The land had risen steadily all day and now, in the distance, they could see a long row of hills. The hobbits found them intimidating and disheartening while Aragorn looked on with eagerness and determination. Aiedale did not care either way – she was done with swamps and the sight of hills was hardly something to be worried about in her opinion. Better, in her opinion, to worry about what crept along behind them – drawing close as they dawdled along at a snails pace.
The highest of the hills was a strangely shaped top as if it had been smoothed and flattened. It was to this one, black against the grey sky, that Aragorn pointed to as they came to a stop. "That is Weathertop. The Old Road runs to the south of it and it is to there that we must go. " The Ranger paused and then said quietly, "If we continue at this pace then we will reach it by tonight." His voice had a strange note to it and Frodo caught it as the Ranger raised his proud face a little.
"What do you mean?" asked Frodo. "What worries you?"
The Ranger was silent for a moment and then said, "It is not certain what we may find. It is close to the Road. Gandalf may have come this way or he may not. It would take a great deal of luck for us to meet at the same time for neither he nor we can wait long there. The Riders will head to Weathertop as soon as they fail to find us along the Road."
The hobbits looked anxiously at the dark hills and Sam, for he feared the world the most, looked around nervously. His eyes rested for a moment on dark Aiedale who stood silently and then to the grey, dismal landscape that seemed so lonesome and forbidding. He feared that everything, from the birds to the trees, were watching for them or hiding enemies in their shadows.
"Come," said Aragorn, "we follow paths seldom tread and the road is long."
Behind him, Aiedale glanced behind her shoulder for the umpteenth time that day. She did not think heading to this 'Weathertop' was a good idea and would much rather have stayed in the wilderness and far from the road. They were being hunted and she, rather like Sam, felt that everything was not as it seemed. The shadow that lurked just out of sight and seemed unwilling to be firmly recognized, was not something she could take on with a knife. It was a subtle evil and she was certain that it and those Riders were connected. Whatever it was she took as a warning. This night she would not sleep – this night she would prepare herself for a fight that she knew was coming.
There was frost in the air, and the sky was dark grey. A few melancholy birds were making a little music from the small clumps of trees that were scattered across the land. The noise was far from comforting or cheery and it only served to remind the hobbits of how far away they were from the Shire. In their homeland birds sang joyfully and the land was fair – this was a dismal place with a beauty that was too rugged and wild for the gentle Shire folk. Aiedale rather liked it and Strider had come to love the land that, once long ago, had been part of a powerful kingdom of which he was a remnant. He understood this place and he protected it – protected the memories and glory that had once been here.
The path they followed changed from nothing more than a game trail to a true track that was plain to any eye. It ran southwards and seemed purposely designed to keep as much hidden from the view, both of the hill-tops and from the flatter and more open ground that the travelers were leaving. The road dived into dells, and hugged steep hills; and where it passed over flatter and more open ground on either side were lines of steep boulders and hewn stones that screened travelers like a hedge. Aiedale was grateful for the added security and half-listened as Aragorn explained the history behind the trail and then men who had created it. Middle Earth, she came to realize, was an old land. The tales of elves and men seemed linked and magic wove a pattern amongst the great deeds of heroes long dead. Had she been anywhere else, like back home maybe, she might have listened eagerly and asked many questions. Now, however, it was just a distracting bit of back ground noise that she had to put out of her mind in an effort to listen to their surroundings.
The iron grey sky was growing darker and the light beginning to fade when they came to their destination. Nothing was to be seen moving on the hill and, if Gandalf was about, there was no sign of him. The hobbits, sighing with exhaustion at the sight of the climb before them, slowly followed the Ranger up the hill while Aiedale forcibly slowed herself. Concealment was no longer possible and it made her jumpy. She could not help but imagine how short this climb would be if it was Shadowhunters moving beside her not slow, easily tired hobbits.
On the top hey found a wide ring of ancient stonework. One could still see the shape of walls, door ways and could almost imagine the place as a towering watch tower. There was an air about the place and it made the hobbits shiver while Aiedale felt a little more at home. This place reminded her of the Institute – old and enduring but watchful to with many memories and emotions caught in the crumbling stone. This was a place she could defend.
