-General-
The peaceful night of the Shire retreated, suffocated by a thick and viscous gloom that writhed upon itself like an unnatural fog, hungry to devour even the last trace of tranquility. Suddenly, the silence was torn. The echo of a grotesque and guttural neigh pierced the air, followed closely by the relentless pounding of hooves tearing up the earth.
At the entrance to Hobbiton, in the tavern/inn, many Hobbits were drinking and laughing. Of course, Bilbo's anger had annoyed them, but that didn't stop them from wanting to keep the party going, getting drunk in the old tavern.
Among the crowd of drunken and murmuring Halflings was Old Gaffer Gamgee. Despite the rain of complaints and insults flying around the tavern about Bilbo's supposed "discourtesy," the old man continued to defend Mr. Baggins tooth and nail. At the top of his lungs, he accused them all, stating that the host's fierce speech had been completely valid, especially considering the venom they always spat about the Hobbit and his wife behind their backs.
"Pack of hypocrites!" roared Old Gaffer Gamgee, climbing onto a stool with difficulty to look down at the rest. "Mr. Baggins has helped half of you! And what do you do to repay him? Talk bad about him! You well deserved him calling you freeloaders right to your faces!"
"That is false! I have never spoken ill of Bilbo! Don't make false accusations against me, old Gaffer!" protested one, raising his mug defensively.
"You shut up, you idiot!" snapped the Gaffer, pointing an accusing finger at him. "I remember perfectly well that you once went around saying Mr. Bilbo was a monster pretending to be a Hobbit, and all just because he didn't serve you more food! Shameless freeloader!"
"Who are you calling a freeloader, damn you?! I don't care if you're an old man, I'll kick your ass!"
The old Gaffer grunted and rolled up his shirtsleeves. The wrinkled skin of his arms still retained the firmness of his muscles; it would have been a fatal mistake to underestimate a Hobbit who had dedicated his entire life to gardening. Carrying sacks of dirt and heavy pots had given him a much sturdier build than the rest of those present.
"I'm waiting for you right here, you dirty bastard! I'll give you a beating in the name of Mr. Baggins!"
Outside, the dense night mist swirled suddenly. From within the fog emerged a figure wrapped in a black tunic, riding a colossal steed whose neighs exhaled a thick, blackish vapor.
Like a battering ram, the beast rammed head-on into the facade of the old inn, bursting through the wooden wall in an explosion. The debris and massive hooves crushed the unfortunate Hobbits who were near the entrance, splattering fresh blood onto the splintered wood.
The tavern brawl ceased abruptly. The Halflings lost all color in their faces, paralyzed by such dread that some even peed themselves. The wraith scrutinized each of them; the darkness beneath its hood hid its face like a dark mantle, but even so, everyone felt that icy gaze.
They wanted to flee. They wanted to scream and cry. But their instincts screamed at them that if they moved a single muscle, they would be the next to die.
"Baggins..."
The guttural hiss that accompanied that name felt like a thousand blades penetrating their bodies. Every hair from their feet to their heads stood on end. The sound was so unnatural and screeching that it seemed to strike directly inside their minds.
With a swift movement, the wraith caught the old Gaffer by the neck. It lifted him from the floor as if he weighed no more than a feather. The elderly Hobbit's eyes bulged, oozing palpable and absolute terror as he stared into the deep darkness that hid the face of that being.
"Where is Baggins?" the creature hissed, with a freezing voice.
The Gaffer could not bear it. His elderly heart gave out under the terror. As he hung from the wraith's gloved arm, he suffered a heart attack; his body only writhed for a couple of moments, seized by spasms, before going completely limp, like a rag doll.
Frustrated by the sudden death, the Nazgûl squeezed the dead Hobbit's neck, crushing it. It tossed the corpse away as if it were garbage and let out a harrowing shriek.
The guttural sound hit those present like a shockwave. The force of the wail was such that it burst the eardrums of most of the Hobbits, causing thick drops of blood to trickle from their ears. Those who had the reflexes to cover their ears in time managed to save their hearing, though they were still left with the aftermath: a migraine so unbearable that they ended up kneeling on the floor, sobbing in pain.
The same Hobbit who just a few minutes earlier had emboldened himself to fistfight the old Gaffer became the wraith's next target.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, please, I beg you, don't kill me!" pleaded the Halfling, dissolving into a sea of tears. Tears and cold sweat soaked his face, giving him a deplorable and miserable appearance.
"Baggins..." repeated the wraith, with that screeching voice that admitted no delay.
The Hobbit, completely seized by panic, choked on his own saliva as he tried to speak.
