Despite the new speed with which the small company traveled they still had to move cautiously through the land. There was no sign of the Riders, but even as the sun sent it's welcome light over the horizon the morning following the Weathertop incident, Aiedale heard two cries from somewhere far behind them. A cold voice calling and a cold voice answering. It made her already grim expression darken and her feet naturally quicken upon the small path that the Ranger was leading them down.
They traveled this way, silent and grim through the wild country, bushes and stunted trees grew into dense patches with wide barren spaces between, the grass was scanty, coarse, and grey; the leaves were fading to gold and falling. the hobbits found it cheerless, but Aiedale found the wild freedom that hung in the air to be a welcome release from the crowded city she spent most of time in. In this wild place she could feel the wind and the air was fresh, crisp now with autumn, but she liked it. It tasted clean in her mouth and the ground was springy beneath her light steps as if it was urging her to run and never stop.
For days they walked and, while Weathertop slowly sank, and before them the distant mountains loomed a little nearer, they saw no sign of the Riders. Yet that did not mean any single member of the group lowered their guard. Since the distant cry that had echoed as they moved swiftly away from the old watchtower, the hobbits found themselves dreading the dark hours. They kept watch in pairs and were often joined by either Aiedale or the Ranger, expecting at any time to see black shapes emerging from the grey night, dimly lit by the sliver of moon. But they saw nothing, and heard no sound but the sigh of wind through dead grass and bare branches. Sometimes the night noises of water dripping, strange cracks or the hoot of an owl would make them shiver or tense as if expecting the next sound would be that of a sword being drawn. The dark, chilling cold that trailed the Riders did not bother them eiher and, yet, the hope that the Riders had lost their trail seemed to good to be true. Something that Aiedale was quick to remind them of when they felt their steps slow and their minds turn to home. Her warnings of ambushes and the need for speed sent chilled fear through the hobbits and made their steps quicken once more as they followed Aragorn.
On the sixth day of travel since Weathertop they saw the Road sweeping round a clump of hills, and to their right a grey river flamed pale in the thin sunshine. In the distance, far away like a long awaited dream, was yet another river in a stony valley half-veiled in mist. It was to this river that Strider pointed and told them that they were making their way to the Ford of the Bruinin. If they could make it there, to that final crossing over the Bruinen of Rivendell they would be able to breathe easier and make their way swiftly to the Last Homely House.
To that distant goal the hobbits flung their hopes and strength of will. Even as the country took on sombre air that only Aiedale did not find depressing, they pressed on. The land seemed cheerless to the hobbits and, while they were glad to leave the Road behind once more, they could not help but think that this country seemed threatening and unfriendly. On some of the hills were the remains of ancient wall so stone and the ruins of great castles. Those crumbling ruins, stone now covered in lichen and with grass growing through cracks, seemed to be coated in loneliness - as if the pain of whatever had caused them to be abandoned was not forgotten and now poisoned the land. It had once been tainted by the shadow of Angmar and it was a darkness nothing anything ever really forgot.
As the days past a wind rose out of the West and with it came a damp cold that poured the water of the distant sea onto the dark land in a fine drizzle that soaked everything until it was saturated. Aiedale was obliged to borrow a spare cloak from the Ranger even though it was far too long for her and the smell that clung to it made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. The hills rose high and steep, yet, like a compass trained on one direction, the Ranger never faltered but led them along a path few had ever dared tread. He knew this country well, it was here that he had spent many years with his companies of Rangers and he knew many paths that were invisible to ordinary eyes.
At last, on a high ridge that they found themselves after climbing of the narrow valley they had been traveling down, that the rain finally let up and dry firewood was found. They set up their small camp under the gnarled roots of an old pine and the hobbits quickly ate their small dinner before huddling together in a nook created by the old tree's roots. The wind was chill and it made the pines lower down the hillside moaning as if in pain. The constant chorus made Frodo think of a dark cloak being swept across the tops of the trees as if something was hunting for him from above. The shadows seemed so thick and black that night that he was grateful for the steady warmth of his hobbit companions and the focused intensity of the two warriors. The fire was also a comfort and, the longer he lay there the sleapier he got until his weariness overrode the warnings his mind sent him. Before long all four of the hobbits were fast asleep, their faces peaceful as if they dreamed of better times in better places.
