Yay! Another update! I am so happy!
Honestly though, I wanted to get this chapter out a whole lot sooner than I did. This ended up being really hard to write.
Anyways, I don't own Lord of the Rings. But you already knew that.
Chapter 18: The Nazgûl
Hope gazed out the small window as the raindrops splattered onto the pane, distorting the buildings and figures outside. Faintly, she could hear Aragorn rummaging around directly beneath them in the hobbits' room, creating decoys to fool the wraiths when they came. Blankets and pillows were piled onto the floor, forming four makeshift beds for the hobbits.
"Pardon me, Miss Hawkins?"
At the sound of Sam's voice, Hope turned her gaze from the window, staring levelly at the hobbit. "Yes?"
Sam shifted in his bed, the wary gleam still in his eyes. "You're quite young for one of the Big Folk, aren't you?"
The young Ranger folded her arms across her chest with a huff. She could quite clearly see the direction of this conversation, a conversation she dearly hoped she would never have. Already many of the other Rangers had questioned her; this was something she did not like explaining over and over again. "Yes, Sam," she answered stiffly, reading the unspoken question in the hobbit's brown eyes. "I travel with Strider though because he is my mentor and friend. He may not look like it, but he is a good and trustworthy man."
Sam cocked an eyebrow, suspicion and distrust written across his face, but he said nothing, lying back down and turning over on his side. Within a few moments, Hope could tell that he, along with the other three hobbits, were fast asleep, snoring softly beneath the covers. She smiled faintly at the sight, wishing that she could be peaceful as those four seemed as they slept on, not worrying about what could – no, what probably would - happen as time progresses. Leaning back against the chair, she closed her eyes, waiting…waiting…
A hand gently clasped her shoulder, startling her out of her doze. Hope looked up to see Aragorn gazing down at her, smiling ever so slightly. "Strider," Hope groaned, stifling a yawn. The elder Ranger chuckled quietly, sitting down in the chair opposite hers and directing his gaze to the window. For much of the night, the two stayed like that, just sitting and watching, hardly ever speaking.
~o*o*o*o~
Slowly, the Nazgûl came.
They rode through the streets of Bree on horses black as night, black robes billowing out ominously behind them. Five there were in the company that come to the Inn of the Prancing Pony, throwing open the doors and striding menacingly inside, a cold mist following them wherever they traveled. The shrill screams of the Ringwraiths shattered the still night, echoing for leagues around.
The hobbits bolted upright, awoken by the shrieks of the Black Riders. Strider and Hawkins still sat alert by the window, the silver in their eyes gleaming in the dimming firelight. "What are they?" Frodo asked the two Rangers.
A dark look overcame Strider's face. "They were once great kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question or doubt, slowly falling into the darkness of Sauron's shadow."
"They are now slaves to his will, forever searching for the One," Hawkins added, a grim look on her face. "At all times can they feel its power, and so long as you bear it, they will never cease hunting you. They are the Nazgûl, the Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead."
No one spoke, not daring to break the thick, ominous silence that hung about them like a cloud of shadow. The thunder of hooves sounded from outside, the screeches of the Nazgûl piercing the night as they rode on, continuing their never-ending search for the Ringbearer.
~o*o*o*o~
Morning soon came, the gray twilight filtering in through the clouds above. The company soon departed Bree, taking only the necessary supplies piled onto a baggage pony Sam had named "Bill". They hobbit had taken quite a liking to the pony, the poor thing looking awfully thin and sick after being in its master's foul care for so long. Aragorn and Hope led the way, through the woods and the countryside, avoiding all roads and towns.
Frodo stared warily at the two as they journeyed on. "Where are you taking us?" he questioned guardedly.
"Into the wild," Strider vaguely replied. Hawkins only grunted in response, surveying the surrounding trees.
The company continued to press on; always on their guard should anything unpleasant pass their way. Aragorn and Hope were often a good distance ahead of the hobbits, scouting the land and ensuring they were safe. As they paused to scan the area, the two Rangers could hear the hobbits talking in hushed voices behind them.
