As the travelers made their way into the Ring of Doom, the atmosphere crackled with tension. The heated discussion among the Valar, Maiar, and Elven leaders seemed to drown out any other sound. Yet, amidst the grandeur of the hall and the weight of the discussions, the travelers remained focused on their mission to aid Frodo.

Nienna, usually patient and serene, felt the urgency of the situation weigh heavily upon her. She saw Este, who stood alone in a corner, her watchful gaze fixed on the ongoing discussion.

Este's serene expression softened into a smile as she noticed Nienna approaching. However, her smile faltered as she caught the urgency in Nienna's demeanor. Without a word, Nienna simply gestured towards Aragorn, whose features remained hidden beneath his hood.

Understanding the silent communication, Aragorn stepped forward and gently placed Frodo at Este's feet, his movements deliberate yet respectful. As Frodo lay unconscious before the Vala, Este wasted no time in springing into action. She sat next to the hobbit and with a gentle touch, she awakened him, his eyes fluttering open to meet her gaze with a mixture of fear and confusion.

"It's okay, little one," she reassured him, her voice a soothing balm in the midst of turmoil. "I am here to help you."

Suddenly, cryptic words escaped her lips, leaving both Este and Nienna bewildered.

"The hands of the Dunedain king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known," she uttered, her confusion evident as she stared back at Nienna.

Nienna's heart skipped a beat, her confusion mirroring Este's own. She had no explanation for the words that poured forth from her lips, but she knew they held significance, especially in this moment of crisis.

Before she could gather her thoughts, Aragorn knelt besides Frodo and touched his forehead, as he understood her words.

Frodo's demeanor shifted, his expression twisted by unseen forces as he felt Aragorn's presence.

Suddenly, a piercing shriek shattered the air, emanating from Frodo's lips with an otherworldly intensity. The sound cut through the heated debate, commanding the attention of all present. Until that moment, no one had noticed what was happening.

In a voice not his own, Frodo spoke to Aragorn, his words dripping with malice and darkness. "The Halfling is ours… ranger of the North and through him we shall live again and serve our master," the voice declared, sending a chill down the spine of every listener.

But Aragorn stood firm, his authority ringing out with unwavering resolve. "You will not take him... be gone servant of Sauron," he commanded, his voice echoing with power.

At that pivotal moment, Este's radiant presence intensified, casting a brilliant glow across the chamber. Frodo's expression twisted once more, morphing into a mask of terror as if the Witch-King had suddenly realized the gravity of his surroundings.

"No… who are you?" Frodo's voice, still laced with malice and darkness, now trembled with fear, revealing cracks in the facade of darkness.

Frodo convulsed violently as Aragorn's hand made contact with his forehead, triggering a primal scream of agony that echoed through the hall. A thick, black smoke billowed from Frodo's mouth, swirling ominously before splitting into nine distinct wisps.

As the shadowy figures of the Nazgûl materialized before them, the travelers acted with resolve. With a swift motion, they cast aside their hoods, revealing their faces to all present. The sight of mortals elicited gasps of astonishment from those gathered in the Ring of Doom and reverberated throughout all of Valinor.

Thorin sprang into action without hesitation. Ignoring the grandeur of the hall and the weight of the moment, he lunged forward to stand at Aragorn's side, brandishing his sword.

"Baruk Khazâd!" Thorin's voice thundered, the ancestral battle cry of his people ringing out defiantly.

Inspired by Thorin's courage, their companions followed suit, drawing their weapons while standing next to Aragorn and Thorin.

In the face of this unexpected resistance, the shadowy figures paused, their leader fixing a malevolent gaze upon Gandalf as he shrieked in defiance. "You old fool," he said with a sinister voice, "there is still evil in Arda Marred…the age of the orc shall come."

"Be gone to the void," Gandalf commanded with authority, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Undeterred, the leader of the nine turned his attention to Aragorn, his words dripping with scorn and disdain. "It takes more than a piece of Dwarven glass or a rabble such as this to make a king," he sneered. "Gondor will fall, and the world of Men shall crumble."

With a final, chilling warning, before their figures disappeared, the leader of the nine turned to Thorin, his gaze burning with malice. "Your kind shall never reclaim Khazad-dûm," he taunted. "The line of Durin will wither without a kingdom."

As the last echoes of his words faded into silence, a heavy hush settled over the chamber, broken only by the ragged breaths of those gathered.