Standing on the rim of the ruined circle, they saw all round them the world. They saw the dome of the sky as it reached down to the edge of the world. The land, featureless expect for patches of woodland, met it at the edge where blue and grey met and mixed. The Old Road was a ribbon below them and wound up and down until it faded behind a ridge of dark land to the east. Nothing was moving on it. Nothing seemed to be alive or moving anywhere on this land. The Mountains, grey and white, stood behind foothills that were brown and somber. The hobbits felt very small and even Aiedale felt as if this world was too large and too uninviting. The world looked wild and wide from Weathertop even to Ranger and Shadowhunter eyes. History lay heavy on this place to and it colored everything with bitter memories.
"This once was once a watch-tower," Aragorn said softly and then, his eyes so distant that he might have been looking back into the past. "For the kingdom of Arnor." His grey eyes were misty and the words were soft, as if he feared speaking too loudly in this place.
The young Shadowhunter looked around with a curious eye, taking in the remnants of this once powerful place. The weatherworn and chipped walls, the bright green of weeds and grasses that crept up through the cracks in the stone as well as the vista that spread out around it. No wonder someone, long ago, had chosen this hill top for a watchtower. Looking back at the Ranger Aiedale half-wondered if she should say something to break whatever memories he was reliving but she held her tongue. This place, or rather the history behind it, seemed to have a strange effect on the mundane and she felt a rising curiosity to know more about his people and why he chose to wander the Wild. Everyone had a story and, no doubt, there was a long and complicated history behind this man. The two hobbits looked up at the Ranger and their wide eyes glinted with curiosity. Frodo especially was interested to hear more about the lands they traveled through as if, by knowing of their past, it would make them more hospitable.
"It fell before my time," he murmured quietly, "perhaps I will share some of its stories tonight." As Aragorn looked out across the wild country he saw more than empty lands. He saw the walls rebuilt and full, the noble men who stood guard and the soldiers who had patrolled among the patchwork of well tilled fields with their stout farmhouses and even stouter farmers. He saw the seasons come and go from high summer to deep winter. This had once been a powerful kingdom and now, with its city fallen, the descendants of those farmers and warriors had taken to the North. One day, he hoped this land would once more resemble the distant memory that flickered across his eyes.
"How far is Rivendell?" asked Merry, gazing around wearily.
Aragorn did not know what to say to the young hobbit. The Road, from this point, looked endless and yet every road had an end. It was those who reached that end who could look back and speak of the distance they had traveled. Looking back to the questioning hobbit, he shrugged and said evenly. "The Road has never been measured. To some it is long and to others it is short but to my own feet it would take twelve days with no ill fortune. We have at least a fortnight's journey before us, for I do not think we shall be able to use the Road." The Ranger fell silent for he could imagine just a few things that might be waiting in store for them even if they stayed to the Wild.
Frodo said nothing but inside the young hobbit was jumping nervously. The silence of the hill-top and the loneliness that clung to it made Fordo truly realize his homelessness and danger. He wished bitterly that his fortune had left him in the quiet beauty of his homeland. The Road, twirling away, led to his home and how he longed to set his feet upon it and feel the warmth and peace of the Shire once more! He would be glad to leave the grim faced Ranger and Aiedale with her strange ways.
"Let us find a better hiding place," said Aragorn to the hobbits. "There is a dell on the opposite side of the hill that will protect us from unwelcome eyes." He started to lead the hobbits and the pony away but looked back when Aiedale did not come. The Shadowhunter waved him onwards but turned to look back out at the world. Something about the way she was standing made the ranger hold his tongue and leave but he wondered what she was doing.
Aiedale was trying to find something. The watchtower provided an excellent view and it was something she had decided to use. Hidden behind a crumbled memory of a wall, she watched the Road and hoped that they had not been seen. Having all the hobbits and a pony on the hill had not been the smartest of choices but she doubted they had been seen for the walls were tall enough to conceal the top of the hill from those looking up. Yet, for she was a warrior, she would not let this excellent chance to learn more of the terrain she was surrounded by, pass by. She could look out for miles and miles across the untouched countryside and it was nice to be alone. To have the wind in her hair, the world at her feet and a chance to look for the enemies she had known were trailing them.