It was only when their soft breathing had evened out that the a ranger finally felt able to turn his attention the mystery of a girl sitting across from in. The cloak fell around her like a mantle and her face was inscrutable as if she wore a pretty mask that hid any sign of the person beneath. "What are you?" demanded the ranger. The hobbits, exhausted, did not even stir as the fire crackled merrily between the two watchers. His words were spoken in a hiss too low for them to hear, but it might as well have been spoken loudly with it's fierce intensity.
She and been expecting it. Looking up into those intense grey eyes she knew she had practically asked for it that night at the watchtower. He was right to question her so - she fully intended to do it to him - and so she was far more polite then she might have been. Maybe one day she would explain to him that, had they been in any other situation, she would not have tolerated his questions and flat out refused. As it was she would not tell him everything - some things were better left unsaid - and much of what he wanted to hear she could not speak of freely to someone who was no Nephilim. However, despite this, she would not just hand him information - there was a price and he would find out that this price was more answers, only this time they were answers only Aragorn could provide.
"I am Aiedale," said the young Shadowhunter. "I am a soldier and serve beside my kin to protect my land from demons. I am human just like you." Her eyes never wavered from the mundane who sat across from her and, in the same even tone, she continued. "It is true that I am different, but only because of my training and skills passed down through generations. I am stronger then you and immune to certain things that affect you." She smirked inwardly at how she had just simplified, not only what she was, but how different she was from the Ranger. When she got home and told her family and friends of this she was certain that everyone would laugh...even so this was the first mundane she had ever spoken of this to. It felt strange, and almost as if she should glance around to make sure no member of the Clave would jump out and lecture her about secrecy.
"Like the Nazgul?" asked Aragorn.
"Yes," said Aiedale after a brief moment of hesitation as she considered the best way to answer him without showing him the runes or his they protected her. "I cannot feel what you feel when they are around you. I am protected by...wards that are cast around me. I have fought creatures like them before."
The ranger was silent for a few long minutes as he digested these new piece of information. It sounded so strange and yet sensed no lie about this girl for she looked at him with clear grey eyes and she did not seem like the kind to lie. She had yet to lie or act against either him or the hobbits she seemed dedicated to protecting. Meeting her gaze he asked coldly, "How do I know you speak the truth? How do I know you are on this side?"
The young woman lifted a slanted eyebrow and the coolness in that face suddenly made the ranger doubt the wisdom of voicing such an accusation. Lifting her chin and gazing at with a hint of anger, Aiedale spoke. "I always tell the truth, but I am not in the habit of volunteering information that I am not asked for. We guard our secrets and do our best with what we are given." She looked away and Aragorn suddenly realized that maybe her people were a little like his own. Shunned and feared but always working towards the benefit of others - even if those others were the ones who hated and feared them. Perhaps he should not have been so quick to judge what he did not know.
"How did you come here?" he had already asked her, but the question was resurfacing.
"I do not know," she could help the snap that entered her voice like the crack of a whip. Bringing it sharply under control she shrugged and said, "I have explained this to you before." unable to hold the words back despite herself, Aiedale murmured, "I can only hope that I can return home."
The longing in her words, the open homesickness that shimmered for a few brief moments in her eyes, stripped her of much of her armor to the Ranger. Suddenly she looked young and painfully lonely, like a leaf being tossed around in a wind storm with no way of anchoring itself back on the tree it was from. Those few brief moments of vulnerability, however, were soon hidden, but he had no doubt they were still felt. Aragorn knew no hand on her shoulder or a gesture of that sort could offer her any comfort. She was, as she had told him just now, a soldier used to being on her own and yet she was alone in a place that was a foreign to her as she was to it. Usually her face was as readable as a stone wall but now it was open, briefly allowing him a glimpse of the person she might be with those she trusted and loved. How often did she allow parts of herself to shine through? How often did she allow herself to express her true feelings? The moment passed and her gaze was once more shuttered, so cold and old - he wasted no more time or words.
