Alone Facing Darkness

Disclaimer: Once again, I own neither the characters nor the dialogue that comes from the films. Enjoy! And please review.



~ Chapter 4: Amon Sul ~

Strider was the first one to wake the next morning. After stretching the cramps sleeping in the chair by the window had caused, he woke the Hobbits, and while they went to find a pony to carry their belongings, he paid the innkeeper.

He returned to the room to find the young witch and wizards still fast asleep. He looked closely at their faces. So young! They could not yet be twenty. Such a sense of innocence radiated from their expressions that he could not possibly bring himself to believe that they were spies of Sauron. Frodo had been right to trust them. He paused as he looked over Harry’s face. There was the lightning-bolt scar the boy had explained the night before, just visible behind the thick black hair. This one’s expression was somehow different from those of his companions. To be so young, and to lose so much! Strider felt genuine sympathy for the young man. To know that a burden almost as great at Frodo’s was set upon his shoulders, to have had so many close to him die…it was no wonder that this boy’s expression, even in sleep, somewhat mirrored Frodo’s. Worry was etched into every feature of his face, and a hunted look dominated his eyes when he was awake.

Strider did not think he had endured so much suffering in all his years. Certainly, he had lost both his parents and killed more orcs than he could count, but he felt that no one should lose the sense of child-like innocence that came from being loved at such an early age. Harry had clearly had a most unhappy life.

He sighed and belted on his sword before giving Harry a gentle shake. “Wake up, young wizard. It is well after the crack of dawn.”

The boy groaned and burrowed deeper into his blankets. “You have to be joking.”

“I said, wake up! The Hobbits are already up and about, searching for a pony to carry our belongings…Speaking of which, have you any supplies? Any of you three?”

“No,” Harry said, putting on his glasses. He was still rather bleary-eyed.

Strider sighed. “Well, I suppose that we could find a few water skins, but we will not have time for much else.”

Ron and Hermione stirred, awakened by Harry and Strider’s conversation. “A little food would be nice,” Ron mumbled.

“There is bread downstairs.” Strider turned and headed out the door.

“It’s not going to be enough!” He heard Ron’s moan as he started down the stairs. Perfect – another one with the appetite of a Hobbit.

* * *

About ten minutes later, the eight companions left Bree by way of a more concealed gate. Just before they passed through, Strider said to the three Hogwarts students:

“The number of people in our company somewhat worries me. I can go unseen if I so desire, and Hobbits have a natural talent for blending in. But you…”

“We’ve been creeping around Hogwarts since we were in first year,” Harry said indignantly. “I also have this…” he said, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak. The silvery material rippled gently in the breeze.

“What is it?” Frodo asked, sounding intrigued.

In response to this, Harry threw the cloak about himself, chuckling slightly at the startled reactions of the four Hobbits. Even Strider, who seemed to always maintain his composure, jumped slightly upon seeing Harry’s head floating in midair.

“It was my dad’s,” he said. “It works better than any other form of hiding if you want to remain unseen.”

“Put it away!” Hermione hissed. “Someone might see it!”

“She is right,” Strider said. He nodded pointedly at the buildings behind them. The villagers were beginning to move about in order to do their morning tasks. “We must leave now.”

Harry stowed the cloak in his bag, together with his wand and water skin. Strider had only managed to find a small pack and water skin each for Ron, Hermione, and himself. There had been no time to find clothes that were neither more suitable for travel nor appropriate for the time they had been sent back to. The three of them were still wearing jeans and old sneakers together with sweaters Mrs. Weasley had knitted for each of them. Fortunately, their cloaks had become so dirty and mudstained the night before that they were able to hide these very out-of-place clothes beneath them. Harry had even taken off his glasses so as not to attract attention, though Strider had said something about being able to put them back on once they left Bree. This was lucky, for at the moment everything was rather out of focus. He had carefully placed them in his bag, tucked carefully into the folds of his Invisibility Cloak.

Strider led the way out of the gate, looking left and right to see if anyone was watching before allowing the rest of the small company to follow him out. He shut the gate before motioning the other seven travelers to follow his lead.

Harry watched as Merry walked faster to catch up to Frodo. “How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?”

“I think an agent of the Enemy would look fairer, but feel fouler.”

“He’s foul enough,” grumbled Merry.

“We have no choice but to trust him.”

‘But where’s he leading us?” asked Sam, who was leading their new pony.

Strider had overheard. “To Rivendell, Master Gamgee. To the house of Elrond.”

Sam’s voice was joyous. “Did you hear that? Rivendell! We’re going to see the Elves!”

“That’s all very nice…But Frodo, what of other three? Why do you trust them so?” Pippin glanced back at the Hogwarts students to see if they heard him talking. Harry gave no indication that he had.

Frodo sighed, judging by the heave of his shoulders. “I don’t know, Pippin. I just do. Besides, they are younger even than you. What kind of trouble do you think they could cause?”

