Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

“It’s terribly quiet.” I remarked as we trekked through the woods. We were on our way back to the hobbits, content with our sweep of the woods. But something in me was unnerved, as if there was an itch I could not reach. I wanted to return to the hobbits, in case any danger were to arise. I had left Feredir to wander, which would rule out sending them away on horses.

“It’s always quiet in these parts.” Strider replied. I nodded in acknowledgement; for I did not know these parts well at all. It was almost frightening, being out of my element. The trees surrounding me were foreign, the grass beneath my feet a mystery. The only thing that remained was the sky; but tonight it was covered by the ominous clouds. A shiver ran up and down my spine. We had yet to reach the end of the wood.

“It’s too quiet…” I whispered wearily.

“We shall return soon enough, you needn’t burden yourself with worry.” He offered as a means of hope. I nodded, smiling weakly. There was still something in me that was bothered.

“Have you always been a ranger?” I asked.

“For quite some time, yes.” He replied. I thought about his character, and the fact that he knew much about me and I knew so little of him. I didn’t even know his real name, for it surely could not be Strider. I opened my mouth to ask what his name was, but a series of images and sounds and feelings bombarded my head like a furious storm. It sent me stumbling backwards, but in my mind I was suspended in darkness.

Frodo and the other hobbits hold their swords awkwardly in front of them, eyes frozen at the sight of the advancing Nazgûl. Sam lunges, but is cast away. Merry and Pippin stay in front of Frodo, trying to protect him, but they too are pushed aside like dust. Frodo stumbles, falling backwards and dropping his sword. The leader of the Nazgûl approaches as Frodo takes out the ring. He believes it will hide him, save him.

He slips it on and his world turns to ghostly images, the once cloaked wraiths now in plain sight. Their old and pale skin is warping around the edges as one edges closer. He reaches out for the ring, and the ring pulls Frodo’s hand towards the ghost hand. Frodo struggles with the invisible force, pulling his hand back to him. With one swift stab, the Nazgûl’s blade pierces the hobbit’s skin.

“Vanya?” Strider called, and I breathed out a single named.

“Frodo…” I whispered, taking in where I was. I inhaled a deep breath, pushing myself out of his arms; where I had no doubt fallen. “Frodo!” I called again anxiously.

“What is it?” He asked. But I had no need to respond, for in the distance a great screech was released. Nazgûl. Could it be? Was it truly happening? Strider and I exchanged panicked glances before breaking into a run, back to Amon Sûl.

While running I quickly pinned my hair back and took my blades out from their holders on my back. I twisted them through the air a few times, focusing on the image of the enemy. I mapped out any weak spots, keeping at the front of my mind what they were: undead. Could they be killed at all? I was a faster runner than Strider, and began the all too long ascend up the tower quicker.

I leapt over the last few steps onto the summit of Weathertop, and the Wraiths turned to face me as I came at them. Sam called out to Frodo as Strider and I battled with the Nazgûl. They were swift in their defences and smart in their attacks; as if they were always a step ahead. I began chanting my battle cry; it was said in a low voice and grew louder only with my confidence.

“Sinte ú achas, óre ú achas.” Know no fear, feel no fear. Strider had with him a torch that he used to set the Nazgul on fire, which sent them running. I was skilled enough to fend off the few left until Strider made his way over. But all the skill and confidence in the world could not take the worry out of my heart; Frodo was hurt. Strider took over fighting off the last Nazgûl, and Sam called for me.

Without missing a beat I flew to Frodo’s side. He was gasping terribly, struggling for breath with eyes wide. They looked past us all, as if focusing on something we could not see. The wound was just above his heart, and I pulled away his shirt to better inspect it. I sighed, seeing the poison already beginning to take effect.

“Help him!” Sam cried, gripping his friend’s hand. I touched my hand to Frodo’s face, turning him to face me as Strider knelt beside me.

“Frodo, can you hear me?” I asked clearly. Strider picked up the sword from beside Frodo, sighing heavily. “Hold on, Frodo, we’re going to help you. Hold on.”

“He’s been stabbed by a Morgul blade.” He stated.

“This is beyond my skill to heal.” I said wearily.

“He needs Elvish medicine.” Strider grunted, picking up the injured hobbit. Slinging him over his shoulder, he began to quickly descend the spiraling road down to the bottom.

“Gandalf!” Frodo cried out as I ushered the other hobbits to follow.

“We’re days from Rivendell, he’ll never make it!” Sam cried out in dismay.

“Don’t talk like that.” I said calmly, maintaining my façade as fear bubbled beneath my skin like a poison. Frodo bounced up and down against Strider’s back as I whistled for our horses to follow. The horse Strider had been using since Bree followed Feredir and they began to trot behind us. We went into the forest and tried to ignore the cries of the Ring Wraiths that were still scattered amongst the trees.

“Strider!” I cried, suddenly thinking of something that may help. Rushing up beside him, I slurred out one word. “Athelas.”

He nodded, and we continued into the darkness of the forest for some way. The heavy branches hid the sky from us, blocking out all light. The only source of light we had was coming off of the torch in Strider’s grasp, and his eyes darted furiously around us all. Searching.