"I will do all I can to help you. I do not doubt that if it is Gandalf's power he will send you home." The words were soft, but Aiedale knew that he meant them with all the sincerity he had. She had never heard a mundane sound so and it made her suddenly wonder if, just maybe, they could be trusted to keep their word.
Looking away, suddenly not able to hold his gaze she versed her one of her own questions. "Who are you?"
The Ranger was surprised by her sudden change and yet, he supposed it was only fair that she ask him the same questions he had asked her. Could he trust her though? Did he have a choice? He didn't. She could very well have ignored his questions and he did not wish to destroy the fragile peace that had slowly formed between them and now seemed to be turning toward an equally fragile friendship. "I am Dunedain, my people are the descendants of Kings who ruled over Arnor. Since the fall of Arnor we are the watchers of the wild places and ensure the continued safety of Eriador. We are protectors. Skilled with weapons and light of step, we wander the Wild and hold to both our honor and duty this land."
Aiedale raised an eyebrow and gazed at him with that strangely perceptive look that seemed to cut right through his defenses. As it was the Shadowhunter had heard him speak of his people before and the way he spoke of them made her think he must be their leader. However, this night, she did not want to know more of them. "I am not asking about your people," she said quietly. "I am asking about you. Who are you?"
He was not sure what to say. Who was he? He was a Ranger, but he was more than just Strider. He had been a Captain in Gondor and he had been counted as a friend and brother to many of all walks of life. His childhood had been spent in Rivendell where he had been named Estel, or Hope, and it was there he had learned of his true heritage as Heir of Islidur. He looked up at the thick branches of the old pine tree as he considered the weighty question. At last, he found a way to answer her question truthfully and simply. "I am still trying to find out who I am Aiedale." It seemed a poor explanation. A pathetic one.
She cocked her head and gazed him for a long moment before inkling her head. "Give me a better answer when you know it." Her words would stick with him, challenging and, in the coming months, he would remember them when his road seemed too dark and lonely to walk. He needed to answer it, had needed to answer it for many many years. The silence stretched unbroken between them and as both considered what had been spoken of. The silence fell heavily between them until, suddenly Aragorn asked.
"Why did you help the hobbits?"
Aiedale looked up at him surprised for a brief second. She thought they had finished with their question and answer period, but apparently not. For a second she looked back to that day when she had first met the hobbits after waking up injured and alone in a sunny clearing. They had seemed so foolish to her when she had met them on the Road, innocent and naive like the helpless mundanes she saw everyday in her own dimension. Her conscious had not let her walk away and she had seen them as a way of returning home. There had been that strange feeling, the one that if she turned away now it would be disastrous and so she hadn't. Shrugging, she said simply, "Because it was the right thing to do at the time for both the hobbits and for me." She did not know how to explain the strange impulsiveness of her decision to this man and so she kept it simple - simple words to explain something complicated.
Nothing more was said between the two as the stars turned and the wind whistled through the pine trees. Aiedale leaving the man on watch while she curled up using the cloak for a pillow on some soft moss that grew in abundance around the tree. It was not comfortable, but she weary and they still had many miles to cover the following day. Many miles through dangerous places.
As she lay there, quiet and still looking up at the dark branches, she remembered the meetings held at all hours in the library at the Institute. When battle strategies were devised and everyone was clutching cups of pitch black coffee or medicated teas. The way weapons were left strewn about on the couches or various tables and the way people looked sometimes bearing bruises or sporting white bandages. How they would argue and debate until they had hammered out a plan. Sometimes they would be dressed for a party or wearing pajamas...she missed those meetings. She missed the arugments and the laughter - the companionship offered freely and without even thinking of it. She had been a member of a team and it was a feeling she missed most of all.
