"Frodo, no!" Arabella screamed, rushing with Sam and Smeagol to hold him back. Some sinister force was drawing him into the City of the Dead--no doubt the Ring. "Frodo, don't give in," she begged, her words hardly audible. "Please don't give up yet."

"Hide! Hide!" Gollum urged as they took shelter behind the craggy rocks of the secret stairs. No sooner had they arrived when a horrible scream tore through the air, nearly shredding Arabella's eardrums. She let out a cry of pain and lifted her hands to hear ears, desperate to block out the shriek of the Nazgul. Burying her face in Frodo's shoulder, she closed her eyes, trying to conjure up the happiest thing she could remember as despair threatened to take over. She had tried to hard on this journey to do what Lord Elrond had said, to give strength to the Fellowship and to the Ring-bearer when they themselves became too weak or discouraged. But now, with Nazgul closing in around them and the impossible journey to Mordor they still had to make, she wasn't sure if she even believed in herself anymore.

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"All right," Brerwyn agreed. "It sounds like the party is winding down anyway. If we can't find them, we can just ask in the morning." She went to reach for his hand, but stopped herself just in time, snatching it back and blushing. "Let's go."

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Hours later, Legolas lay awake, unable to rest. The threat he had perceived earlier still lingered in his mind, even more persistent than before. He stood up quietly, careful not to wake his sleeping companions that lay scattered about on the floor of the room. Grabbing his cloak and pulling the hood down low over his head, he wandered out into the night.

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(Hey, I had an idea. . . .what if Colin grabs the Palantir, instead of Pippin? Or would that be messing up the original storyline too much?)

Colin nodded, pretending he hadn't noticed Berwyn's blush. He hoped it wasn't anything he said. Colin adjusted his crutch self-consciously, and began to walk out of the room to his sleeping quarters, or, well, maybe any available space he could find. At the last moment, he looked back at Berwyn, a smile hovering on his face. He had been so lonely for so long, and now it seemed like Berwyn was here to fill the gap in his life.

"See you in the morning!" he called.

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(I like that! In fact, what if they both grab it and fight over it?)

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(Yeah! So, should I post that now, or does Berwyn want to have a little blurb?)

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(I'd say just go right ahead!)

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Colin continued down the hall, turning into his room that he was sharing with Gandalf, Merry and Pippin. The hobbits had become his closest companions on the trip, but now with Berwyn along, that might change. Colin limped past Gandalf, and then stopped, looking down at the wizard. Gandalf's eyes were open, but it looked like he was sleeping. How strange. Colin bent down at an awkward angle, waving his hand back and forth in front of the wizard's eyes. No response. Wizards were queer folk, he did know that. Colin straightened up, taking a step forward away from Gandalf and closer to his bedroll. Too late he noticed a shiny black ball that looked as if it were made of glass, and Colin tripped onto the floor, landing with a dull thump, and his crutch clattering to the ground a few moments later. He barely noticed the glass ball rolling away from him as he struggled to get up, grabbing his crutch and climbing to his knees.

Colin froze, focused on a figure with his back to him standing a few feet away.

"Pippin?" he whispered, cautiously with a hint of nervousness. The hobbit turned halfway to him, and too late Colin noticed that he was holding the black ball he had tripped on.

"What are you doing?" Colin gave a glance to Merry; he was still asleep. Colin looked at Gandalf; he was also still sleeping, for as far as Colin could tell. Pippin looked at Colin almost slyly, walking over to him and grabbing a pot that sat nearby. Quickly, Pippin placed the pot in the exact spot where that glass ball had been. Pippin stood up, and Colin looked at him with a curious yet a bit panicked glance.

"Are you mad?! He's sure to find out. . ."

"I just want to look at it," Pippin countered defensively, kneeling down and putting the glass ball on the ground in front of him. He raised his hands like he were to grab it. "Just one more time. . ."

Colin looked at Gandalf again, more worried than ever. "You've got to put it back!"

Pippin ignored him, lowering his hands on the ball. Colin made a desperate decision: he dived at the hobbit, clutching the glass ball and rolling away with it. Tumbling he went across the room, knowing Pippin was right there, waiting to grab it as he came around again.

