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Middle-earth Adventure Journal! - 39
🕑 Added 2025-10-04 18:40:01 +0000 UTCChapter 39: Repelling
Time seemed to rewind a little.
"Are we just leaving like this?" Gimli grumbled, clearly displeased.
"What else can we do?" Morgan glanced back at the disgruntled dwarf and shrugged. "Neither of us can even see where the enemy is. Even if we could, that thing’s flying in the air. I can’t reach it, not even if I jump. What’s the point of staying?"
"To get in the way?" Gimli snapped.
"Uh..." Morgan was at a loss.
Gimli kicked aside some bones at his feet, then his eyes brightened. "We could secretly follow them. If the captain can’t beat that ghostly thing, I can carry him away during the retreat."
"Bah, bah, bah." Morgan spat three times to the side. "Don’t say such things! The boss can't lose. He’s never lost!"
Though he spoke confidently, his heart churned with unease.
Gimli stared at Morgan with wide eyes. He saw the friendship between Morgan and Aedric ran deeper than mere comradeship; he doubted the Hobbit’s calm exterior.
“How about this,” Gimli continued, trying to persuade Morgan. “We hide far behind the trees, not near their fighting zone, and keep as a reserve. Just in case—”
Seeing Morgan about to object, Gimli hurriedly said, “Don’t rush! I said, ‘just in case.’ If something goes wrong, we can help.”
"Then..." Morgan hesitated but eventually nodded. Still, he warned, "The captain said to stay hidden. Walk softly and don’t expose yourselves."
He muttered, "Wearing chainmail under your clothes—aren't you tired?"
Both secretly retraced their steps. When they arrived, they glimpsed Aedric and Luna’s departing forms. They hurried to follow but were slightly slower, missing Gandalf’s spectacular battle against the three Nazgûl.
As soon as they showed themselves, Gandalf spotted them and issued a task.
Hearing the call, Gimli roared and charged toward the altar of piled bones. The Hobbit followed closely, targeting strange symbols etched in the blood-filled ground trenches.
At that moment, the curved-blade Nazgûl, who had been driven into the wraith-world by Gandalf's lightning, quietly reappeared.
Raising its curved blade, its form flickering, it lunged immediately toward the unsuspecting dwarf and Hobbit.
Clearly, protecting the altar was more important than besieging the wizard.
“Aedric, stop him!” Gandalf shouted.
Without the warning, Aedric had already abandoned aid for the wizard, spotting the pale shadow from the corner of his eye. He trusted Gandalf could handle the Nazgûl with ease.
His left foot muscled and strode heavily on the soft grass, kicking up turf before stopping sharply.
With legs like wind, Aedric closed the distance rapidly. Cold Star hung low in his hand, flashing streams of brilliant starlight, sweeping upward in an arc, striking at the Nazgûl’s lower body.
The shadow floated two or three meters above ground—too high for horizontal swings, while vertical strikes offered little range.
Aedric chose an upward sweep—not elegant, but effective.
Realizing it couldn’t escape, the Nazgûl flipped, head downward, feet upward, gripping the curved blade as a shield with both hands.
Not long before, Aedric’s sword had pierced the Nazgûl’s abdomen. After fleeing, barely recovered at the altar, it was struck again by Gandalf’s lightning-like light, greatly weakening it.
If Aedric struck again recklessly, it would lose the power to affect the physical world for a long time.
The curved blade was magically forged by Sauron himself, capable of shifting between the wraith world and the physical realm.
Thus, the Nazgûl’s weapon could remain invisible except to the keenest eyes.
“Cling!” The blades clashed crisply.
The Nazgûl flickered, floating like a kite. It then raised its blade high, delivering a vicious vertical strike toward Gimli.
Compared to the Hobbit, the dwarf posed a greater threat.
“Gimli!” Aedric shouted.
Reacting faster than thought, Gimli looked up, axe raised, and blocked the descending blade with a clang.
Nearby, Morgan rolled away, drawing a short willow-leaf-shaped sword.