Slowly Aiedale drifted into sleep and her last thought, as the fire sent it's warmth across her back, was how much she missed her bed.
They had been walking for an hour or so, over country nearly identical to the land that they had been walking through the previous day. Somehow, as they were walking, Frodo felt himself slip back from his friends. They did not notice, not even the usually attentive Sam, and he was glad for the silence that being a little ways behind the others gave him. He had, however, forgotten briefly that by slipping back he now walked at the same place that Aiedale did. The Shadowhunter was so silent he sometimes forgot that she was there at all.
Thus, when she spoke, he was startled and jumped slightly as he suddenly remembered that now he was walking directly beside the black clothed warrior. "How are you Frodo?" she asked quietly. She had rarely spoken to any of the hobbits these past few days, choosing to remain silent and lost in her own world. It seemed that this was her chance to break her silence.
The dark haired hobbit glanced at the slender girl who moved so swiftly and gracefully by his side. Could he be honest with her? He found himself wanting to speak openly. He wanted to share a little of the fear that had only grown since his near stabbing that night. His companions were moving a little ways in front of them and the Ranger was even farther ahead. Besides he found the presence of Aiedale to be strangely welcome - she seemed to be the kind who would listen and listen well. "I am afraid," he told her candidly. "I am afraid of what this means and what carrying the Ring means for me."
Aiedale glanced at him, "It is alright to feel fear."
"You do not," he told her without meeting the green eyes that glittered like bright gems. "You faced the Nazgul and felt no fear."
"I feel fear," said Aiedale calmly. "I do. I feel it right now as I think of all the things that might happen, that have happened in my short life. It is what makes us different from the Riders. Every warrior feels it." Frodo opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "It is not that we should or should not feel it Frodo, it is what we do with it. Will it empower you? Or will it destroy you?" She rested a hand gently on his shoulder, "It is a choice we all - not matter who or what we are - have to make. That you have to make now."
"I do not think I can choose to master it," he murmured so softly that it took all her enhanced hearing to catch the faint admission. "I cannot stand against the Ring nor protect myself or my friends from the Riders." He raised his bright blue eyes and Aiedale thought she had never seen eyes that blue. They were bright and frightened, but she felt a flicker of respect that this hobbit, young and untried, could speak so openly with her. She doubted she could have managed to in his position. Aiedale had the sudden, unfamiliar, urge to put her arms around the hobbit and tell him it was all right. She didn't. In her experience things were rarely alright and there was no point offering false comfort. Looking towards the distant horizon she wondered what she should say.
Finally, dodging a large stone in the middle of the path they followed, Aiedale said quietly. "My mother told me to believe in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another. Maybe you can find that courage Frodo." She met his questioning look with a small smile and then gestured at the others who moved in front of them. "Catch up. I will follow."
He looked at her curiously, the words she had spoken to him echoing in his head. Then, seeing the worried look sent his way by Sam who was beginning to slow his footsteps so as to walk beside him, Frodo nodded to the girl and sped up once more. Maybe, he thought, she was right. The Ring seemed a little lighter around his neck and the shadows less terrifying then they had before.
So these were trolls? Aiedale examined the stone statutes that, apparently, had once been living and breathing mosters. She was rather disappointed. This was considered a dangerous foe? She supposed that they might look more impressive without cobwebs and bird nests, but they seemed rather tame in comparison to some of the monsters she called 'trolls.' With a sigh she rubbed her stiff neck and wished, not for the first time, that she could wash her hair. The braid kept it up and neat, but the strands were greasy and still contained traces of her own blood mixed with black demon blood. Lovely.
As the hobbits along with Aragorn continued on, talking about someone called 'Bilbo' and what he had to do with the stone giants, Aiedale ran over her list of things she would not miss about Middle Earth. The lack of modern convinces was high on the list. What she wouldn't do for a hot shower and comfortable bed...Her musings were cut short as a faint sound reached her sensitive ears.