"Give it back, Colin!" the hobbit said in a forced whisper, grabbing the ball and yanking Colin up along with it. Both held onto the ball, furiously wrestling for control. But it was soon apparent that the glass ball was somehow forcing them back and forth as neither would relinquish their control. Colin dimly heard a sinister voice whisper in the back of his mind, bringing all those horrible thoughts he had tried to forget to the forefront of his mind. Pippin and Colin bucked and swayed around the room, their hands like glue stuck to the glass ball.

Merry woke up in a fright to see this, and he shouted for Gandalf. "Help! Gandalf! Help!!"

Colin didn't see the room anymore, or even Pippin's face open in a soundless howl, or even the black ball. He was drawn into it's inky, murky depths, coming upon with horror a great, fiery eye that seemed to peer right through him. Colin knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was the Dark Lord, this was Sauron, this was the Necromancer of old. The eye whispered a phrase that Colin would never know, the Black Speech of the dreaded land Mordor. The great eye vanished, laughing cruelly that hit Colin like a swipe from a rusty dagger. In the Dark Lord's place was a burning city, once tall, proud and majestic but now crumbling to bitter ruins in the heat of the engulfing, spreading fire. The scene shifted to a battlefield, the dead grass strewn with blood and corpses and the remains of rusting armor. And Colin saw himself being struck down by a fearsome creature, man-like he was yet not man at all, wearing a great, flowing black robe that billowed in the wind. . .

And then all he saw was darkness, the crushing darkness that threatened to spread over him like a drapery of cold fog.

What Colin didn't know was that somehow, he had let go of the Palantir and was now lying on the stone floor of the room in Edoras, almost as cold as death itself. . .

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Legolas heard movement behind him, but he did not stir, recognizing the presence as Estel's. His friend approached him, taking out his pipe. The two were silent as they looked across the plains of Edoras. The landscape was quiet, almost peaceful, but Legolas knew in his heart that it was only the calm before the storm. The Dark Lord had already begun to regroup his forces. The defeat at Helm's Deep had only stung him, not wounded his efforts as they would have liked. The Eye of the Enemy was once again trained on them, and this time he would strike them with more vengeance than ever before.

"The stars are veiled," he remarked to Estel, not turning to look at him. "Something stirs in the east . . . A sleepless malice." Giving an inward sigh, he turned to face his friend, finally daring to speak aloud what he could not with Amara. Because to bring the words out into the open, to finally give them life, would be to make them real--to give life to what he had hoped so much was not true.

"The Eye of the enemy is moving."

They stood there in silence for a few moments, an unspoken understanding passing between them. The time would soon come for them to make one final stand against Sauron.

The wind picked up suddenly, and Legolas turned in alarm, his voice urgent. "He is here!"

They ran back into the Golden Hall to find a strange, terrifying sight--Colin and Pippin on the ground, eyes wide open and unseeing, fighting over Saruman's Palantir. Aragorn wrenched it from their grasp, reeling backwards and writing in pain as he took it for his own. The glass orb slipped from his hands and rolled towards the wall, where Gandalf threw a blanket over it and it lay still. Immediately, the wild, possessed look in Aragorn's eyes vanished, and they all turned their attention to the two figures lying limp on the floor.

"Fool of a Took!"

Unbeknownst to them, Brerwyn had entered the room during all the commotion, having stayed overnight with her family in what had once been her mother's chambers when she lived in the Golden Hall herself. She stood a distance away, looking frail and wraithlike in her long white nightgown, but when Gandalf approached the boy and the Hobbit, the girl seemed to come to life again. She ran forwards, darting around Legolas and Aragorn and falling to the ground beside Colin. "What have you done?" she asked softly, sounding both angry and frightened. "Please, sir, please help him!" she pleaded.

Legolas looked first at the child, and then at the glassy eyes of his companions. It was impossible to tell whether they were alive or dead. Gandalf placed his hand on Pippin's forehead, muttering something, and the Hobbit gave a gasp, trembling. Turning, Gandalf began to revive Colin as well...