"How do we know that this Strider and Hawkins are friends of Gandalf?" Merry asked. Hope could almost feel the hobbit's suspicious gaze on her back.
"I think servants of the enemy would look fairer but feel fouler," Frodo replied softly.
Merry let out a huff. "They're foul enough."
Aragorn tipped his head upon hearing the comment, glancing over at Hope. The younger Ranger just rolled her eyes, letting out a soft chuckle. "It seems you have driven your paranoia into them," she whispered, grinning up at her mentor. Aragorn did not reply, but Hope could see the faint traces of a smile on his face.
For several days they continued their travels, seeing no sign and hearing no sound of any living creatures for much of their travels. They were far from the roads now, out in the pathless wilderness the Rangers called home. Most times, the company was silent, but on some occasions the hobbits would question the Rangers or whisper about their intentions. They did not trust the pair at all, and Hope doubted they would ever truly gain their trust until they reached safety.
One morning, a thick frost covered the ground, crunching beneath their feet. Presently, the sound of clanking pots and pans filled the still air, causing both Rangers to whirl around only to see the hobbits fussing over the baggage of Bill the pony, bringing out all sorts of cooking utensils.
"Gentlemen, we do not stop until nightfall," Aragorn stated, staring at the hobbits questioningly.
Pippin's eyebrows furrowed together. "But what about breakfast?"
"We've already had it," Hope replied shortly, "and we have no time for seconds."
"But where are we going in such a hurry?" Sam inquired. To the hobbits, there should be no legitimate reason for them to skip second breakfast, or any meals of the day for that matter.
A fond smile graced Strider's face as he answered, "To Rivendell, Master Gamgee, and the House of Elrond." He gestured for the company to continue walking. "Come now, we must hasten."
~o*o*o*o~
A few days passed, and the ground soon became soggy, sinking into the bog that was the Midgewater Marshes. Midges buzzed around their faces and arms, biting and pinching them relentlessly. A thick fog filled the air, blurring their vision. The quagmire was murky and foul, squelching and squishing beneath their feet as they passed. For four days they pushed through the marsh and murk, finally leaving the bogs behind at light on the fifth day.
Steadily, the land began to rise, becoming dry and solid once more. A tall hill rose in the distance, the ruins of a once-great tower crowning the flat top. "Amon Sûl," Hope breathed, a sense of fear and dread overcoming her. "Weathertop."
The young Ranger jumped as a hand touched her shoulder, whirling around to see it was only Aragorn. Strider gave her a questioning look, but he did not press on the matter, sensing that she was very anxious and even frightened. Instead, he turned to the hobbits. "We will rest here tonight," he announced, noting at how Hope seemed to wince at the words.
The group of six trooped up to the hillside, finding shelter in a cave embedded in the stone side of the hill. The four hobbits flopped down onto the ground, exhausted from the day's travels. Aragorn stood outside the cave, gazing intently at the setting sun. Hope sat a little ways off, absorbed in her thoughts. This is Weathertop, she told herself darkly. This is where Frodo is stabbed. The Ringwraiths will come; they will surely attack. And I cannot tell Aragorn or Frodo or anyone else.
Aragorn's voice snapped her out of her musings. "Stay here, and keep your swords close," he ordered the hobbits. "I am going to have a look around." He then turned to face Hope. "Hope, come with me."
The young Ranger shook her head, panic and stress clearly in her eyes. "I- I really think I should stay with the hobbits."
Aragorn grasped her shoulder, gazing sternly into her eyes. "Hope, please, come with me," he repeated firmly. Hope sighed resignedly and rose to her feet, following her mentor down the hillside and into the nearby woods. For a few moments, the two traveled in silence, Hope surreptitiously picking up twigs and branches off the ground and gathering them into a bundle beneath her arm.
Eventually, Aragorn broke the silence. "Hope, what troubles you?" he asked, concern clear in his eyes. Hope pretended not to hear him, so the elder Ranger continued. "Once we reached Weathertop, you have been much more tense and anxious; I can see it in your eyes. Tell me, what is wrong?"
Hope did not answer for several long minutes. "Is this why you insisted on bringing me out here, Aragorn?" she finally replied, stating a question instead of giving a straight answer.