"I know! I know where he is!" he babbled rapidly, spitting the words out almost in a shout, clinging blindly to the pathetic hope that, by giving up Bilbo's whereabouts, that monster would allow him to keep his life.
...
"Wraiths?" asked Frodo, blinking in disbelief. In all the fantastic tales of adventure that Bilbo had told him over the years, a wraith or anything resembling one had never been mentioned.
Backing his nephew's doubt, Bilbo looked at Aldril with a raised eyebrow, demanding an explanation, only to crash against his best friend's icy and stern gaze. Unlike the stunned Hobbits, Kíli, Fíli, Helga, and Tauriel didn't waste a single second and were already beginning to frantically prepare to leave.
They knew perfectly well that if Bilbo bore the One Ring, a few simple wraiths would be just the beginning of their real problems. Helga urged her husband to hurry, pushing him into action, while the old burglar, still entirely bewildered, wouldn't stop asking why the hell they had to leave their home with such urgency.
How was it possible that Bilbo was unaware of the existence of the Ringwraiths? Very simple: Aldril never mentioned them, and Helga never considered it prudent to tell him horror stories about human kings who had succumbed to the darkness. It was definitely not light subject matter for teatime, or at least that's what she had thought all these years.
While the whole house plunged into a frenzy of packing backpacks, Aldril went back out through the smoking hole in the roof. With a quick and precise movement, he grabbed the two little Hobbits who were still crouching in the undergrowth by the collars of their shirts, lifting them into the air.
Both were left dangling, cringing like two naughty little boys about to receive the worst punishment of their lives.
"W-we weren't doing anything, sir! We were just looking for mushrooms!" babbled Pippin, totally dazed by having been caught so swiftly.
"Save the lies. Who looks for mushrooms in a garden? Besides, you heard too much," Aldril interrupted them. "Well, my dear gossips, congratulations. You just won a one-way ticket. You two are coming with us as well."
"What? Where to?" squeaked Merry, kicking his legs in the air.
"Far from here," the Half-elf continued, setting them down with a thud, but without letting go of them. "Because something dark is riding toward this hill, and with you two being outside your homes, it's likely they will kill you."
Aldril pushed them toward Frodo. The Baggins heir barely had time to ask them what the hell they were doing there when he was interrupted by Sam, who, with the purest panic etched on his face, wouldn't stop frantically packing his masters' things.
Amidst the whirlwind of panic, the Half-elf searched for his wife and children with his gaze. They, along with the Dwarves and Helga, already had one foot out of Bag End, ready to run.
"Don't forget the ring, Frodo," Aldril reminded him with an astonishing calmness.
The young Hobbit turned around. To his utter bewilderment, the legendary warrior wasn't packing or running toward the door; he had sat down comfortably in Bilbo's armchair.
"Are... are you not coming with us?" asked Frodo, his voice trembling.
The Half-elf slowly shook his head.
"Someone must stay behind to stop those things," he said, without taking his eyes off the front door. "And I am the only one here capable of doing it."
Tauriel stopped for a moment to look at him. Despite knowing what her beloved was capable of, she couldn't help a pang of worry squeezing her chest. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and as she exhaled, the anguish disappeared, leaving an unyielding determination on her face.
"We will wait for you in Rivendell, darling"
Aldril nodded with a confident smile. Then, he shifted his gaze toward the intelligent eyes of Shadowstar, the majestic steed that Tauriel had already mounted.
"Take good care of her," he ordered the horse in a whisper.
And so, without further delay or hesitation, the group made their escape. Of course, they did not commit the stupidity of taking the main road; they delved deep into the thicket of the woods, slipping away through an old smuggling route that only Bilbo and a handful of adventurous Hobbits knew.
The Half-elf watched them disappear into the distance, smiled, and dropped back into the comfortable armchair in the sitting room. There was not a shred of fear that the wraiths would track his family. The pure light of the Silmaril acted as a perfect shield, eclipsing and completely concealing the dark presence of the One Ring; a sensation he had felt when he tried to pick it up.
Fortunately, his beloved carried the other Silmaril with her; the jewel he himself had given her as a gift when he proposed to her. Under the mantle of that light, the entire group would easily slip right under the wraiths' radar.
Aldril slowly stood up in the middle of the empty sitting room and cracked his neck from side to side with a dull pop.
"Well..." he murmured to himself, sketching a predatory smile. "It has been a long time since I last stretched a bit."
**
Hi, this is the author of this fanfic. Sorry for the delay, but as I mentioned on Patreon, I had a severe case of oyster poisoning; I've only recently started to feel better.
If that's all I have to say, enjoy this chapter.
"[email protected]/Mrnevercry"