October 6
Merry and Frodo’s bare feet crunched distastefully over the burnt, charred ground at the top of the hill called Weathertop. The leveled area on which they and Aragorn stood was vast, and, looking around, Frodo thought that whatever structure had once been there must have been enormous -- huge, broken stones littered the top of the hill, most of them having tumbled into a rough ring around the outer edge. The stones were, for the most part, partially overgrown with grass, and the whole place seemed ancient beyond imagining.
Aragorn, who had been examining a pile of stones at the center of the hill, walked back to where Frodo and Merry stood at the western edge.
“What happened here?” asked Merry. “Could lightning have struck the hill?”
“Those lights we saw…” murmured Frodo.
“Yes,” agreed Aragorn, “those lights, indeed. I don’t think this was lightning, Merry. Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and I saw lights, or flame, a few nights ago -- something quite violent. Whatever it was, it happened here. What do you make of this, Frodo?” He held out a flattened stone about the size of his palm. Compared to the blackened rocks about them, it seemed almost white.
“I see markings.”
“Yes -- this could be a ‘G’ rune, with three strokes. I suspect that Gandalf was here, as you guessed, and fought a battle on this hilltop. We saw the lights on the night of October 3rd -- that could be what these three strokes signify. He may have left us this message so we would know, if we came here, that he was just a few days ahead of us -- but could not stay.”
“A battle?” Merry frowned. “Who would dare to attack a wizard?”
“The Black Riders!” Frodo gasped. “Does fire harm them, then?”
“They fear it,” Aragorn said. “Flame, wielded with purpose, is one of the few things they will avoid -- and one of the only weapons we have.”
Merry looked thoughtful. “Then we should---”
“Look!” Frodo cried. He pointed out to the winding ribbon of the Great East Road, which they had not seen since their arrival in Bree. All three flung themselves down behind the great, tumbled stones, and peered out between a crack at the five black specks just visible in the distance.
“The Enemy is here,” Aragorn said grimly, “five of the Nine.”
“We must leave!” cried Frodo.
“There is no better place to which we can flee,” said Aragorn after a pause. “If we cross the Road, we will be seen, and the countryside in all directions is flat and featureless.” He took Frodo’s hand. “Come, let us rejoin Sam and Pippin.”
Upon descending to the dell, they found that Sam and Pippin had set up camp by a small stream. The two hobbits had discovered a pile of stacked firewood nearby, which Aragorn guessed had been left by Rangers. Merry and Frodo quickly filled in Pippin and Sam on what they had seen. Aragorn advised Sam to tether Bill more securely than usual, and, after one look at the Ranger’s grim face, Sam hurried to obey.
“We need to make a fire,” Aragorn said, “a large one.”
“Won’t they find us quicker, that way?” asked Sam worriedly.
“Gandalf used fire as a weapon, and, if necessary, we will, as well,” replied the Ranger. They prepared a large fire, and Merry noticed that Aragorn selected and put to one side some of the longer sticks.
“Strider,” said Merry slowly, “you said that the Riders fear fire. Why don’t we just throw the Ring into the fire and keep it burning until morning? Perhaps they won’t approach it.”
“Merry!” Frodo gasped. Only with a great effort did he keep his hand from reaching into his pocket for the Ring and clutching it possessively.
“Frodo is the bearer, and only he can put it aside,” said Aragorn. He turned to Frodo. “Do you wish to do that?”
“No,” Frodo murmured.
~*~
Evening passed into night, and the five companions huddled in front of a large bonfire which they had kindled in an area someone, Rangers, most likely, had cleared of grass for that purpose. They sat, wrapped in cloaks and blankets against the cold. The stars glittered brilliantly above them, but neither their friendly light, nor the first hot supper they had eaten in days, alleviated the hobbits’ nervousness.
“As long as we do have a fire…” Aragorn reached into his pack, pulled out a pipe, and handed it to Frodo.