Quite a bit of trouble, Harry thought. He, Ron and Hermione had not yet shown Strider and the Hobbits what their wands could do. Pippin did not answer.

* * *

A few days of traveling found them at the Midgewater Marshes. Harry and his friends hung at the back of the group, following Strider and the Hobbits through the unpleasantly wet and smelly wetland. The cold and damp was only made worse by the thousands of midges that nipped at the travelers’ skin. They constantly tried to swat them away, to no avail. Doing so only seemed to make it worse.

“What do they eat, when they can’t get Hobbit?” Merry said, sounding understandably vexed.

Pippin fell face forward into the foul water, spluttering as he stood back up, wet and shivering. Harry sighed as he watched the Hobbit follow the rest of the group. His sneakers, never having been made for this sort of traveling, were completely ruined, his jeans and socks were soaked through, and his cloak provided no warmth. What have I gotten us into? He sighed. It was going to be a very long journey.

They camped that night in the marshes, huddled around a campfire that Hermione had conjured for warmth. Strider had somehow managed to catch a deer to eat. When they were all fed, they all crept under their blankets, exhausted. All save Strider. He remained seated, watching for any attackers who might come through the nighttime fog.

Sleep did not come easily to Harry. The ground, while soft, was unpleasantly squishy, and the smells of the marsh were still bothersome. The fog added to the chill, and his clothes, still slightly damp even after Hermione had applied a drying spell, clung to his skin uncomfortably, and several small plants that had had the misfortune of being placed under his blanket were annoyingly poking into his back.

Just as he was about to doze off, a strange, haunting melody in a language he could not understand reached his ears. He raised his head a few inches to see Strider’s profile. The Ranger was the one singing.

“Who is she?” Slightly startled, Strider turned to face Frodo, who was lying down on the other side of the now dying fire. “The woman you sing of?”

“She was Luthien. An Elf maiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal.”

“What happened to her?”

Strider’s voice was sad. “She died.” He turned again to the Hobbit. “Get some sleep, Frodo.”

Harry heard soft sound of the Hobbit lowering his head to the ground once again. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Strider, staring pensively into the night.

* * *

The next day they came to the foot of a great hill with a crumbling fortress atop it. Strider paused to look at it.

“This was once the great watchtower of Amon Sul,” he said reflectively. He turned to the other travelers. “We shall rest here for tonight.”

The hill offered a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside – one could see for miles – but Frodo was so weary he did not notice it and was glad to reach the small alcove where they finally stopped. As he collapsed against the rock face of the hill with his companions, Strider took a roll off his back and laid it on the ground before the Hobbits, opening it to reveal four long knives. They would make a sword of the perfect size for a Hobbit.

“These are for you,” Strider said briskly, tossing each of the four Hobbits a sword. “Keep them close.” He looked over to where the two young wizards and the witch stood. “I have no weapons for you, as I was only expecting to take these four with me.”

Frodo saw the three young people look at each other. “Shall we show them, Hermione? Ron?” Harry asked. The other two nodded in response before pulling out what at first appeared to be small but finely carved and decorated strips of wood. They put Frodo in mind of Gandalf’s staff, though they were much smaller.

“These are our wands,” Harry said. “They’re what we use to perform spells.”

Strider was eyeing them dubiously. “And what do you hope to do when an enemy attacks you? I cannot believe that you could possibly use your wands and power alone to defend yourselves. Even Gandalf must use a sword, and Gandalf’s knowledge goes back farther than anyone remembers – save a few.”

Harry smiled. “Well, Strider, you see, last year we organized a group just for the purposes of learning Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I was the teacher. I’m sure some of those spells can come in handy even against non-magic folk…for instance…Accio sword!”

Strider and the Hobbits jumped visibly as Strider’s sword flew out of its sheath into Harry’s waiting hand. Frodo felt his heart beating more rapidly than normal; clearly, these young wizards had a brand of magic very different from Gandalf’s. The boy returned the sword to the Ranger before continuing to speak.

“Simple Summoning Charm – that one’s not even used for defense in our time. You get the idea?”

Strider still looked visibly shaken by the power these young people apparently possessed. “I understand clearly.”

“Please, you must believe us, we would never use our wands against you,” Hermione said.

“Keep your wands at hand, then. I am going to look around.” With that, the Ranger turned and left. He did not return by nightfall, and by that time, Frodo had fallen asleep.

“Want a tomato, Sam? Ron?”

“No, not that one, Merry, that one’s burned…”

“You’re the one who cooked it, young wizard. You take it.”

“Pass the bacon,” Pippin’s voice said.

This conversation, together with the crackling sound of a small fire, roused Frodo from his slumber. He sat up quickly and cried, “What are you doing?” A fire was the last thing they needed at the moment.

His cry woke Harry and Hermione as well. “Idiots!” he heard Hermione mutter.

“Tomatoes, sausages, and nice crispy bacon,” Merry gestured toward the food.

