Bree was an utter disappointment. A small muddy village, filled with ignorant and superstitious folk.
Prancing Pony Inn was not much better. The food was bad, the drinks worse, and not to mention the ambience.
Archer goaded me into sampling the local beverages. The absence of tea or wine left us with limited choices, and trusting their water seemed a gamble too far. Reluctantly, I settled for ale. Ale, a drink I had never held in high regard, but the version served in Bree was particularly unappealing – a murky brew with unidentifiable chunks lazily drifting through it.
Nothing could convince me to partake in their food. The thick bread, stew, and roasted meat, merely slapped onto plates, held as much appeal as mud pies. In truth, I mused, mud pies crafted by my husband might actually boast a more pleasing appearance, and perhaps even a better taste.
And the smoke... The air was thick enough that a knife could cut it.
Unfortunately, it was also the only place where we could send the letter to the Shire, and that took much more time, effort, and money than was reasonable.
One would think that I had tried to convince the innkeeper to take it personally to Gondor, not just pass it to the nearby Shire.
After this, I could understand better why Bilbo had not been writing more letters to his nephew. Once we had done with that favor we didn't linger.
We could have rented a room there, but we both preferred the wilderness. Better atmosphere, softer beds, and more pleasant company.
The returning route we planned would take us back to Amon Sul, and then Anchor Gate, beneath it, a shortcut through Otherworld leaving the other exit just day travel from Imladris.
In difference from Bree, the walk was pleasant. I enjoyed the long walk in nature and my husband's presence made it even better.
Marriage was still something that I was getting used to. My emotions were mixed. It was after all an accident, but I don't I could have waited for mush to partake in his succulent flesh.
But if I thought about it more, we could have talked about it.
I liked the promise of permanency, but at the same moment disliked it.
For it robbed both of us of choice.
I wanted him to stay with me because he chose to, not for some marriage vow. And each new moment should be a choice anew.
Of course, it takes at least two for sex, and my husband seems content with our situation. That was why I kept silent about my misgivings.
"I missed this," I murmured, stepping across an unseen threshold. In the distance, Amon Sul loomed, a mere ten to fifteen kilometres away.
"Missed what?" Archer inquired, his gaze sweeping the surrounding landscape. "A nice long hike? How could miss it? It's our first."
A smile tugged at my lips. "I forgot you can't sense it. We've just reentered the boundaries of wards I had raised."
The wards were replications of those that I had over my family's ancestral lands. Like all important spells Toshaka's used those wards were made part of families Magical Creast. Due to its nature, since they were based on the concept of marriage of ruler and land, only one iteration could exist at the time. Per World.
There were a few other necessary caveats that made casting it before inconvenient. Land needed to be owned by the caster, in this case, me, or unclaimed.
At least there was no required sex with a horse. Or something even worse.
"You are not thinking of moving here?"
"And miss access to Elrond's library? But once we get back we can set the police box in Workshop and have a quick shortcut between here and Imladris. Then we can put all questionable things here. Like that wight you had captured, more explosive experiments, or a sex dungeon."
By the time we had climbed this hill, it was early evening. From the height, we could see the beautiful sunset.
The weather was pleasant, neither too hot nor too cold. With a clear sky, with just some small fluffy clouds.
"I am not in the mood to crawl through caves right now. Let us enjoy a night under the stars," Archer said.
I shrugged, then replied, "We are in no hurry. And I could use something nice after Bree."
He sighed and said, "You aren't going to let that go, are you?"
"Hope was but the first step on the road to disappointment."
I was about to sit down when he grabbed my hand and made a show looking over where I was about to sit, and teasingly said, "Be careful, there could be pea on it. I don't want you to bruise."
He was really asking for a spanking. I would indulge him, if not for the location. But if I was to be honest, which I hated to do, I may have whined about Bree a little too much.
After a nice meal, we were laying side by side on the ground watching heaven was above. Moon was bright casting everything in silvery light. I could see as well as I did during the day. That was a benefit for Elven night sight.
Through the link with wards, the warning was passed to me and I shared it with my companion, "Something has breached the wards. No, two. Four. Six. Nine."
"Nine!?" He stood up alarmed. "Where?"
I pointed in the direction where the breach occurred. It was too far for me to see anything, but not for Archer. Even diminished by living flesh, his sight was better than the modern sniper scope.
