A/N—J.R.R. Tolkien owns this. I don't.
Many thanks to Gwedhiel for continued reviews/advice!
Ergothane, by the way, is an OC I created...just for clarification...
Please read/review!
"Run!" Gandalf's voice reverberated in his ears, making him tremble. He fled, slipping around the corner, out into the hall, running like he had never run before.
"The Nine! The Nine! A, Elbereth!"
Frodo's heart hammered against his chest—one-two-one-two-one-two—doom-doom-doom-doom-doom—and he fought to keep breathing, tried to find air though there seemed to be none—doom-doom-doom—
"The Nine!"
Behind him, he heard the doors to the great house slam open, and Elven and Nazgul voice merged in a high, shrill shriek that made him stumble, reaching to cover his ears, the Ring threatening to slip from his grasp and roll across the ground—no, slipping on his finger—another scream as the world clouded over, and he couldn't see—
Ash nazg...ash nazg...
Louder now, Sauron, calling, calling...
Ash nazg...ash nazg...
The grass was brittle beneath his feet, and the air was stagnant. He couldn't breathe; the air was cold and hard—
Ash nazg, ash nazg...Elbereth—
"Elbereth," he gasped, reaching for the jewel about his neck, yanking the Ring from his finger. "Elbereth..."
—doom-doom-doom-doom-doom—
The gates of the watchtower loomed, and he managed a ragged cry.
"Ergothane!"
An arrow, loosed from a bow—he slammed to a halt, gasping in horror—curling fingers, snatching the arrow from the air as a lithe figure landed, catlike—
"Frodo? What brings you out in the midst of danger? Did Gandalf send you?"
Ergothane's voice sliced through the screaming, and Frodo focused on the warm tones that, though so much more sophisticated, somehow always made him think of Sam—tears started—
He unclenched his fist, and held out the Ring.
Ergothane drew back, his dark hair haloing out as he whipped his head away, averting his eyes.
"The Ring was destroyed!" he snapped, his Elvish voice worried, angry, frightened...
Ash nazg...ash nazg...
The Elf heard the whisper too, and his hands twitched toward his ears.
Ash nazg...ash nazg...
"The Black Riders—Nazguls—have come. Gandalf told me to run...where?" he whispered.
Where? He didn't know. But Ergothane spun, grabbing Frodo's wrist, pulling him back towards the house, now ablaze.
"Come." Terse and brusque, Ergothane said no more as he raced through the havoc, slipping by Elves, ignoring the pleas for help that made Frodo stop, dragging his feet, staring in pity at the outstretched hands—
Ash nazg durbatuluk..
They left the house behind, darting down the grassy slope, the sharp blades of grass drawing blood from Frodo's feet, leaving drops of red dripping behind them.
Ash nazg gimbatul...
The waves lapped unnaturally up on the shore, slowly, as if they didn't have the strength; Ergothane swore, and touched something at his neck as if afraid he had lost it.
Ash nazg thrakatuluk...
Ergothane slashed at the ropes with his knife—the boat slid out—Ergothane shoved Frodo forward—doom-doom-doom—his heart wouldn't slow—flames spurted toward the sky—the Ring was eased from his fingers—a chain slipped into his hands—he looked down...
Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul...
The Ring sparkled on a delicate chain. He slipped it onto his neck, feeling the weight drag him towards the waves.