Her eyes searched, methodically, along the dusty colored Road and then, with a leap of her heart, she saw them. Two black specs, horse and rider, moving slowly along it, going westwards; and looking again she saw three more creeping eastwards to meet them. The light was quickly fading and night would be upon them soon but Aiedale's eyesight was keen and she saw what the black shadows were. Black Riders, on black horses, were assembling on the Road beyond the foot of the hill. Her heart sped up a little and she smirked. So they had planned on surprising them? Too bad for them.
She was more than ready to play at their level. Fire would be her friend this night.
Slipping away on silent feet, the Shadowhunter followed the hobbits and Ranger. She would need to tell them and make sure no one did anything stupid that night. There was no room for mistakes when dealing with shadow demons and Aiedale had never been one to leave any room for error.
The place chosen by the hobbits to rest that night was in a small dell that was well sheltered and protected. The ground was soft and it afforded a protected nook where a fire could be lit safely with a stone wall rising up behind it sharply and, yet, it was open enough that one could watch over the darkened land. As evening fell heavier around them and the air grew chill, the hobbits gathered around the fire and spoke softly to each other. They were trying to send the shadows away and remember other times when they had spoken over tankards of ale in the Green Dragon or laughed over simple but delicious dinners. They felt surrounded by unfriendly lands that were empty of all but wild creatures and evil things that took to the night.
Supper was meager and, as the last of the food was finished, Frodo commented on it. "We have been careful with out food but, if we still have two weeks to go, I do not see how it can be made to last."
Strider shrugged, he had refrained from pulling out his pipe and his entire body, while relaxed, was prepared for something - anything - to happen. "There is food in the Wild." He said calmly, "You will not starve with me as your guide."
Aiedale snorted slightly from her place at the edge of the dell. She did not fancy eating roots and berries for the rest of the trip but she wouldn't complain even thought she desperately wanted to tease the hobbits on their rapidly shrinking waistlines. Shifting slightly she looked back out across the shadowed countryside. Even with vision increased by runes the darkness was thick and concealed much of the land. In a private moment on the way back to her traveling companions she had quickly runed herself as she might to prepare for a fight back home. She would take no chances this night. With one hand firmly gripping her kindjal, she kept herself relaxed but ready all the same.
Her mind drifted back towards home, something it did often these days. She missed them all, especially her brother with his sunny disposition and quick wit. Yet, the longer she thought of home and the things she would do once she made it - for she would make it! - the more her mind drifted away from family to another person. Aiedale had many boyfriends over the years, some had been Downworlders and there had even been two mundanes who and been gifted with the Sight and had, recently, become mundane world informants for the Clave. Some had been casual one night flings on the dance floor as she searched for a demon or two. However, the past few months, she and not been flitting from one romance to another leaving broken hearts and boyfriends who still sent her love letters. This was one person, the first one, who her aunt and uncle had actually approved of. His handsome face, reserved but kind, flashed through her mind like a perfect snapshot despite not having seen him for some time now. He had grey eyes and slim hands that could handle a seraph blade as expertly as a violin. She missed him, his quite reassurances and the way he would just smile then tell her she would never, no matter what, be alone. For her he had left the London Institute to spend time in Paris – with her - and their relationship had only deepened and strengthened as they lived and fought beside each other every night. Now he must think her dead or captured...everyone would think that.
I miss you Callum, thought the young warrior as she sighed heavily. Missing someone you love, not because they are family, but something more and different is sometimes the hardest thing of all. Misery, a deep dark anguish, overwhelmed her for a few minutes before, like she had done many times these past few days, she was able to rein in back in. It seemed to be something she had to do more and more as she became more desperate to find this wizard and high-tail it home. She could not wait much longer or it would overwhelm her. Bottling it all up this way could not go on indefinitely, but there was neither time nor place for sorting it all out. She had no one to speak to - no one who knew who she was and that also made her reluctant to blurt out all of this.
The cold, increasing as the night grew thicker, made Frodo and his companions huddle even closer around the small fire, wrapped in every garment and blanket they possessed; Aragorn was content with nothing but his cloak. Aiedale was relying on sheer determination to keep her from feeling like a frozen block of marble. The sky above them had cleared and the stars shone down on them, their light welcomed if only to break the endless blackness. Occasionally, as the night fell and the light of the fire began to shine out more brightly, Aragorn would speak of old tales if only to keep the hobbits minds from fear. The Ranger, despite his rough clothes and even rougher lifestyle, knew many many stories of old. He was learned in many things and an excellent story teller.