We came to a small clearing and Strider set Frodo down. Sam rushed to his side, gripping his hand. Merry and Pippin hovered near the other hobbits, fear painted freely on their faces. I looked around us and saw three monstrous stone trolls. I realized where we were, and evidently so did Samwise.

“Look Mr. Frodo, its Mr. Bilbo’s trolls!” He exclaimed, trying to force a light tone into the situation. But Frodo only continued his labored breath in response. “He’s going cold!”

“Strider, we must find some athelas, it’s his only hope.” I said quietly beside him.

“Is he going to die?” Pippin asked wearily. We turned to look at his sad face.

“He’s passing into the shadow world. Soon he’ll become a wraith like them.” Strider said sadly. In the distance a Wraith cried out into the night, and Frodo’s gasping multiplied; as if he was replying to them. It sent shivers up my spine, the sight of him.

“Sam.” Strider called. The little hobbit rushed over. “Do you know the athelas plant?”

“Athelas?” Sam said, confused.

“Kingsfoil.” I reiterated in its alternate name.

“Kingsfoil, that’s a weed.” He replied.

“It may help to slow the poison.” Strider explained. The two of them made off for the woods and I returned to Frodo. Pippin was grasping his hand and Merry was looking on as if the world were on his shoulders. Such love they harboured for their friend.

“They’re so close…” Merry said in a quiet voice as another cry was heard.

“Do not fret, Merry. We will save him.” I said hopefully, praying that somehow my words would become true. I heard hoof beats, and I leapt to my feet. Drawing my swords, I prepared for whatever was coming. But it was no Wraith, not in the slightest.

“Arwen?” I breathed, musing at the sight of my friend. Her face contorted into recognition as Sam and Strider rushed past us. She dismounted her horse, quickly pulling me into an embrace before going to tend to Frodo. I joined everyone else, taking some kingsfoil from Sam and copying Strider’s method of preparing the plant. We took turns placing bits into the wound as Arwen spoke.

“Frodo…Im Arwen, telin le thaed.” She said quietly near him. His cloudy eyes were focused on her form, as she would no doubt be a glowing spectacle to him. “Lasto beth nin, tolo da na ngalad.”

“Who is she?” I heard Merry whisper.

“Frodo!” I called, trying to bring him back.

“She’s an Elf.” Sam replied in wonder.

“He is fading.” Arwen remarked sadly. “He is not going to last, we must get him to my father. I’ve been looking for you for two days.”

I closed up Frodo’s shirt and Strider picked him up off the ground. The three of us got up and walked over to Arwen’s horse. I stroked his neck, whispering greetings. It had been so long since I’d seen him, since I’d seen anyone I knew.

“Where are you taking him?” Merry called to us as Strider propped Frodo up on Asfaloth.

“There are five Wraiths behind you, where the other four are I do not know.” Arwen informed us.

"Dartho guin perian. Rych le ad tolthathon." Strider said.

"Hon mabathon. Rochon ellint im." Arwen protested.

"Andelu i ven." Strider said, trying to dissuade her from going alone. I knew Arwen, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

“What are they saying?” Pippin wondered aloud.

"Frodo fîr. Ae athradon i hir, tur gwaith nin beriatha hon." Arwen stated.

“She’s right, Strider. He’ll be safer with her.” I said, making sure Frodo was safe upon Asfaloth. Strider looked from Arwen to me, debating.

“I do not fear them.” Arwen added. He sighed.

"Be iest lîn." He said finally as Arwen got onto Asfaloth. “Ride hard. Don’t look back.”

“Cut through the Trollshaws. Tell Lord Elrond I expect a feast.” I added lightly. She smiled weakly, nodding.

"Noro lim, Asfaloth, noro lim!" Arwen commanded, and with a final look at Strider and I she was gone.

“What are you doing!?” Sam cried angrily. “Those Wraiths are still out there!”

“She’s taking him to Rivendell, Sam.” I said, turning back to the hobbits. “He’ll be safe with her; she can get him there faster than any of us.” I beckoned for the hobbits to come forward as we continued on our way to Rivendell. Sam, Merry, and Pippin huddled together, fear and worrying slipping silence into their throats. I did not know how to assure them all would be okay, for no amount of words could wholly cure their emotions. Strider and I were walking ahead of them, completely alert.

“May I ask you something?” He questioned.

“Of course.” I replied, my voice providing the calm demeanor I required. So long as the hobbits could hear me and not see my face, things might improve.

“Before the Nazgûl came, you fell backwards in a sort of trance, like you were dreaming while awake.” He stated calmly. I nodded, recalling the odd incidence. I had felt like that before, as if I were out of my own body, but only when I had been dreaming. At least, I believed I was dreaming. “Your eyes turned bright silver, like the moon. And then you called for Frodo, as if you knew something was to happen.”

“If you are asking if I have visions of the future, I cannot answer. For what happened is something I do not entirely understand. But that is hopefully what Lord Elrond can help with.” I said.

“You are a friend, then, to Lord Elrond?” He asked. I nodded.

“I too spent some of my younger years in Rivendell.”