elizabeth to face the advancing Wraiths. Frodo staggered backwards. The fear was ice on her willpower. Never in her life had she been this afraid. All five were clad in hooded cloaks, hands in metal gauntlets, feet in metal boots.
Even fear cannot stand in the way of one who is lost... The thought came to her unbidden and tickled at the back of her head, but unfortunately, it reached her too late; one Wraith grew impatient with her dithering and bulldozed her with the force of, well, of a bulldozer. She fell, scraping her hands and knees, suddenly very angry. She stood up and retaliated by clobbering one on the back of the head. It didn't like that one bit. Turning, it lashed out with it's sword, missing her by a hairs width.
She looked back at Frodo, who had a glazed look about him as he pulled out the Ring from his pocket. The Nazgul forged ahead, allowing it's companions to deal with the Halfling. That sword was looking awfully sharp. Changed my mind. Strider's not the fruitcake, it's Frodo. I can't change what's going to happen. No telling what would come about. She did her best to appear like she knew what she was doing, preparing for the worst, when a alarming screech of excitement broke from under their hoods. Frodo had faded from sight, all five of them descending on where he had been. She jabbed one with the stick. It took no notice.
She flung herself at it, taking it completely off guard. They went down, it easily overpowered her, making shallow cuts on her arms and legs where it could. At least it didn't want to kill her. It wasn't her it wanted. She yelled in pain as a shallow stream of blood trickled down her legs and arms.
"You little bitch!" She kicked upwards, gaining enough leverage to scramble to her feet. "STRIDER! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LUNATIC?" She yelled into the night. She knew he would materialize, but not when or where. The Nazgul was on it's feet and, judging her to not be much of a threat, ignored her entirely, which she thought to be quite rude.
"No!" Voiced Sam, regaining consciousness from his knock to the skull and she perceived that the Morgul blade had pierced Frodo's flesh. A cry came from behind her. Strider charged at the Nazgul with fire and steel, setting one alight, a bright beacon against the starless night. It wailed with pain and rage, fleeing into the blackness. Strider slashed against the remaining three, Elizabeth doing her best to help, knocking them on their covered heads and glaring at them for cutting her legs and arms.
"About time you showed up!" She dodged a strike clumsily. They finally ran from the blaze, following their comrade into the darkness, screaming shrilly.
"Frodo!"
"Mr. Frodo!" He had taken the Ring off and was moaning with pain. The hobbit's, with the threat of painful death removed, ran to his side and gathered around him. Strider knelt, snatching up the dagger from the ground. She stood to the side, apprehensive. She didn't know him. Not really. She was still scared, trembling like a leaf in the wind. He really doesn't look so good.
"Help him, Strider!" Pleaded Sam.
"He has been stabbed by a Morgul blade," He said grimly. At least I know he'll be alright. He REALLY doesn't look very healthy. Sort of like hypothermia without going blue.
"Do something!" Sam begged. The dagger melted, dissolving into the air like smoke. Strider threw the hilt down in disgust
"This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine," he said, lifting Frodo onto his shoulders.
"Hurry!" He called. Sam, Merry and Pippin run to keep up, blundering into debris on the path. She jogged behind them all, carrying a flaming torch, doing her best to reassure and comfort.
"He'll never make it!" Cried Sam.
"Don't be a pessimist! He will, just you watch," she said, patting him on the back.
"Gandalf... Gandalf?"
"Where?" She said, alarmed, Oh. He isn't here. I'm such an idiot at times. Strider set him down amongst the foliage. Frodo's eyes were clouded and red-rimmed, like he was looking at something far away. His brow was beaded with sweat, lips open as if to speak and his breathing shallow and laboured.
"Is he going to die?" Asked Pippin. Strider looked out into the darkness.
"No! Don't be a muffin!" She scolded. But what if he DOES die? What if things can change? She hurriedly dismissed that thought to the back of her mind.
"No, he won't die. He is passing into the shadow world. He will soon become a Wraith like them."
"How is that NOT DYING! That'll be worst than dead!" She stopped. "But he won't be like them. We won't let him." A distant cry of a Nazgul carried through the air. "Speak of the devil..." She muttered.
"They're close." Merry said, nervously. Frodo gasped in pain, drawing closer to the shadow realm.
"Strider-"
"I'm thinking."
"Don't hurt yourself." She muttered.
He turned a blind eye, "Sam, do you know the Athelas plant?"
"Athelas?" He looked blank.
"Kingsfoil?"
"Kingsfoil, aye, it's a weed!" He said.
"It may help to slow the poison. Hurry!"
Elizabeth sat down by Bill, stroking the pony's nose reflectively. "Hey, Bill." She whispered softly while Strider and Sam combed the woodland floor for the small, white flowering plant. "In the film, I always thought you were going to turn evil and eat everyone." She confided. "Now I've met you, I know you would never want me as a snack." Merry and Pippin glanced at her worriedly. Bill nuzzled her cheek with his nose.
Strider found what he had been seeking. He plucked the small creamy flower from the greenery. A sword point at his throat. "What's this? A ranger caught off his guard?"
Frodo lay on the ground, sweat glistening on his face, eyes misted over. A shimmering figure cantered out of the trees on a white horse. This must be Arwen. She's gorgeous, I can see why Strider likes her. If I played for the other team, I'd give him a run for his money.
"Im Arwen... telin let thaed." (I am Arwen... I have come to help you.) She said gently. She was dressed in dark green clothes and a scratch or two on her face. She was the kind of beautiful that made Elizabeth feel inferior by being in her presence. Her skin almost glowed and her skin was pale and flawless, like the surface of a bowl of cream. Her dark hair was partially pulled back and plaited and her grey eyes mirrored worry, studying Frodo intently. "Lasto beth nin, tolo dan na ngalad." (Hear my voice, come back to the light.)
Pippin tugged on Elizabeth's t-shirt, "Who is she?"
"Frodo?" Arwen said.
"She's an Elf!" Said Sam in surprise.
"He is fading, he's not going to last. We must get him to my father." Strider lifted Frodo onto the horses saddle. Arwen's eyes rested on her, inquisitive and wondering. Elizabeth stared back with an equally curious gaze. Neither one spoke. With a nod, Arwen began talking to Strider in the elvish tongue.
"Confuzzled." Sighed Elizabeth. The very shallow cuts on her limbs had stopped bleeding. She was reminded of paper cuts with a lemon juice topping.
"Where are you taking him?" Inquired Pippin. The elf and man paid him no heed.
"To Rivendell, I should think. Which is where we're all heading anyway. Hey," She said gingerly, catching the hobbit's eyes, "He's going to be fine. Trust me." The funny thing was, even when Arwen took Frodo with her and a scream could be heard in the night, they all did their best to believe her.