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Amara had been in the same room as Eowyn and a few other women, resting her eyes. But, suddenly... She felt a familiar presence close by. It was Sauron! She quickly jumped up from her spot on the floor and ran into the room where the rest of the Fellowship had been sleeping. Her eyes widened at the scene before her. Pippin and Colin were on the floor trembling with glossy eyes; staring at nothing. She then quickly looked over to Aragorn, who was wincing in pain as if he had touched fire with his bare hands. She was confused. Then, it hit her. The Palantir.

Looking to Legolas, she let her eyes scan over his body to make sure that he wasn't harmed in any way, before hurrying over to Pippin. She kneeled down beside him and cradled him in her arms, as if he were a child. "Gandalf! Forgive me." Pippin mumbled to the wizard. Amara swallowed hard and looked over the poor Hobbit's sweaty face. He looked straight at the ceiling and never once at anyone else. "Look at me! What did you see?" She spoke to Pippin, as Gandalf continued to tend to Colin. Disjointed, Pippin started to speak, "A tree... There was a white tree... It was in a courtyard of stone. It was dead!" He exclaimed. "The city was burning..." He added softly. Gandalf then looked over to her and Pippin. "Minas Tirith? Is that what you saw?" He asked Pippin urgently. Pippin slowly looked to Gandalf, terrified. "I saw... I saw him. I could hear his voice in my head." Pippin replied. "And what did you tell him? Speak!" Gandalf said, starting to get a bit upset. "He asked me my name, but I didn't answer. He hurt me..." Pippin said sadly.

Gandalf stared at Pippin and Amara with frightening intensity. "What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?" Gandalf asked Pippin, nervously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the loud screeching from the Nazgul ensued, Sam and Gollum lead Frodo and Arabella to the stairs. Above Minas Morgul, the sky brightened with light, as the city erupted. "Hide! Hide!" Gollum exclaimed, hurrying up the stairs to the very top. Sam sunk to the ground with Frodo and Arabella, holding their hands against their ears. Then, out of the city came a rending screech. Shivering, rising swiftly to a piercing pitch beyond the range of hearing. The terrible cry finally ended, falling back through a long sickening wail... To silence. Frodo slowly raised his head and saw, across the narrow valley, directly opposite of them, the Lord of the Nazgul was there - the Witch King himself. Suddenly, he rose up out of the Dead City on his fell-beast. As the Witch King settled on the battlements of Minas Morgul, his dark head turned this way and that, sweeping the shadows with unseen eyes - as if he sensed the Ring.

Frodo then suddenly broke out into a cold sweat. He squeezed his eyes shut, clutching at his shirt as if it was on fire. He looked between Arabella and Sam nervously. "I can feel his blade!" He exclaimed while gasping. Just then, cavernous gate of Minas Morgul swung open and a huge army marched out. Rank upon rank of armor clad Orcs moved swiftly and silently, passing close to Frodo, Sam and Arabella in an endless stream of ragged columns. 75,000 Orcs marched to war, just below the group of Hobbits. The Witch King suddenly swooped down the valley to join the head of his army. He then vanished into the gloom - a shadow into shadow.

Gollum peered out from his stony hiding place and then looked to the Hobbits. "Come, hobbits. We climb - we must climb!" He urged the three of them. So, they then started to climb the rest of the stony stairs, high above the marching army.

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Colin awoke with a shudder, staring up into Gandalf's concerned eyes blankly.

"What did you see?" the wizard asked him, and Colin tried to focus on Gandalf's face. He shuddered, closing his eyes and trying to block out the last image he had seen. Gandalf shook him by the shoulder, and Colin was forced to look up into the weather-beaten, old but wise face.

"I'm going to die," Colin whispered, and something about the way he said that implied he knew it wouldn't be from age, or even sickness.

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BUMP (?)

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MAJOR BUMP.

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Oh my goodness, do my eyes deceive me? Amara is back??

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Amara! Yay! Do you guys want to continue this, or is that a silly question?

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I would love to join ...

Name: Alatáriël Telemnar

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Physical Appearance: Red head, Emerald green slim, 170 cm, she always been confused with supermodels...

Race in ME: Elf

Love Connection?: Legolas

Weapons: Bow and Arrow but great with swords too.
History: -I have not thought of it yet-.

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I MISS YOU GUYS!

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I'm here, if you still want to continue!!

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