Chapter Text
Chapter 2: Aragorn
A Hill Top High and Far- In which Aragorn and the hobbits travel to Weathertop.
In the early hours before dawn Aragorn woke the hobbits to ready them for the journey. They made their way to the bedrooms, and found the windows thrown open, curtains dancing in the wind and their beds shredded to pieces. They were glad that had not been them in the rooms, but the fear lingered in the forefront of their minds.
Unfortunately, Merry’s ponies had been taken, but Aragorn bought a new one from an odd-looking man, who glared at them as they passed. The pony was tired and overworked, but it took a liking to Sam immediately, and he affectionately named it Bill.
They decided to leave by the main road, and passed many houses, where people looked at them with curiosity. One man called out to Aragorn as they walked.
‘Morning Longshanks!’ He said. ‘Off early? Found some friends at last?’ Aragorn nodded, his heart sinking, and he hoped that the hobbits would not mind so much.
'Morning, my little friends!' the onlooker said to the others. I suppose you know who you've taken up with? That's Stick-at-naught Strider, that is! Though I’ve heard other names not so pretty. And you, Sammie, don't go ill-treating my poor old pony. Sam turned quickly. 'And you, Sir, he said, 'put your ugly face out of sight, or it will get hurt.’
With a sudden flick, quick as lightning, an apple left his hand and hit Bill square on the nose. He ducked too late, and curses came from behind the hedge.
‘Waste of a good apple’ he said mournfully as the others roared with laughter.
The hobbits followed Aragorn for the better part of the day, across fields and through small thickets of trees. The sun was bright over the road, though they left it quickly for a small winding path that led Northwards. After a while, Aragorn turned around to see the hobbits sitting down, pulling breakfast-things out of their bags.
‘Gentleman, we do not stop till nightfall.’ He said, confused.
‘What about breakfast?’ came the reply from Pippin, the smallest.
‘You’ve already had it.’
‘We’ve had one, yes, but what about second breakfast?’
Aragorn turned around, incredulous, and began to walk away, laughing at the panicked muttering of the hobbits. He threw an apple behind him and grinned at the unmistakable sound of the fruit hitting a curly-haired hobbit on the forehead.
They then began eastwards, and the Midgewater Marshes drew nearer; Aragorn soon found that his tall boots were damp, the ground boggy in some places. Almost three days had passed when treading became difficult, navigating their way around wide pools and avoiding the shifting sand. Aragorn had been on these paths many times before, however the hobbits were slipping and sliding around, and Sam who had never left the Shire before, found one of his legs to be completely soaked after a short time.
The flies and midges became unbearable, the buzzing nearly driving them mad. A line of hills could be seen in the distance, which Aragorn knew to be Weathertop. The hobbits had many questions about this, and many other things for that matter. They spent countless hours asking him about his journeys, and everyone soon became good companions, for which he was immensely grateful. Aragorn slowly led them out of the marshes and on to plains of dry grass, the mountains drawing ever nearer.
It seemed to the hobbits that Aragorn never slept, he did of course, but only few hours in the late of the night. They were six days out of Bree, the path leading them into dells, onto the sides of steep banks and then to flatter land, strewn with large boulders and stones that screened the travellers like a hedge. Aragorn told the hobbits of the elven king Gil-Galad, and Sam sung the Fall of Gil-Galad, an Elven song that he learnt back in the Shire from old Bilbo.
Gil-Galad was an Elven-king.
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
The last whose realm was fair and free
Between the Mountains and the Sea.
They began the ascent onto Weathertop, and soon found themselves at the peak, gazing over the lands. The lonely travellers saw few, except some patches of forest away to the south, the mountains in the distant east, and the road, weaving through the bare land like a ribbon on silk and vanishing out of eyesight to the east again.
The sky became dark, a few pale stars flickered above, and they lit a fire. Aragorn knew that the Nazgul who were following them would fear it, but still Sam was cautious. They prepared a meal and sat talking, though fear soon overtook their weary hearts. To make them all feel better Aragorn began to sing a song that he loved and knew that it would help to calm his nerves. It was called ann-thennath, and told the story of Tinuviel, a fair elven maiden.
The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
An in her raiment glimmering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.
Aragorn spoke of the Elves and Men of old, and the hobbits watched his eager face, dimly lit in the red glow of the wood-fire. His eyes shone, and his voice was rich and deep. Suddenly a pale light appeared over his head- the moon was rising.
Aragorn turned around to see a black outline standing against the light of the moon.
‘Stand close to the fire, quick! Draw your swords and gather some large sticks.’
A feeling of despair and cold horror fell over the campsite as five tall Nazgul approached. The hobbits were so afraid, that they threw themselves on the ground, Aragorn watching in dismay. He could hear the voices of the riders and resisted the pull of the ring. Aragorn tried to reach for Frodo, but it was too late. The hobbit slipped the ring onto his finger, at the same moment that Aragorn attacked. He swung the broken sword by the hilt, and a burning stick in the other, setting three on fire, the other running for the hills. The tallest, the king, stood over what Aragorn imagined to be Frodo. Fear licked through his heart. He heard Frodo’s small voice cry-
O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
-and the Nazgul ran from Weathertop, shrieking. Frodo pulled the ring from his finger, and immediately lost consciousness, and Aragorn sunk down to the ground beside him, breathing heavily. Their first battle as a group was over, but he could not say that it had ended well. A deep gash bled steadily in Frodo’s shoulder, spilling blood onto Aragorn’s healing hands.