Aiedale listened to it as best she could from her place on the very edge of their small camping place but, as the night was at its darkest, the man began to chant softly. It was a fair song, so beautiful and flowing that the young Shadowhunter had to of move a little closer just to catch it better. The tune, rhythmic and soft, warmed her and reminded her of better days when friends were by her side and the world was at her feet. It spoke of a love that not even death or immortality could sunder and Aiedale wondered what kind of people, human or elf, were capable of such sacrifices. She had never met an elf and half wondered if they were anything like the Faeries who lived in her world. The song, elvish according to Aragorn, was created by them and it was the kind of thing the Shadowhunter might have heard in a Faerie Court. Yet, if that was their language, then surely they had to be just as beautiful. The language was so lyrical and enchanting that she longed to hear more of it.
As the song came to an end she turned her face to look back at the small fire and the man who sat, silent and shadowy, a little ways from it. The hobbit's faces were raised to gaze at him but it was the expression on the impassive Ranger that caught her attention. She could see his face clearly despite the shadows and it was lit by some inner light. It was like a mask had been drawn away and she saw him without shadows hiding him. His eyes were shining and his voice was rich like a tapestry of many colors. This was no common man, she realized quickly, but someone more - someone strong and noble. Behind him, only adding to this sudden change in the air around him, rose a moon that let out a pale, clear light which made things shine ever so slightly. It only added to the glow that hung around him, an aura of power and majesty that she had never seen about a mundane.
For a few seconds she could not look away but she forced herself to turn away and look back out at the black countryside. She could see no sign of trouble - yet. All seemed so quiet and peaceful but, the longer she sat watch, the more confident she grew that something was coming. There was a cold dread in the air and a kind of tension that always preceded an attack - even the oblivious hobbits seemed to feel it, especially Frodo. Quickly making sure her gloves were on correctly and her weapons at the ready, she settled herself into a calm but cool focus that she always adopted when waiting for a fight. Time did not matter and she could be endlessly patient - if she had to be.
Behind her came the sounds of Sam, his footsteps were heaviest, and Merry, who had a quick walk, rising from the fire. She was tempted to turn and tell them not to leave the safety of the golden flames but then changed her mind. Maybe they would see something she could not from this place. They moved away while Aiedale remained still and silent like an ever watchful statute. A few minutes passed silently between those left in the small dell beside the ancient walls.
It was then that Sam came running back, his breathing tense and Aiedale quickly turned. The hobbit's face was white and he seemed frightened. She tensed, her suspicions were being confirmed, and she did not need his frantic words about 'something creeping up the slope' to make her rise from her place on the edge of the dell. She was hidden by the shadows and her feet were silent as she slipped around to stand in a corner - just a few feet from Fordo and the Ranger but just out of the circle of light. She would wait to act for a few minutes.
"Keep close to the fire," hissed Strider as he stood upright and tall against the darkness. No sign was there of the man who had sung the beautiful song and spoken of the deeds of great heroes. Now the grim Ranger was back and he was tensed in preparation of a fight. "Choose the longer sticks and have them ready in your hands!" Behind the man the walls of the watchtower rose and danced with the light of the fire.
For a long few moments there was no sign of any enemies. A cool evening breeze ruffled the hair of the hobbits's as they gazed into the shadows that encircled them with the cherry fire to their backs. Nothing happened. There was no sign or movement from any of the shadows around them and the air grew oppressive with anticipation. Frodo stirred, he longed to do something other than grip a wooden stick with his small, smooth hands. The ring was heavy around his neck and it felt as, for a moment, as if it was pulling him towards the darkness and away from the security of his friends. He fought it as best he could and renewed his grip on the branch. Beside him, secure and comforting, was the knife he had taken from the Barrow Downs.
Suddenly, rising from the darkest of the shadows at the lip of the dell, on the side away from the hill, they felt, rather than saw, a shadow rise, one shadow or more than one. Aeidale could see them clearly as the forms of men, rough forms but in that sort of shape - the Riders she had glimpsed in the mundane village. The hobbits strained their eyes but they could not quite make out what the rapidly growing shadows were. Yet they could feel them and they could see how these shadows were so deep it felt as if one might fall into them and be lost forever. They were not normal shadows but venomous ones that made the already chill air so cold it felt as if they were frozen to the ground. Only the warmth of the fire kept them where they were. Aragorn held a branch close to the fire in readiness.