"Nine riders in black," he grimly reported. That sent a chill down my spine. "It could be something else, but when have we been that lucky?"
"Don't blame me. You are one E-rank luck," I said, referring to his Servant stats revealed in Master Vision. I was still not sure which Master's fault was that divination looked like a video game, but I was split between Shinji and Lord El-Melloi II. "First strike?"
He nodded and then summoned a massive black bow.
"I am the bone of my sword," he began chanting and finished with "Caladbolg!"
Well, technically that was Caladbolg II: The Fake Spiral Sword. Archer had modified the original so it would be more of an arrow than a sword. Although even the original was not very swords-like. More of a drill. It was his favorite for long-range bombardment.
He fired a drill-like thing. Space twisted in its passing and in a few seconds, I could see an explosion in the distance.
I turned to Arched to ask him if he had hit the target, but what I saw made me speechless for a moment.
His black bow was on the ground broken in two, and Archer was on his knees, breathing hard. He was pale and sweating. The bow crumbled into the sparkly dust in a moment.
"What happened?" I said kneeling beside him, I took one shard of magic-infused quartz ready to administer healing.
"Counterattack. Weapons that I used to attack are both broken," he said with what seemed to be a steady voice, but I knew him well enough to detect traces of pain.
Which worried me a bit. His pain tolerance was amazing. To show this much pain he was hurt more than was visible at first glance. I quickly used that shard and some color returned to him. Some, but not all.
"Well, I see about the bow, but wasn't that Noble Phantasm just a projection?"
I mean that was how his magecraft worked. It was the reason he treated his weapons as disposable because they were.
"No. What I mean is its record in my Reality Marbe is broken."
Damage was to his soulscape? Again? When we had been fighting Servants there were known rules. There had been exceptions of course, but still...
"That is disturbing. Fake Rignwraith didn't have such abilities."
"Well, he was just a product of the Red Book. I know this best. Imitation is almost always inferior to the original. I can fix the bow easily, but I am not sure about Caladbolg."
While we were talking the dust from the explosion had mostly cleared out, returning visibility.
"Are they gone?"
"I don't know. It seems so. I can see scraps of cloth and mangled corpses of dead horses," he said but sounded a bit unsure.
"I am an idiot," I said, remembering our swords. I drew Larmo from the scabbard. It was quietly humming. There was at least one enemy in the vicinity. "They are still here. And I really should have taken time to make better scabbards."
"Better scabbards?"
"It's not very useful if the swords are only warning about enemies if they are drawn. An obvious flaw in my design." I looked him over. "You are still very pale. Should I use a better gem?"
"No need yet. Save them for later. We have bigger problems now."
"Yes. Our visitors. I wonder if we had interrupted them on their way to the Shire or we had just missed both Estel and Ringbearer in Bree?"
"Does it matter? You are too easily distracted. Focus on here and now. Are they retreating or advancing?"
I transformed Larno into a device form and moved the dials trying to get a better attunement to Ringwraith's frequency. The frequency of the Unseen. As I did that, my perception of the Unseen manifested not only in sound but also in sight. I could almost see ghostly wings spreading from Niquis, still in its sheath, forming a protective cocoon around Archer.
Then I shifted it back to sword form and watched it closely. The humming was getting stronger.
"I think they are advancing."
"Can you see them?"
With a short aria, I reinforced my eyes.
"No. They are too far away. Wait, let me try something."
I called upon the fire in my heart, a song written on my very soul.
It burned.
It transformed.
Everything was clearer now. Where before I could see wings emerging from Niquis as transparent ghostly images, now they were completely real. Solid. With a hint of eyes on the feathers. And yet I could also perfectly Archer under them.
I could also sense the small mistakes and inefficiencies that I made, reinforcing my eyes. It was child's play to correct them, in my new elevated state.
My sight vastly improved, and I began to search for our invisible enemies. It didn't take long for me to find them. They were distinctive to my sight. Figures of faded grey. Too far to see properly. But there were nine of them, and they were advancing.
Also, they have begun to spread. Whether to flank us or avoid similar explosions.
"I see them. They are coming."
"Then you will act as my spotter."
It was not the first time that I had that role in our partnership. His eyes were much better than mine, but I could use familiars.
"See as I see," with that short chant I allowed him to see through my eyes. It was a trivial spell.