Aragorn nodded. "Indeed. I do not deny it."
Hope sighed, sinking down onto a large stone. Aragorn sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Something will happen tonight at Weathertop," she stated grimly, staring at the ground. "And I cannot tell you or anyone else what will transpire, for fear of changing the course of the future."
"Such is your burden, and the burden of the Elenmîr," Aragorn whispered, gazing up at the night sky. No moon had risen, the stars obscured by a dark blanket of clouds. Suddenly, a cold mist began to curl at their feet, obscuring the ground. A chill ran through the air, causing Hope to look up, reaching towards her belt.
SCREEEEEE!
The shrill scream pierced the night. Hope and Aragorn sprang to their feet, gripping their sword hilts. Quickly, Hope threw down the bundle of wood onto the ground. Wrenching her flint from her pack, she hurriedly struck it a few times against her knife, a blaze of sparks flying forth. The piles of timbers burst into orange flame, flaring in the night. Pulling two long brands from the fire, she tossed one to Aragorn.
"Go!" she shouted, drawing her sword. Aragorn gave her a swift nod, unsheathing his blade before charging to Weathertop.
The two Rangers clambered up the side of the hill, desperately hoping they were not too late. Five black figures could be seen advancing on the hobbits, their dark robes swirling about them. All held dark steel blades, jagged and rusted. Suddenly, a loud scream of pain echoed from the ruins.
"Frodo," Aragorn breathed, and with a bellowing cry, the Ranger leapt up onto the ruins, lashing out with both sword and flame. Hope soon followed her mentor's lead, the glow of her torch illuminating the fierce snarl on her face. The two Rangers stood back to back, watching as the five Ringwraiths surrounded them, recoiling and hissing at the flaming brands. Out of the corner of her eye, Hope could see Frodo lying against the ruins, clutching his shoulder in agony as Sam hovered over him.
Together, Hope and Aragorn struck, ferociously swinging their torches at the wraiths. The shrieks of the Nazgûl filled the night as they lunged at the two Rangers. Hope crouched low, dodging a Rider's attack, and swung upwards with her brand, setting the wraith's black robes alight. Nearby, Aragorn dueled skillfully with another Ringwraith, already having set one ablaze. Screaming a battlecry, Hope charged at another of the Nazgûl, her sword raised high. The two blades clashed, and Ranger and wraith fought fiercely, the light of the torch flickering over their forms. Hope swung the brand high, striking the Ringwraith's side. The flames quickly consumed the Black Rider, and shrieking viciously, the wraith charged off the side of the ruin to the fog-covered ground below.
All five of the Nazgûl had fled, leaving only the Rangers and the hobbits in the ruins. Aragorn quickly strode to Hope, his eyes scanning for wounds. "I am fine, Strider," Hope reassured him, breathing heavily.
"Strider! Hawkins!"
Both Rangers whipped their heads towards the hobbits, all clustered around Frodo. Hope and Aragorn ran to his side, kneeling down. Frodo's eyes were clouding over, and the hobbit was moaning with pain. A small sword lay beside him, jagged and rusted like the blades of the Nazgûl. Hope snatched it off the ground. "Strider, look." The hilt suddenly burned her hand as the blade seemed to dissolve to nothingness. Hope hissed in pain and recoiled, the hilt clattering onto the stone.
Aragorn's face creased in worry. "He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade," he stated grimly, hoisting Frodo up onto his shoulder. "We must get him to Rivendell. Hurry!"
The company began to sprint away from the ruins, stopping only to gather their supplies and light a few more torches. Hope led the way, closely followed by Aragorn. Frodo seemed to be in a delirious state, crying for Gandalf. No one spoke, all too worried for Frodo's life. Abruptly, Hope stopped, her eyes hastily scanning the area and her ears alert.
"What is it?" Aragorn asked urgently, halting beside her.
Hope looked up at him, fear quite evident in her eyes. "I hear hoofbeats."
Cliffhanger! Hehe, I couldn't help it.
Alright, hope you enjoyed this new chapter! Please review!