“Estel!” Frodo gasped. “Is that---”
“I’ve rarely been without it since you gave it to me,” said Aragorn with a smile. As he had hoped, the pipe Frodo had made for him nearly thirty years before served as a temporary distraction.
“Oh,” Frodo breathed. The simple pipe he had so painstakingly polished and carved had now been embellished with interlaced, delicate strands of filigreed silver -- and the once-tiny stars had been replaced with colored gems, sparkling radiantly in the firelight.
“Over the years, this was becoming somewhat battered. A dear friend of mine named Glorfindel saw how much I valued it.” Aragorn smiled, remembering. “He worked to strengthen it and to enhance the beauty you had already given it.”
“You… value this?” Close to tears, Frodo passed the pipe to Sam, who whistled softly in amazement.
“As I value the dear friend who made it,” Aragorn said softly.
~*~
The hobbits were loathe to sleep, and so, as the hours passed, Aragorn sang to them, of a deep and tragic love between a mortal and an Elf maiden of unmatchable beauty. When he had done, he told them tales of valor and honor from times long past.
“That’s a wondrous lot of history you know,” said Sam, deeply impressed.
“I felt like I could see all the people and places,” added Pippin, his eyes shining.
“It is long since I have shared these things,” said Aragorn quietly.
“I remember something Bilbo said to me once,” said Frodo. “He told me that it’s not very satisfying to know all kinds of interesting things, if there’s no one to tell them to.”
“Bilbo was, and is, very wise.”
“If the fire’s to burn all night, we’ll need more wood,” observed Sam, getting to his feet.
“I’ll come with you,” said Merry. He and Sam disappeared into the darkness.
“What does Amon Sûl mean?” asked Pippin.
“The hill of wind,” replied Aragorn. “On this spot--”
“Strider!” Sam and Merry ran up to the group, both wide-eyed with fear. “There’s somethin’ comin’ up the slope!”
“What did you see?”
“We didn’t exactly see anything,” gasped Merry, “but we both felt… something…”
Pippin and Frodo leaped to their feet, but Aragorn quickly grasped Frodo’s shoulders and gazed deeply into his eyes.
“Frodo, they sense that the Ring is somewhere near, but they cannot truly see it, or you, unless you put it on and enter their shadow realm. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” whispered Frodo.
“Get some of the longer sticks ready in your hands!” cried Aragorn, getting to his feet. “Set the ends ablaze!” He reached out to Frodo. “Get behind us, Frodo.”
“No,” argued Merry, “then they’ll know that it’s Frodo we’re protecting.”
“Merry, this is no time for debate,” said Aragorn grimly. He pulled Frodo behind him, then thrust the ends of several sticks into the fire. “Be ready.”
Nazgûl. Aragorn marshalled everything he had within him so that he would show no fear in front of the hobbits. Yet, what could one Man do in the face of such foes? On this very spot, it was said, Gil-galad had once stood, and Elendil himself. His thoughts flew to his friend Glorfindel, who had helped to bring about the end of the evil kingdom of Angmar, and caused its king to flee -- the same cruel and deathless king, lord of the wraiths, who now approached them.
Over the past days, Aragorn had tried to remember everything he had ever heard about the Nazgûl, and he had come to wonder… did they seek just the Ring, or its bearer as well? Aragorn could not have explained why, but he sensed that Sauron would not trust even these fell servants with possession of the One Ring. Their orders were, more likely, to bring the Ring-bearer alive to Mordor, there to be stripped of the Ring by the Dark Lord himself, and tormented, in body and soul, to the end of his days. They meant to capture Frodo alive, then, or worse… No. His blood ran cold at the thought.
For one moment alone, Aragorn was tempted to take the Ring from Frodo and lead the Riders away. The hobbits would be safe, and Merry could no doubt guide them back to Bree. But no… he dared not touch it.
“Aragorn.” A small voice from behind him shook the Ranger free of his thoughts. He saw that Sam, Merry, and Pippin were looking at him with fear, and trust, in their eyes.
“Be ready,” he murmured.
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