"I am the bone of my sword, Hrunting."
The pitch-black weapon with a few small edges coiling around the thin core, spiraling around it and somewhat curving outward formed in his bow. He was using his elven bow, rather than tracing another version of his futuristic one. After firing it transformed into a magical bullet enveloped in a red light traveling much faster than the first sword toward leading Righwaith.
Yet, it wasn't fast enough. Just before reaching it crumbled into a shower of sparks.
"Counterspell," I commented. "You won't hit them by surprise now."
"Then I will try another target. At least this didn't break the record," he said. In about fifteen seconds the second one was ready, and he fired on one of the writers on the edge.
But our enemies were far from idle. A mist began to coalesce around them, and by the time he readied the third projectile, they were shrouded in an impenetrable white fog. This mist existed in both material and spiritual realms, rendering them invisible to my sight.
The mist swelled, growing rapidly until it resembled an advancing wall or cliff. Despite its massive form, it moved with deceptive speed, and it wasn't long before it nearly engulfed us, closing in with an almost sentient urgency.
I took out a ruby. It was one of my experiments. Rather than to capture the visible spectrum I have adjusted elven enchantments to store infrared light. In that way, I have infused this ruby not only with magical energy but also the heat of my forge.
I set it gently on the earth and invoked a spell. Of all Great Elements rubies are most closely aligned to fire. Fire could purify, and fire could also destroy. But there is an old Mystery, drawn from the dawn of mankind. When the primitive man huddled near their fires, protected from things in the dark. The fire became hearth-fire, became home, became threshold.
Ruby was also called the King of Gems. It was often said that the king and land were one and that made it especially useful for creating bounded fields. Together that allowed for the potent protection, although stationary, spell.
Ruby shined with warm red light, and where it reached, the mist did not advance. The barrier created by the spell was much stronger than I had expected. The experiment was at least partially successful. But I wondered if I had used heat from an actual hearth-fire would it be much stronger?
Archer had abandoned his bow and drew a pair of familiar white and black falchions. I held Larmo in one hand in sapphire infused with starlight in the other
There was nothing to do but wait.
Mist covered almost everything, blinding us.
Time lost all of its meaning. The only way we knew that enemies were still coming was by Larmo's hum.
"Are they still coming?" Archer asked.
I closed my eyes and listened closely to my sword. Hum steadily and slowly grew in strength. Then I answered, "They are. Just very, very slow."
"I expected them to be carried by the mist."
"Me too. But it seems its primary purpose is obfuscation. They are walking here. You did kill their horses."
And there was something of strategy in a slow, inevitable approach that sapped both readiness, although that was less likely to work on us two.
He relaxed, dismissing his swords. I put the gem, but not the sword, away. Larmo was still needed to monitor their progress. Still, I needed both of my hands, so I planted the sword into the ground.
I took out a small wooden bowl, some magical energy-infused quartz, and appropriate dried plants.
"What are you doing?" Arched asked as he moved next to me.
"This sensory link spell was passable when I acted as your spotter, but if we are going into close combat, and with this mist, I am not sure we could avoid it, we need something better," I replied. Then I used magical energies with pieces of quartz to catalyze the mixture. The pieces of quartz melted into a glowing liquid and soaked into dried herbs, turning into greenish pasta. "Smear this on your eyelids. It should help you see them."
"Should?"
"I am improvising with local plants and local undead. So should."
"I could have gotten a sword to do that."
"And then you would be limited to that one. And what if they shatter it with a counterspell? No, this is better. Here close your eyes, I will apply it."
He was handsome in any of the forms I had seen so far, although the elf one was the fairest. But there was something about his face, with his eyes closed… Trust. That was it. That I found most attractive.
I gently placed my finger into a bowl and applied the paste to his eyelids. First left then right.
"It is done."
"So I will be able to see them now?"
"I hope. We will see when they get here. Wait."
"What?"
"The hum. There is something strange about it."
"You're right. It's too regular. Like there is a pattern to it."
"A pattern? Or music," I muttered. I looked at the gem, and in the center of the glowing ruby, I could see a single black dot. I added aloud, "We are under attack."
I could have explained more. That song and music carried great power here. Rubies were known to change color with danger. But there was no need, he had all the facts and was clever enough to reach the same conclusions. And no time. I needed my voice for a counterattack.
