My Greatest Adventure

Battle at Weathertop

"How do we know we can trust him? How do we know he's really a friend of Gandalf's?" Merry whispered to Frodo as we walked.

"We'll just have to trust him," Frodo replied softly.

We followed Strider for what felt like miles, the chill of the morning biting at our skin. I stayed focused on keeping close behind him, Frodo's hand warm in mine as we moved together through the winding woods.

Suddenly, the footsteps behind us stopped.

Strider and I turned to see the others trying to light a fire.

"What are you doing? We can't stop," Strider scolded, his voice sharp.

"What about breakfast?" Pippin asked, hopeful.

"You've had it."

"Yes, but what about second breakfast?" Pippin insisted.

Strider didn't answer. He simply turned and kept walking.

Frodo and I fell in behind him, hands entwined once more. The cold pushed us even closer together.

Eventually, Strider led us to a ruined hilltop fortress.

"Weathertop," he explained. "This was once a great watchtower, built during the reign of Elendil. It's as good a place as any to rest."

He set his pack down and unwrapped a bundle of small swords, handing one to each of us.

"Keep these close," he said. "I'll scout the area."

"Can you show us how to fight?" I asked, emboldened.

Strider gave me a rare, faint smile. "Of course, little one. But first—I look around."

As night fell, I rested briefly but soon awoke. Strider hadn't yet returned, so I took watch. My sword remained close, and I stayed alert.

Or so I thought.

I caught the scent of something—bacon.

I turned and saw Sam, Merry, and Pippin sitting by a small fire, eating.

"What are you doing?!" Frodo shouted, stomping out the flames. "Put it out, you fools!"

"Oh, that's nice," Pippin grumbled, while Sam and Merry protested.

Then—

"BAGGINS!"

The sound tore through the night like a blade through silk.

"They found us!" I cried.

The Ringwraiths emerged from the shadows, gliding toward us with swords raised. Their movements were slow, haunting, like ghosts with form. Their hissing breath filled the air, their blades gleaming with deadly promise.

We drew our swords, trembling.

One of them stalked toward me.

"Why bother, little one?" it rasped, voice like death. "We only want your precious Baggins."

"Never!" I shouted, kicking its knee to knock it off balance.

But it rose again.

Our blades clashed. Sparks flew. I fought with everything I had—but the Wraith struck hard, and I tumbled down the stone steps. My arm and head scraped sharply against the rock, but I stood again, dizzy and bleeding.

"Frodo?" I gasped, searching wildly.

And then I saw it.

One of the Wraiths had stabbed him.