Iron Stars

Chapter 8: Nazgûl

TA 3018
Amon Sul

Late the next day, they arrived at a large hill upon which sat a ruined tower. Ruinë sighed softly at the sight, remembering the old glory of the watch tower. She recalled lines of armed warriors, men and elves alike joining forces against darkness. Now it was nothing more than ruins, not unlike her home of old.

     The group made camp in a small shelter located in the lee of the hill. The hobbits crumpled to the ground, exhausted. Aragorn took a package out of his pack and unwrapped it revealing four short swords. They would be only daggers in the hands of Aragorn or her but they were full blades to the hobbits much like Bilbo's Sting.

     The hobbits looked surprised but Aragorn barreled over any questions by saying, "These are for you. Keep them close. Red and I are going to have a look around. Stay here."

     The duo set off, not needing to say anything. Ruine listened mainly, her sight had weakened over time but she was still observant and possessed far better senses than the Ranger did.

     The patrol was largely uneventful until Ruinë started to get a sinking feeling in her stomach. Something was wrong. Her belief was backed up when a horrible screech rent the night air, sending both of them sprinting back to the hobbits.

     As they ran, leaping over branches and fallen trees, Ruinë unsheathed her deadly double bladed sword. They stopped and lit a pair of torches, knowing fire would be their greatest strength against the Nazgûl.

     They headed up to the summit of the hill and spotted the wraiths, the leader of whom had his blade plunged downwards and likely into Frodo, though she could not see him. The duo sprang into action wielding their torches and swords against the Nazgûl, keeping them away from the hobbits.

     Two of them converged on her and she ducked, spinning her blade over her head. Then with one hand she plunged the torch into the robes while blocking with her blade behind her. The second Nazgul got a torch to the face as well. They both fled, at the sight of her fire and at the blade that fought them.

     Her hood fell down in the process, revealing coppery hair and pointed ears which twitched slightly. Her hair was braided away from her face both with beads and complex ties. Parrying another Nazgûl she spun to her left foot as Aragorn threw his torch into the wraith. She stood, blade in her hand before seeing each of the wraiths gone.

     Then she raced to Frodo's side, stooping beside him, her left hand holding her blade like a staff. Aragorn found the blade which faded to ash in his hands. She tore open his tunic and inspected the darkening wound, feeling the eyes of the hobbits on her. Carefully Ruinë ripped a piece of cloth from his tunic, wrapping it around the wounded shoulder.

     "I have not the skill to heal him. I may be able to keep the poison at bay but he needs elvish medicine. Elrond must tend to him," she told Aragorn. The man lifted the hobbit into his arms before gesturing for the group to follow.

     Ruinë stayed in the back, her ears listening to the screeches of the Nazgûl, silently praying to the Valar to spare him. Rivendell was too far away, they needed time. She could see the hobbit laying limply in the arms of the ranger, and she feared for him.

     "We're six days from Rivendell, he'll never make it!" Sam cried, his voice laced with worry for his friend. Ruinë gritted her teeth, picking up Pippin who was lagging behind and kept going.

     The dark forest seemed to mock their efforts, fallen trees seeming to appear from nowhere into their path, branches perfectly situated to trip on. They had to make it but she grew less and less convinced that they could.

     Eventually they needed to rest, Aragorn choosing to stop by the familiar site of the three frozen trolls. She ignored the memories of playing for time, of slowly being rotated over a fire with Dwalin's boots digging into her shoulders, of Bilbo saying elves were often stringy to the taste.

     Frodo however seemed to be in even a worse situation than they had been. His eyes were bloodshot and sweat dripped down his brow. "Look, Frodo, it's Mr. Bilbo's trolls!" Sam told him, desperately trying to distract his friend from his pain. "Mr. Frodo? He's going cold!"

     "Is he going to die?" Pippin asked, terror and grief causing his voice to shake.

     "He is passing into the shadow world. He'll soon become a wraith like them" Aragorn explained.

     Ruinë shut her eyes, trying to find a way out of this. She was no healer, her life had been spent in wars and battles. She inflicted harm, she didn't fix it. In Frodo's case however, death might have been preferable.

     A howl tore through the night air, and Ruinë turned her attention to the sky, silently hoping they could make it. The wolves were closing in.

     "They're close," Merry whispered.

     "Sam do you know the Athelas plant?" Ruinë asked.

     "Athelas?"

     "Kingsfoil," she amended using the common name for it instead.

     "Kingsfoil, aye. It's a weed."

     "It may help slow the poisoning. Hurry." Ruinë said both to Sam and to Aragorn who undoubtedly knew it as well.

     The two men set off into the forest while Ruinë sat by Frodo, softly speaking to him in Quenya, hoping to soothe him. She heard a familiar voice and extended her sight until she saw Aragorn with a certain elf's sword at his neck.

     Arwen soon came over alongside Aragorn and knelt beside Ruinë. Aragorn chewed some Athelas before gently placing it on the wound. The female elf glanced at Ruinë whose focus was on the hobbit, her silver eyes sharp and smiled softly. Ruinë seemed very harsh and cold from the outside but in truth she cared deeply for all creatures of this world.

     "Frodo?" Arwen asked softly. The hobbit said nothing, instead continuing to stare upwards in pain. "He's fading. He's not going to last, we must get him to my father."

     Aragorn nodded and lifted the hobbit, carrying him towards Arwen's horse. The hobbit lay limp across the horse's back, utterly spent.

     "Where are you taking him?" Pippin cried.

     Ruinë glanced at the hobbits but said nothing, her attention on the conversation between Aragorn and Arwen. They were debating who should take the hobbit to Lord Elrond.

     "What are they saying?" Pippin asked before Ruinë shushed him.

     Arwen soon mounted the horse, cradling Frodo in her arms. She turned to Aragorn and Ruinë who had come to stand beside them.

     "Ride hard and don't look back," Aragorn advised.

      "I'll take Varno and try and lead them away from you. The wolves I can distract but you must outrun the Nazgûl. Hold true to your resolve and a chance we may have," Ruine said.

     Arwen nodded and after a quick word to her horse, took off, her white horse like a ghost dancing through the dark forest. A ghost who carried the fate of another.

     Ruinë whistled sharply and a great, black warg came running out of the forest. The hobbits yelped but the wolf stopped in front of her, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Ruinë rubbed his head, and murmured softly to him in Quenya, offering thanks.

     She swung up on the wolf, situating herself just behind the beast's shoulder blades. She turned then to the hobbits and Aragorn who stared at the great warg. "I'll try and keep them off your tail. Move quickly and quietly. Varno and I will do what we can. Do not look back for us."

     Ruinë gazed at each of them, her silver eyes determined and her blade gleaming in the light of the moon.

     "They won't know what hit them."

Word Count: 1323