I began to sing wordless songs, trying to create a counterpoint, to the dissonant humming that was coming from my sword.
I was not sure if my attempt at singing was doing anything, but at least the dot didn't grow. It didn't shrink either, but at least it didn't grow.
As the hum grew stronger I was bombarded by the images. Of cruel winter, and bones buried in the show.
I sang patient seeds buried underground waiting for spring and with spring new life sprouted among the bones.
The answer was pestilence. Slow lingering death. End of hope. People turning on one another.
To that, I sang of healers walking bravely among the dead and dying. Offering hope and comfort. Archer's voice joined mine and he sang with me.
Both the beauty and strength of our song grew. Together we were much stronger.
The mist was stirred by our songs and indistinct shapes appeared in it.
They sang of the army, more numerous than blades of grass, and more vicious than starving wolves.
We answered with the song of a gleaming fortress, made of white stone. Of high towers and sturdy walls. Of garrison of brave soldiers, armed with bright swords and iron bows.
Shapes in the mist became more distinct. Within the mist, the story within our song was reiterated. On one side, an army flowed like a tide, but on the other, there was a blurry-shaped fortress also made of mist looking like a sandcastle on the beach awaiting that tide. And yet when it struck the castle we sang into being stood strong.
They sang of betrayal. Of those lost to greed and despair. The doors opened, and wells were poisoned.
We sang of redemption. Of repentance. Of sacrifice made. Of honor restored.
They sang of hunger. Of empty bellies, of weakness born of privation. Of lost hope.
We replied with the song of smugglers. Of a secret path, lost tunnels. Of food brought, of hope regained.
They sang of challenge. Of a champion. Of ogre tyrant clad in black mail and armed with a massive maul. Of strength unmatched, of wrath unquenchable.
We sang of the challenge answered. Of a champion. Clad in bright mail, armed with sword and shield. Of skill unmatched, of bravery unending.
The castle and the army faded back into the mist and were replaced by a singular battle between two figures. One small and one monstrous. They battled at the tempo of our music. When we sang strongly, the smaller figure would dance like a leaf in the wing, avoiding the monster's maul. Whenever we faltered, so would the small figure. A glancing blow broke the shield, another shattered the helm.
The battle ended with a single sword strike. The sword pierced the monster's torso, and as a broken tower, the monster fell on the small figure crushing it.
Ruby turned completely black and crumbled to dust and our song came to an end.
And with the final note mist parted and they stood before us.
Nine against two.
Grey were their robes and grey was their hair under silver helms. Their very presence stained the world. They were both unreal and too real at the same time. Naked blades in their hands, mode of steel but not mortal steel, but the same wraith substance that made their flesh.
If they meant to speak to us I did not know, for I had no intention to exchange any words with them. There was too much risk and too little gain in combination. So, before they had any chance to speak I cast a spell.
"Bonds."
If the same spell I had crafted to defeat Three Worse Girls Since Eve. Last time I had cast that spell it had lasted but a moment, and I lost my consciousness and found myself, and Archer, in another World.
But that was more than three months ago. Since then I have gotten better at using Sorcery, but more importantly, I have raised my family wards. Among other benefits of standing under them was that they made any magic I used stronger.
And there was also that a successful casting of a spell for the first time was the hardest. With successful casting the spell was more deeply carved into its foundation, getting a little easier to execute, and a little stronger in execution. That was true for both magecraft and sorcery.
I had created this spell on the spot to deal with a specific enemy with rather unique circumstances. But it could be used against others.
The idea behind it was simple. Spell sought through alternate among those who had the bonds with the target and who had defeated them Once it found both timeline and subject that fits those criteria it would bring the subject here as long as magical energy lasted.
In this timeline, Celebrimor was wary of Sauron in the guise of Annatar, and thus most Rings of Power, save the Three, were made by other elven smiths.
But there is another timeline where the grandson of Feanor was less wise. Where he accepted gifts from one who called himself the giver of gifts. Where he had forged Nine. Where he had helped complete the One. Where he had briefly stolen the One and waged a rebellion in Mordor.
Where such corruption made him either unable or unwilling to journey West to the Halls of Mandos. Where, by blackest of necromancy, he joined mortal flesh and forged his own Ruling Ring. Where he and his host together defeated the Ringwraiths led by the dread captain.