“We saved some for you, Mr. Frodo,” Sam added, holding up a plate.

“Put it out, you fools, put it out!” Frodo ran over the fire and stamped it out.

“Oh, that’s nice! Ash on my tomatoes!” Pippin said indiganantly.

Frodo was about to give a retort when a shrill, hair-raising shriek pierced the darkness of the night.

The Nazgul.

The four Hobbits scurried to the edge of their small campsite as the wizards stood up. Frodo’s blood chilled. There were five Wraiths. Unsheathing his sword, he turned to his companions and yelled, “Go!” The three other Hobbits unsheathed their swords, holding them rather unsteadily, and Harry, Ron and Hermione whipped out their wands. Then they all turned and ran to the highest point of the hill – the fortress. What was once Amon Sul.

* * *

Harry could hardly believe what he was seeing. Everything here – the fortress, the Nazgul, down to the four diminutive figures that followed in his wake – was exactly as it had been in his dream. Only this time, there was no waking.

They reached the ring of stones that had once been the fortress. Their shortness of breath was not only caused by their headlong sprint uphill.

Once there, the six companions formed a protective ring around Frodo. Harry saw them trying to conceal their fear, but their widened eyes and trembling hands betrayed them. He tried to steady his own shaking hands as they held his wand out defensively.

What spell would be most effective against these creatures? Harry recalled from his dream that they were almost like dementors. Perhaps the Patronus Charm? He continued mentally reciting all the hexes and defensive spells he knew, keeping his eyes shut until the sudden chill in the air and the icy tingle in his spine told him that the creatures had reached them.

There were five of them. The hobbits held their short swords up defensively; the wizards aimed their wands. As the small group backed away from the dark and menacing wraiths, the Nazgul continued a slow but steady advance, raising their five swords as one.

Sam could no longer take it. “Back, you devils!” he cried, lashing out at one of them with his sword. For all his effort, he was thrown backwards by the force of the Ringwraith’s sword into a wall and lay there, unable to get up.

Harry and his friends had positioned themselves behind Frodo, but now moved to the front with Merry and Pippin, planting themselves between the Hobbit and the wraiths. Ron pointed his wand at the wraith in the center. “Reducto!”

But his aim went awry, crumbling a stone statue instead of burning through the Ringwraith. Just like in Harry’s dream, the same tallest wraith reached out, scaring Merry and Pippin away. Without knowing why, Harry, Ron, and Hermione fled as well, hiding in the shadows and leaving Frodo standing alone.

A column stood between Frodo and Harry, obscuring the Hobbit from view. As Harry peered around the column to see the Hobbit, he heard the clatter of metal on stone. The sword had fallen from Frodo’s now limp hands and the Hobbit was running as fast as he could away from the robed figures before tripping and sprawling out on the ground. His hand went to his pocket, pulling out the Ring.

At that moment, Harry felt the stirrings of temptation. But memories told him to quash those feelings; there was nothing to be gained by possessing the Ring other than pain beyond belief. He knew that Men were weak when it came to the Ring. He was not Frodo, no matter how many memories of the Hobbit’s he possessed. He only hoped his heart could be as strong as Frodo’s.

All these thought stopped as Harry caught movement out of his peripheral vision. The tallest wraith had turned its head and was now looking directly at Frodo, whose eyes widened even more greatly in fear. Harry watched as the Nazgul unsheathed a knife and began advancing upon Frodo. The Hobbit began backing away as fast as he could.

Harry felt ashamed to have run away leaving the Hobbit alone to face the five Nazgul. He had to do something. But what? He looked back at Ron and Hermione. Hermione’s head was in her hands, and Ron…Ron was standing stock-still, all color drained from his face, eyes glassy. He knew he couldn’t expect his two friends to help him, seeing their current states. Not knowing what else to do, he whipped out his wand and cried, “Expecto Patronum!”

A large silver stag flew from his wand to charge at the Nazgul. The tallest one stopped its advance towards Frodo, momentarily distracted. Frodo himself lay frozen on the ground, the Ring in one hand. For a moment Harry thought there was hope. Then the Nazgul reached out its hand as if to strike the Patronus.

The stag vanished into a wisp of silvery smoke.

Harry was shocked. “No! Expecto Patronum…Expecto Patronum…Expecto…Expecto…”

He was getting weaker with each futile attempt. As he collapsed onto the ground, he saw the wraith begin to advance upon Frodo once more, its knife poised. Breathing heavily, trying to regain his strength, he watched as the Hobbit disappeared from view. The dream replayed itself in his head as his vision darkened.

Men with crowns and swords…a pale hand reaching out…an uncouth voice chanting in Black Speech…refusal…the knife descends…

Frodo’s scream of pain rent the night, ringing in Harry’s ears. Harry was just barely able to see the Hobbit reappear and Strider leaping seemingly from nowhere, brandishing a torch and sword at the wraiths…He heard his friends shouting spells for fire…Then the world went black.