Chapter 5: The First Test

Sam squirmed, trying to find a place to sleep on the ground. “I had forgotten how uncomfortable it is to try to sleep with all these roots around.”

“Do what I said to last time,” Frodo said, his eyes already closed. “Pretend you’re back in your own bed with a nice soft pillow.”

“Oh, I like that,” Pippin said and squirmed a little to adjust his position. “That’s better.”

Sam squirmed too, then sighed. “I just can’t get it. Well, there’s nothing for it. Good night, Frodo, Mr. Merry, Mr. Pippin.”

Frodo smiled. “Goodnight, Sam. I’m glad you’re with me.” He looked at Merry and Pippin who were about to fall off to sleep. “I’m glad you are all with me.”

“No place else to be, cousin,” Pippin said sleepily.

“Glad to do it,” Merry said.

* * *

Aragorn looked up from his seat at the Prancing Pony. He had seen and lived through many things ordinary men would find unbelievable, but even he was puzzled by the slip in time that had him sitting once again at the inn awaiting Frodo. Gandalf had been his usual cryptic self in his message, but the king had not hesitated to follow his instructions. He had already felt the strangeness in the air before coming, but something else stirred now. Some danger on the edge of senses honed razor sharp from decades as a Ranger. Frodo would not make it to Bree, he feared. He got up, paid for his drink and left quickly. His horse nearly trampled the gatekeeper before he disappeared into the night. The gateman shook his head. “Rangers,” he muttered.

 * * *

Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin walked silently and warily through the forest toward the Bucklebury ferry. They all watched around them, expecting Black Riders to come out to attack at any moment. Frodo imagined them to have already surrounded the group, holding their swords out in a circle, waiting for them, closing in ever more and more. He had felt that way since he had learned he had to carry the Ring again. The dark night did nothing to dispel his fears. A branch brushed against his cheek and he nearly cried out in fright, sure it was a sword ready to draw his blood. Sam grasped his hand. Frodo clutched it nearly hard enough to hurt. 

It was with considerable relief that they reached sight of the ferry unscathed. But their joint exhaled breath caught in their throats when the moon came out from behind a cloud and its light silhouetted two dark figures upon stock still horses, blocking the entry to the ferry.

Frodo saw them first and stopped abruptly, holding out his free arm to stop his cousins and clutching Sam’s hand even harder. Merry and Pippin nearly plowed into him. Frodo frantically motioned for silence. His lips moved in a silent, fervent plea that they had escaped notice in the cover of the trees they had nearly left. He stared around fearfully, fully expecting to see the Nazgul ringed around him, their drawn blades pointed directly at his heart.

He looked at the Riders and felt drawn to them. He started to step forward against his will, compelled by the power of the Ring. Sam tightened his grip on Frodo’s hand and began to pull him backward just as Merry grabbed hold of his cousin’s other hand. Frodo strained against them, being pulled forward by the Ring, his breath loud and labored in his ears. “It’s him,” he breathed. “The pale king...”

The Witch-king shifted in his seat and sniffed. His horse reared up and Frodo froze, looking up at his death, for a moment welcoming it, if it meant he would be free of the malignant influence that already so clouded his will and strength.

Sam and Merry yanked him back an instant before another horse crashed into the Rider’s and the sound of blades clashing rang in the night. Frodo fell backwards into his friends’ arms as the pull of the Ring was broken. Shaken and dazed, he breathed deeply, only slowly becoming aware of his surroundings again, of the chill of the night against his sweat and the hard breathing of his friends and their concerned faces.

“I’m all right,” he told them, but his voice shook.

There was a shrill scream of a horse, then the Nazgul galloped away with a shriek. The hobbits covered their ears in pain.

Aragorn rolled as his wounded horse fell to the ground. He landed cleanly and then knelt down and stroked the stricken animal’s head. Pain-filled eyes met his with a weak nicker. “Oh, Hasufel, what an evil fate for such a noble steed. I am sorry, my friend. You have served me well.”

The king then drew his sword and brought his horse to a place where there was no pain. Hasufel gave a last heave, then was still. Aragorn patted him and murmured an Elvish blessing, then came to the hobbits’ side.

“Aragorn!” Pippin cried, the first to recover. “What are you doing here? What happened to your horse? Was it the one who screamed?”

Aragorn’s sword flashed in the light of the moon as he sheathed it. He smiled at all the youngest hobbit’s questions. He had grown very fond of his charges since they had first met in a inn at Bree and were full of untested bravado. Now they had survived a war and been found worthy, but endearingly remaining essentially unchanged, but for Frodo. “Very good to see you, too, Pippin. To answer your last two questions, yes, it screamed when a wraith struck it with his blade. It would have become one of their steeds had I not released it.”

The hobbits paled. “Oh,” Pippin said in a very small voice, sorry he had asked.

Aragorn knelt, took Frodo’s hands in his and looked into his eyes. Frodo looked at him, trembling. “As to what I am doing here,” the king said, “I have come to aid the Ring-bearer. My life is once again pledged to you, Frodo. For you, for Arwen, for my people and my unborn son, I will fight for you and with you.”

Frodo looked into his friend’s earnest eyes without saying anything for a long moment, still dazed by his weakness and the horror of their near-capture. “You have a son?” he asked. “You should be with him and Queen Arwen then, keeping them safe, not with me.”

“They are at Rivendell. That is the best place for them now. But no one will be safe if our quest fails. My place is at your side, gwador nin, if you will have me.”

“My brother,” Frodo whispered. He looked into his king’s eyes. “Yes, I will have you.”

Aragorn looked at his friend’s careworn, troubled face and ached for it. He squeezed Frodo’s hands gently. “The burden is not for you to carry all alone, tineth min,” he said softly. “We will all help you.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said quietly. He looked at his friends. “Thank you all.”

Sam, Merry and Pippin smiled. Aragorn squeezed Frodo’s hands once more, smiled, then got up and looked quickly around.

“We have to move on. The ferry will be safe for us, but Bree won’t be. Gandalf will have to find us another way. If I can, I will leave him a message for him at the inn, but you must not come near, though I am loathe to leave you alone also.”

“We’ll make do, Mr. Strider,” Sam said, then blushed furiously. “I mean my lord, my king...Oh, I don’t know what to call you...but I am just that glad to see you.”

Aragorn smiled. “Strider will do just fine, Sam and I am very glad to see you, too. And you, Merry.”

* * *

Frodo was the last to step onto the ferry, remaining silent and distant the entire time as Aragorn and Merry paddled their way across. Sam spent the entire time worriedly watching his master. Frodo stared at the receding shore. The horror had faded, shame beginning to replace it. He had failed the first test already. His will was no match for the Ring. He felt himself begin to drown in the darkness of before, being pulled under by the inexorable draw of the Ring. He hadn’t been able to resist last time. He could already feel his strength ebb for another long battle.

Sam drew close to him and took his hand. “I’m here for you, me dear. I’m not going to leave.”

Frodo did not look at him. “Thank you, Sam.”