And now I brought both of them to this time and place.
In one moment there were two against nine, and in the next, there were four. Three flesh and one spirit. Three Elves and one Man.
At a glance, Talion, the host, was not too unlike how he was portrayed in the games. A tall man with longish matted black hair. Unshaven. Stocky. On the other hand, Celenribor was much grander than his portrayal in that medium.
Even at a brief glance dead elf-lord burned. As if being stripped of flesh allows his inherited fiery blood to fully manifest himself. Truly a grandson of the spirit of fire. But I didn't have time for more than a glance. The time I could hold him here was limited so I immediately moved to attack.
I used reinforcement. It was a grim calculation. Spending magical energy to save time to save magical energy. Transformation elevated both my flesh and spirit.
I moved like the wind, crossing the distance that separated me from the enemy for a moment. Yet Archer was even faster and he stuck first.
Swords fell like rain but those that stuck unnatural flesh shattered like glass.
The Witch-king parried the strike of my sword with his own incorporeal blade. Just as I planned. For should I have cut him with it, I suspect that Larmo would shatter. In my left hand, I felt the sapphire.
Fire I had spent in defense, so struck with water. With proper pressure, water can cut steel. This stream of water I had conjured pierced right through his substance, wounding him grievously. The stream shattered into countless drops, each glittering with traces of starlight I had infused sacrificed sapphire with.
He fell back, and two other wraiths stood to block my way. But I also had other problems. My left hand was cold and numb. It hung limply on my side.
Archer had abandoned the ranged attack and arrived. Rather than use projected swords he had drawn Niquis. I was pleased that he used the sword I made, but I wondered why.
And the answer was simple.
Niquis wouldn't break.
When the elven sword cut their warded fresh it would ring like a church bell, but it would not shatter. The clear sound seemed to pain the bodiless spirits.
All of them. Even the Celebrimbor. Those wings may have been insubstantial to me and Archer, but they were quite solid to wraiths and dangerous. For a mere touch of feathers seemed to cause them pain.
Archer alone faced five wraiths and he seemed to be winning.
I, on the other hand, was sorely pressed by just two.
I had two gems, but I was short a hand with which to use them. Two wraiths I had faced were both skilled and well-coordinated. They were just a bit taller than others save their leader. It wasn't something that would be usually noticeable, but I saw them as they really were, not just shapes given by clothes.
I had to parry and dodge two wraith-like blades, while not daring to counterattack. I wouldn't risk Larmo. Perhaps like Niqus, it would endure cutting them but I was not sure. And because of that doubt, I was reduced to a purely defensive stance.
That was a slow path to defeat.
And there was another problem.
My supply of magical energy was dwindling.
Summoning two from one alternative timeline was less expensive than summoning six from three alternative timelines, but still every moment they were here const at least a little bit of power.
A terrible cry broke both my concentration and Larmo at the same time. The words of the cry were spoken in some unknown, guttural tongue, and yet they were burned in my mind.
Made crystal clear as the last act of my spy-sword even as it broke. The author of the attack was the Witch-King. Even wounded he was a puissant sorcerer and great danger.
I barely managed to dodge the wraiths' suddenly furious attack. I tried to draw a gem in my only functional hand, but they pressed me too hard. It was just a matter of time now.
We were too arrogant. Too sure of our superiority. But then we have fought many heroes of legend. Even counterfeit Ringwraiths.
A sudden cry saved me.
"You will obey," two voices spoke as one. One mortal filled with determination and one not echoing with power, "I am your master now."
My enemies stumbled for a bit, distracted by this, allowing me to draw my third gem and toss them back with a gust of wind.
Now, when I was not in immediate peril I looked and saw that my summoned allies had their opponent on his knees with hand pressed on his forehead.
The enemy had lost one soldier and we had gained another. Tide was beginning to turn.
I took out my last gem.
But before I had to sacrifice another gem there was a third cry that won us this battle.
"Rule Breaker."
Archer's voice was followed by a terrible wail that turned into a cry of joy and then was silenced forever.
He now faced four opponents. The fifth one had crumbled into a fine dust.
Another cry was issued from With-King's mouth, but there was no magic in this one. Only orders.