The shapes slowly advanced. Five of the Nazgul were enclosing the hobbits and man in a tight semi-circle with the stone at their back. They moved with terrifying deliberateness and their very presence seemed to fill the air with freezing cold despair. The Hobbits had never seen nor felt anything so terrifying or evil. Even Strider, who had confronted the creatures before, had to struggle against their potent aura.
Frodo felt the bitter cold, he felt as he had when he had been trapped in the Barrow Downs. He felt the terror and this fear swallowed him up though he did not move from his place even when Merry and Pippen scrambled away. Even when Sam shrank close to his side, he could not move nor make a sound. He felt the temptation rise within him to just put the Ring on. So easy. Put it on. It was a compulsion so strong that he forgot the warnings and his own resolve. It did not matter in the face of this coldness, this pure darkness that caught him in its net and refused to let him go. He could not speak; there was nothing he could even as a small part of his mind struggled against the darkness. He felt Sam looking at him and he briefly wondered where Aiedale was, but he could not cry out for help nor turn away from the quickly approaching shadows. At last, slowly, he drew out the chain. Resistance became unbearable and he could no longer ignore the longing to slip the Ring onto his finger. It was calling, a voice that he could just make out was singing out in a language so cruel and vicious that Frodo could not bear to listen to it.
The world suddenly changed. The dark shapes were terribly clear before his eyes as if their black cloaks had suddenly been whipped off and a light shone on them. There were five of them, tall and with white faces that burned with a keen bur merciless light. Helms of silver were on their heads, in their haggard hands were swords of steel and, yet, like a ghost of memory the hobbit caught sight of noble men that had been turned into slaves in the the name of evil. They turned their eyes to him. The force of their gaze freezing him in place and making drawing his sword or slipping the Ring from his finger impossible. Ice cold dread filled the hobbit and, in a distant part of his mind, a voice was screaming at him to remove the Ring and run, but he couldn't. He could not move.
The tallest of them who had a crown instead of a helm bore not only a sword but a knife. Both the weapons gleamed with a pale light of their own and, the edge of the knife, was too fine for the hobbit to make out. In a blur of movement, so fast that Frodo had no time to react, the ghost king sprang forward and bore down on him. The knife was raised and Frodo knew it was coming for him, but there was nothing he could do even as the pale King prepared to strike him down and take back the golden band that seemed to be calling out to the ghostly figures.
The knife never reached Frodo's shoulder.
It was spun away as another blade, this one etched with runes from another world, intercepted it. A gloved hand pushed the hobbit backwards as the two blades met with a clang and a black clothed figure with braided auburn hair took slipped forward to face the hooded shadows. The edge, to fine for mortal eye's to see, grazed Frodo's shirt before it was turned away. The two blades skated off each other and the force of the impact sent the black, ice blade tumbling away to be lost in the thick shadows that clung to the crumbling walls. The evil thing was no match for the glittering blade held in the slim finger hand.
Aiedale raised her seraph blade. She had not called on the hidden power within it - had not needed to - and she would need all that power to scare these creatures off. Better to wait until a more opportune moment and then speak the name of the angel it was runed for. She would know when that moment was there - her instincts would tell her. Her confidence in those instincts was well placed, as was her confidence in the skills taught t her by various instructors over the years.
"Who are you?" hissed the Nazgul.
"I am shadow," said Aiedale quietly as she held the glowing seraph blade. "I am shadow and dust."
"Join us," hissed another of the creatures who stood behind the one who had carried the knife. "Join us and we will give you riches beyond your imagination."
"No," said Aiedale simply for she was a Shadowhunter and to them there was no treasure greater then the life they lived. She did not need much and neither wealth nor great power appealed to her. So, with a toss of her head, she laughed a little at these dark shadows of men that thought to turn her to their side with a slim promise of something she had never wanted. "Try again," was her quick remark and the Nazgul stepped back a little. They had never been laughed at - scorned - before and to have it happen now was shocking.
They raised their swords and the first one hissed, "You shall fall. As all have fallen before, you will fall."