It was the faint clip-clop of a horse. From the sudden stiffening of Aragorn he had caught it to - an easy thing to do for the sound was growing louder and nearer. They were back on the Old Road and, even as the hobbits and Ranger scrambled back into the thick bushes along the right side, she chose to leap into the branches of a thick oak tree that still clung to many of it's leaves. A new sound, too faint for most mortal ears to have caught, came the sound of what seemed bells. A soft tinkling that puzzled the young warrior. What kind of traveler placed bells on their steed?
Slipping her bow from the quiver across her back she readied it. An arrow fitted to the string and her eyes searching the dusty trail, she was rewarded a minute later. Into view came a white charger, gleaming in the fading sunlight, it moved swiftly and assuredly across the ground. It's black hooves making remarkably little noise for how big it was. The sound of bells grew louder and Aiedale could catch the faint creaking of the horse's tack as it moved. The bridle was decorated with gems that seemed almost like stars as the red and gold light caught them. Upon it's back was a golden haired warrior dressed in grey and black. His sword gleaming at his side and his proud face shining with the light of the Eldar. The pure white light such a contrast to the dark abysses of shadow of the Riders.
This, she supposed, was an elf. He was fair and tall with golden hair that fell in a shining wave. Those glittering eyes swirled with so much power and wisdom, but they could hide many things. While did not seem like any of the Faeries she had met before Aiedale was hardly just going to like him because of his pretty looks and bright sword. Her hands remained steady on the warm bow she still held. Beneath her the thick branch she stood upon shifted slightly in the faint fall breeze.
She watched silently as Aragorn leapt from his hiding place, quickly followed by the hobbits, and begin to speak urgently with the golden haired elf. The tall elf dismounted then and, with one hand on his white horse, spoke in that fair language that she had heard Aragorn sing in. Maybe she should leave her hiding place now? No one seemed to be at all worried for her and she half wanted to keep out of this elf's sight until she had a little more trust that he was not like the Faeries of her own land. Names were exchanged, this elf seemed to be called Lord Glorfindel and, while his face was bright and his laugh like many silver bells ringing at once, he had an air of urgency around him.
Before she could think too hard on it, however, her senses gave a warning tingle. Something was coming...a feeling she confirmed a second later. The Sensor still hidden in one of her Gear's numerous pockets gave a small vibration as it picked up on the demonic energy. Her body attuned to the subtle changes in air temperature and forest sounds automatically tensed even without the Sensor. The Riders were on their way and, currently, the hobbits were speaking with the golden haired warrior like sitting ducks. Idiots. With an irritated sigh and one quick glance down to make sure she would not land on a tree root, the Shadowhunter leapt from the high branch she had climbed to. She landed gracefully just two feet behind the hobbits and Aragorn.
It was so satisfying. In fact it was almost too satisfying to see everyone, from the ancient elf to Pippen and Merry, look at her with surprised eyes. She was tempted to say 'Just dropping in,' but the steadily increasing feeling of darkness made her senses jump once more and she settled for a raised eyebrow before saying quickly, "We need to move. Now."
"Who are you?" asked the elf. As his horse snorted nervously and pranced where it stood.
"That doesn't matter," was the short reply. Meeting Aragorn's grey eyes that gazed at her with clear worry. "Now." She snapped and with one arm pointed down the path they had come, "The Nazgul are on their way here."
The elf glanced back the way he had come and must have sensed a little of what the tense Shadowhunter had already felt. He looked back and then with a decisive nod he said, "Five ride behind us and I fear the rest wait for us further ahead. The lady speaks true, we must go swiftly now." Gently stroking his steed's pale white neck he said, "You shall ride my horse Frodo. He will not let you fall and his step is smooth; and if danger presses too near he will bear you swiftly away at a speed not even the Black Riders can match."
Frodo looked ready to argue, but before he could even open his mouth to protest at leaving his friends behind so that they could face the darkness while he rode to safety, a hand landed on his shoulder. It was a slender hand, but Aiedale's grip was almost painfully tight and he recognized it for what it was: a stern reprimand for wasting time with foolish words. So with a heavy sigh he allowed himself to be placed upon the tall, noble horse. The others moved swiftly beside him, the pony nearly trotting to keep up with the new pace. The night was quickly approaching and the shadows lengthened.