They retreated quickly. Two, which I tossed with magecraft, carrying their leader, and the other four running on their own feet. One enslaved by the Ring Maker attempt at the Ruling Ring stayed by its master.
I was on the last dregs of magical energy, my amulet already depleted. So I sent my summoned allies back without any words. A bit ungrateful, but I was exhausted. Stangly the slave disappeared with them. There were things I still didn't know about this spell of mine. It was by its nature a bit hard to experiment with.
"You're not going to snipe them?"
"No point. I can't alter Rule Breaker, and nothing else worked. And besides, they had already raised the mist."
"Victory was ours. Little closer than I was comfortable with." There was one thing I could have done that would have been much easier. I could have invoked the name of Powers, but that was a little too much like prayer for my taste.
"We won, that's all that matters. And even better, we will be better prepared for the next battle. Now that we have learned more about their strength and vulnerabilities."
"That works both ways. Did you get anything interesting from their blades?"
"Only things I wished I didn't know. I have many demonic weapons and many of which have tragic or questionable histories. But still this first time I am a bit uncomfortable with the newest additions to my arsenal. One thing is certain. Now since we have managed to kill one of them, they will seek to destroy us above almost all else."
"Perhaps not all else. I may have more luck with my spell than I thought. It wasn't an instant victory like last time, but I think it may be even more useful in a way. Tell me what you know about making Rings of Power."
Not much as it turned out. It seemed that the book interested Archer little, and Fano didn't care much about that part of history. So I went to explain what happened here and in an alternate timeline.
"So in conclusion, the Enemy will be also seeking Celembrimbor's ghost and one whom he possessed. If we are very lucky Sauron may even believe that his old enemy had got his hands on One Ring. This timeline's One Ring. That would be quite a distraction. And while he chases ghosts the true Ringbearer could take the Ring to its doom unimpeded."
"So what next?"
"We go back to Imladris and wait for the Ringbearer. We will make more detailed plans after he arrives. There are too many variables to make competent plans before."
"And what about Elrond? Do we bring him into this conspiracy?"
"No. he has one of Three. Unless this timeline is divergent from what we know from books. But I don't believe that is the case. What he does not know he cannot betray."
"I think you are being overly paranoid, but I will follow your lead on this."
Using our shortcut we arrived at a hidden valley within a day. That would only help with our deception because by common sense we could have been at Amon Sul at the time of battle and arrived in Imladris when we did. Also by the time we arrived, my arm was working again.
Strangely we were intercepted immediately as we crossed the river. Of course, there were guards, but usually, they remained unseen.
The Lord of the settlement had left orders that we were to report to him personally immediately upon arrival. We quickly found that Elrond was at his library and hurried there. He was sitting at the desk staring at the scroll and writing implants.
We exchanged formal greetings, but it was obvious that something else was on his mind.
"Do you know what has befallen Glorfindel," the half-elf suddenly asked us.
"Glorfindel?" I was truly surprised. So if I got the timing right, Elrond had sent him after Frodo, but we had dealt with Ringwraiths, so there should be no problem with him meeting with Estel and Frodo bringing them both safely here.
"I had sent him after two of you." After us? Why? "There had been news of Enemy stirring." That was to be expected. "The Nine were sighted in this region. They had taken the form of Riders in Black. So I had sent Glorfindel to find you two and escort you back to safety."
Just us? That made no sense. He should have sent him for Frodo too. He could be keeping that a secret, but I didn't see why he would. That would be little point to it once Frodo came here.
Unless we intercepted Ringwraiths before they entered Shire. That would make the hobbits' journey to Imladris much easier.
"We must have missed him," Arched jumped to the rescue. He always dealt better when things went off the plan. "Our journey back from Bree was largely uneventful."
He was also an excellent liar. But that was to be expected from any Magus. Even self-proclaimed the third-rate one.
"I believe this was the reason," Archer continued speaking, taking the Staff Of Truth from his back and putting it on the table.
Elrond examined the white staff and said, "I thought that was destroyed. Still, even if it has some power, and still but a trinket."
I shrugged, and gathered my composure, and lied like a rug "Well, Estel should be glad that another piece of his heritage was recovered. And this may even be of some practical use to him. And for Glorfindel, as Fano said we had a mostly uneventful trip. We did find a staff on the way to Bree, but nothing on the return trip."
Glorfindel returned to Imladris seven days later. Without Frodo.