"One day," answered Aiedale and she knew she would. It was a choice she had made by being a Shadowhunter. By chasing death and vengeance she had chosen to burn with fierce light. One day she would fall and be claimed but not this day. This day she would blaze with all the courage and life that came with being mortal. She may not have long but she had this time and she did not regret her choice to be Nephilim, to bear the marks and scars of a Shadowhunter. She did not regret it and could never imagine regretting it.
As the Nazgul swept his black sword down toward, as time slowed, she entered the chilled calm that was fueled by adrenalin. The calm where every problem had a solution and her thoughts were speeding far ahead of the moment her body was stuck in. There was no fear of failure or worry for the hobbits behind or any other emotion. It was perfectly quiet and still like the calm before a storm strikes a lonely ship at sea. She saw what would happen before it did, she saw the way she would catch the black blade with the flat of her seraph blade and how she would twist her own blade to wrench the sword out of its owner's hand. She saw the way her seraph blade would flare as she cried its name and plunged deep into the black shadow of the Nazgul's chest and how she would wrench it out as she danced away from the other Nazgul even as they tried to slash at her with their ghostly glowing swords. Aiedale also saw that, as she spun away and the Nazgul shrieked in pain, how Aragorn would leap from the shadows with a flaming branch and expertly start setting the creatures alight as he slashed at them with a bright edged sword. She had waited and now it was time to act.
She saw it all and she felt alive. She felt as alive as every time before she had fought and won. She intended to win this fight and she knew exactly how.
Now. It was time. Aiedale also saw that, as she spun away and the Nazgul shrieked in pain, how Aragorn would leap from the shadows with a flaming branch. She had waited and now it was time to act.
The entire thing was over quite quickly, everything happening just as the Shadowhunter had predicted it would. Each movement and action perfectly timed so that, as she dispatched one of the creatures, Aragorn was able to match, blow for blow, the others even as he set teething alight. The Ranger had mo time to worry about Aiedale who had suddenly appeared at exactly the right because, even as she met them head on with that burning dagger, he found himself int he unenviable position of having to fight off two enemies at once. Armed with a blazing torch and dueling with all the skill he had honed after years of fights in the Wild, he found himself lost in the repetitiveness of ducking, spinning, blocking and slashing with the fire at the creatures.
The Nazgul fled. Their robes burning from the fire thrown at them by Aragorn and, with two of their number suffering from the burning fire of the seraph blade, they ran back into the dark night and vanished like mist in the morning sun. . Back to the shadows to regroup and rethink their next attack against what had seemed an easy threat. Their inhuman screeches echoing off the stone and lingering in the air like nightmares. They would not forget this defeat – they never forgot anything.
Aiedale was not particularly impressed - she had seen shadow demons that stayed and fought even if they were lit on fire and, to her, any really powerful demon should fight right down until it vanished from the dimension. These Nazgul seemed to prefer waiting for another time and, for she had little doubt, they would choose to confront her in a situation that favored them. An ambush where Aiedale and the others had little warning and were ill prepared to fight. It was a nasty thought and made her grimace slightly. They would have to be doubly on their guard now for the Nazgul would not take this defeat lightly and would, no doubt, make the next confrontation one where fire and seraph blades were little use.
As she stood for a few brief moments and recollected herself at the fight she forgot that she was being watched by not only the amazed hobbits but the watchful Ranger. Aragorn had never seen anything like it before and he could not tear his eyes away from the person who now stood before him. Even as the flaming torch in his hand blazed and the Nazgul made their quick escape or even the near miss with Frodo and the blade, none of this could quite match what he had just seen. They all saw her unmasked and unguarded for the first time in this journey.
Aiedale seemed dangerously calm. It was a furious kind of calm that did not impair thinking but fueled a person past normal limits. As she spun to look at him there was no sign of the girl with the soft laugh or the witty sense of humor. There was none of the girl who had gazed at the stars the night before and told him she was from a land so far away it took magic to reach it. There was nothing of the girl who had sat, so quiet and watchful, that night and then exploded into action before he even had time to realize a fight was upon them. Her face had gone dangerously calm - a look of such utter assurance and calm to it mixed with cold fury that glittered in her green eyes. There was something foreign about her now. Something that was too powerful, too bright and strong to be human. She burned. Her blade flaring with cool flames it seemed and a halo of brilliant light around her. There was nothing like her in this world and he suddenly was glad that there was no one like her – too many and surely this world would not be able to withstand it.