They traveled through the night, the swift tirelessness of the elf matched by the equally tireless Shadowhunter who had taken the precaution of marking herself. Not once during the hurried travel did Aiedale speak and she ignored the many curious looks cast her way by Glorfindel; she had bigger things to worry about. The evil chasing them had faded back, but no one thought for a moment that they would not eventually face it. The next morning they found themselves still far from the Bruinen and the Ford which they had to cross. The Road was running steadily downhill, and, after a brief rest, they found themselves walking in the shadow of dark pine trees, and then they were plunged into a deep valley with steep walls of red stone. Echoes ran along as they hurried forward and there seemed to be the sound of other footfalls beside their own. All at once, the Road ran out again from the tunnel and into the open. Clumps of forest dotted the land and the Road twisted about in front of them. They were drawing close now to the Ford of Rivendell. It was still a good gallop on swift horse or a long day of quick walking and that distance was what worried all even Pippen who was the youngest and most oblivious.
It was then that Aiedale felt the darkness it stronger then ever before - as strong as it had been at Weathertop. The others also seemed to sense it, especially the ranger and the elf who both looked back even as she did. Frodo gripped the front of his shirt as he heard the Ring cry out loudly in that evil language. Aiedale turned on one heel she heard the sounds of hoof beats and one quick glance at the land that now lay before them told her that, if her instincts were right, Riders also lay both in front of them and now behind. Her instincts were rarely wrong these days. She could feel them and so could her Sensor that was gently vibrating against her. They were going to be trapped. Aiedale had guessed this would happen, had suspected the Riders would choose to ambush them rather then directly attack them - attack her - and this was the perfect chance. When safety lay so close. It was time to act once more. She slipped the bow away even as a plan already spun through her mind and the sounds of hoof beats behind the small party grew louder.
Swiftly she picked up a stone from the Road, it was smooth and the perfect weight for throwing. With a flick of her wrist she let it fly and it smacked the white horse, causing Asfaloth to snort in pain even as Glorfindel cried out, "Noro lim Asfaloth! Noro lim!" the combination of his masters of cry and the pain of the stone made the horse rock back on his hind legs and prepare to leap forward. His tail swishing and his ears pricked forward.
In the instant that the horse rocked back and Frodo found himself gripping the mane before him with white knuckles, Aiedale leapt forward and vaulted onto the saddle. Her light weight settling into the saddle just behind the hobbit just as the swiftest elf horse in the land exploded forward. There must have been something about the perfectly balanced wight of this new rider or maybe he sensed that she was there to help him accomplish this task, for the elf horse did not protest at Aiedale's presence. In fact he seemed to appreciate her skilled grip on his reins that helped him balance as his stride lengthened. Frodo to felt more secure with the firm arms wrapped around him that kept him from becoming unbalanced and tipping to the side. The wind whistled in his ears and the bells upon the harness rang wild and shrill. The elf horse sped forward as if there wings upon his heels and, behind them, came the black horses of the enemy their eyes wild.
The white horse was heading towards the first clump of trees. Guiding the horse down the open track of the abroad the young warrior looked forward and saw the first Rider. The black horse and rider were standing in a thicket and it was only the glint of the sun on the bright bit that alerted Aiedale to their presence. Turning Asfaloth sharply to the side Aiedale found a narrow track that branched off to the side and, ducking to avoid a branch, she guided the powerful stallion down the new track. The scream of anger was quick to follow and, as they emerged back in the open, she glanced behind and saw that a Black Rider now galloped behind her. Looking forward, Aiedale concentrated on what lay before her. The chase was on. She would make it - they would make it.