Aragorn had never seen a Shadowhunter when they fought. Never seen the way they change into something more akin to an avenging angel then a human. He had no idea the adrenalin that coursed through Nephilim as their blood awoke and their blades glowed with a promise of vengeance. So now, to see the quiet shadow of a girl turned into this glowing warrior that sent the Nazgul fleeing, was the most shocking and strangest thing he had ever seen. A skill so natural, a fierce passion that he had never seen before, seemed to fill the air with humming energy. It frightened him and it made him wonder if, had she wanted to, she could have killed him and done so without hesitation or any difficulty.
"Aiedale," he said and then again with growing strength. "Aiedale!"
She turned to him and sent him a lazy, arrogant smirk as if she found his fear amusing. "We had best go." Her words echoed unnaturally in the suddenly dead air and she spun away from the Ranger to look at the hobbits. "They will be back," her words echoed with assurance and she seemed to be in complete control but it was hard to forget how she had looked. How she had blazed and changed until she was unrecognizable. It was not something he would forget and nor could he help but think she was no ordinary girl. She spoke again and this time with more urgency, "We don't have time. We need to go," she rested a hand on Frodo's shoulder and pushed him forward before urging all the others on with quick words and pushes. The Hobbits were reluctant to move at the start,still petrified by what they'd just seen but they had no choice and, as the chill began to fade slightly, they found it easier to move.
Aragorn did not want to let the matter go. He had heard the Nazgul speak to her and heard the way she and replied, seen the way her blade, now hidden, had exploded with light until it was beacon in her hand. He wanted her to answer his questions - to explain what and who she was, but he couldn't and so was left to hurry along behind the hobbits, erasing their tracks as they went. His questions burned within him and it took all his self-control to stop himself from demanding them of her as they hurried down the steep slope and into the forest. She still seemed to glow, to burn, in the shadows and she still had that look of…he did not know how to explain it. It was alien and frightening in its power even as she encouraged the hobbits forward with quiet reassurances.
There were questions he wanted her to answer: what was she? Why had her blade flared like a falling star? Why did the Black Breath, the very aura of fear and despair, projected the Nazgul have no affect on her? In all his days, for he had lived a long and full life, he had never seen anyone openly scorn the Nazgul or blaze with such strength. She was not an Istari or elf-kind, but she was powerful in a way he had never seen before. What had brought her this far? As the Ranger walked, he mused on the most chilling question of all: What kind of people lived and fought like this girl?
The ranger was unaware that, as they moved along, Aiedale was wishing she could ask questions of her own. She had seen something more, something that fascinated her, when the Ranger had been speaking of the fair elf maiden, Luthien, and her love, Beren. That had been no mere mundane sitting by the fire but someone with the power and assurance of a natural leader speaking of an impossible love with familiarity as if, like the doomed pair, had experienced what they had. She had seen something beneath the mask of a Ranger and she wondered what secrets lay behind the ragged appearance of this man. She was a Shadowhunter and, as a general rule, her kind hated secrets - especially if those secrets could be considered dangerous. Soon, very soon, she would demand more from this man then pretty songs and old stories.
They moved swiftly through the forest. Hurrying with adrenalin fueled steps that carried them far father - far more quickly - then the hobbits had ever thought they could go. When at last they slowed, the night was on the wane and Weathertop was a distant silhouette against the night sky. The craggy remains of the watchtower black against the lightening sky as the stars slowly faded and the shadows began to recede. Behind them - echoing like a terrifying reminder of what had happened that night - came the all-to-familiar scream of a Nazgul who had been cheated of its prey.
Chapter time! I just love writing action scenes with Shadowhunters and Nazgul...very fun! Hope people are enjoying it so far and, of course, I love feedback!
Note: There will be changes to canon as the story progresses. That is the point. Sorry if there are readers who would prefer I struck directly to the book or movie script but Aiedale is a OC and new characters are supposed to change the plot through their own actions/presence. Even if those OC characters want to or do not to have that effect on the story.
Review Reply:
Dennisthepinkgoldfish: thank you :) I am glad you like this story! This chapter is much more my normal length...I guess I like long ones! ;) Hope you like this new chapter to...