By the time the Ford of Rivendell lay under a mile away, seven of the Black Riders were spread out in a loose arc behind the white horse and it's two riders. Only a few meters lay between the white steed of Glorfindel and the leading steed of the Nazgul. Frodo dared not look back, he was already struggling against the Ring and, had he been alone, he was not sure he would have had the strength to keep pressing the noble steed onwards. As it was the strength that emanated from Aiedale gave him the courage to keep fighting against the urges of the Ring as it whispered to him. Closing his eyes he gripped the thock mane tightly, he did not want to see their cold eyes glittering or hear their fell voices calling to him.
Aiedale looked towards the approaching clump of trees. No doubt there would be Nazgul - two had yet to show themselves - waiting for her. With soft words spoken in French she urged Asfaloth forward and the stallion - for he had come to like this strange girl even though she was not his true rider - surged forward despite his own weariness. They entered the trees, a Nazgul screamed and Asfaloth had to spin to avoid crashing into the black horse and it's rider. Leaping forward the horse narrowly dodged the blade that slashed down. Aiedale caught sight of a river glittering before her and then, before she could do anything, another Nazgul leapt forward. The two horses nearly crashing into each other as Asfaloth had to spin hard to the right to evade this new road block. A branch slammed against Aeidale's right arm and she felt a flare of intense pain shoot up her elbow, but she ignored it - too lost in the adrenalin and final push to consider the pain.
Leaping down a steep river bank, Asafloth leapt without hesitation into the swift flowing river. For a few seconds the horse had to fight against the current until he managed to find his footing and make it through the deeper water and onto a wide, shallow place just before the bank gently rose up into another stand of trees. Aiedale drew him to a halt and turned him to look back at the opposite shore. Something told her to stop - something told her they were safe now and there was no need to keep pushing the horse onwards. They were across the Ford. That was important.
But the Riders were close behind. At the top of the bank the black horses were brought to a halt and turned on their hind legs neighing in protest at the rough treatment. There were the Nine Riders of Sauron in all their shadowy power, they screeched their anger to the skies. They seemed to bring night to the bright morning and Frodo felt himself quail at the sight of them with their drawn swords and auras of despair. Hatred of this fear stirred in him, but he could do nothing right then except continue the endless battle against the Ring. Aiedale murmured something above him in a language he had never heard before and gently stroked the sweaty neck of the horse that had brown hem so far so fast. Asfaloth snorted and danced a little, his hooves crunching against the small pebbles of the river bed.
"Come with us!" cried the Riders in unison. "To Mordor we will take you!" There voices mixed and echoed. The sound cold and chilling.
"No!" cried Frodo even as he felt the Ring pulling him towards the shadowy shapes. "I will never go with you!" The Nazgul laughed, the sound like nails being dragged across a blackboard.
Suddenly the foremost Rider spurred his horse forward to the edge of small drop into the dark water. The leader forced his reluctant horse down the bank and into the river. Behind him the others seemed to ready their horses to do the same. Asfaloth reared and neither loudly, Aiedale drew a seraph blade from under her arm brace. Already the leader was half way across the Ford and Frodo could not hold out much longer against the combined powers of the Ring and the Nazgul. It was then that Aiedale, as if sensing that Frodo was slipping, whispered in his ear words he had never heard before.
"In the name of Raziel hold to your strength Frodo Baggins!" The words were strange and yet powerful to - just as Aiedale was herself. They echoed with something that drove the shadows and Ring away for a few brief moments and that was all it took for Fordo to recollect himself. He had nearly been lost and nearly taken the Ring out, but those words had blazed within him and they still gave him something...something as white hot as the blade that Aiedale had wielded that night at Weathertop. Just a little longer...
At that moment there came a roaring and thundering, as if a tidal wave was about to crash down on them. The River seemed to rise, and down along its coarse there came a wave that seemed to be shaped like horses. The sound was deafening and Asfaloth drew back closer to the dry bank as the water crashed down on the nine Rider who had been so close to crossing. The black horses screaming in panic as the river carried them away. The piercing cries of the Riders drowned out by the roaring of the river as it carried them away.
Aiedale gave a light laugh then and said thoughtfully, "How clever. I wonder who did that."