Though buried underground for centuries, the blade remained bright, decorated with red and gold serpents—a weapon forged by the Dúnedain, inscribed with runes that brought harm to evil.
Morgan suddenly recalled their name.
Ringwraiths.
Determined, he drew the gifted sword the captain had given.
But the fear emanating from the Nazgûl weakened his legs. He couldn’t stand, let alone leap.
In desperation, he hurled the sword like a knife toward the Nazgûl.
The blade spun, weaving red and gold light, but struck an invisible barrier with a sharp snap, falling to the ground.
A piercing, agonizing wail erupted, soaring upward like smoke.
An invisible wave rippled outward, shaking surrounding trees violently.
The curved-blade Nazgûl wailed skyward before being squeezed by invisible hands, curling into a tiny shadow.
Then the wave exploded.
Just as the shadow shrank, a mass of malevolent black shadow appeared, like eagle talons snatching the Nazgûl away.
The Nazgûl's form twisted and unraveled like smoke caught in wind. For one heartbeat, Aedric felt an oppressive weight from the east—a distant attention, ancient and terrible—before the wraith vanished entirely.
Sheathing his sword, Aedric turned to support Gandalf.
Gimli swung his axe at the altar, smashing a human skull and kicking away a staff strung with bones, intent on destroying everything.
Morgan watched the twisted dagger he held shrink like a burning branch and turn to ash.
Wincing, he drew his old companion sword, channeling his grief into violent slashes, disrupting the dark symbols on the ground.
The staff Nazgûl shrieked and attacked Gandalf frantically. The axe Nazgûl flickered, attempting to intercept Aedric and Luna before they could reach the wizard.
Then arrows flew with precise timing, disrupting Nazgûl assaults, granting Gandalf precious moments.
Chanting, Gandalf unleashed lightning that scattered the floating axe wraiths.
Aedric charged, sword raised, but the staff Nazgûl vanished before his strike.
Gimli thoroughly smashed the altar; Morgan destroyed the dark symbols.
The forest’s darkness slowly lifted, sunlight filtering through the canopy.
“Phew!” Gandalf sighed, wiping sweat away.
“Alright, they’ve fled.” He smiled, weary but relieved.
“You all hurry and clean up,” he said, pulling out his pipe for some Old Toby.
There was little to clean—the battle with the Nazgûl yielded no loot. Apart from bones and blood, Gimli found a small round black stone at the altar’s base.
Even Gandalf didn’t recognize it but suggested asking Lord Elrond or Lady Galadriel—the greatest sages of Middle-earth.
Of course, the Brandybucks would pay well for the trouble to be resolved. Besides the two gold coins already given to Aedric, there were fifty more offered.
“There’s such a sum? Let’s divide it evenly—ten each for the five of us.” Gandalf smiled.
Even wizards needed money for travel. Gandalf, a wanderer with no salary or fixed home, certainly needed it—lodging, drink, supplies, and horses all cost coin.
Aedric had no objections.
One thing intrigued him. "Gandalf, didn’t you know about this mission before?"
“I didn’t,” Gandalf replied. “I planned to go to Michel Delving for Midsummer—a big festival in the Shire.”
“I thought to rest a couple of days after the gathering, but upon arrival, I heard of the moving willows in Buckland, so I came to investigate.”
Aedric glanced at Gimli. Michel Delving was near; the dwarf caravan might participate in some harvest efforts.
“I see.”
Mentioning the crazed willow, Aedric said, “That willow chased me once, but Goldberry subdued it upstream on the Withywindle. The branch I carry was cut then.”
“That’s quite something.” Gandalf smiled. “Your past self did a great service for the present.”
“Indeed.” Aedric nodded thoughtfully.
He lit his pipe from Gandalf’s fire again and asked, “Why do the Nazgûl strike here? The Hobbits pose no threat to them.”
"You recognized them?" Gandalf sounded surprised but didn’t press the question.
He explained, “The Nazgûl obey their master’s command, but I cannot fathom Sauron’s full intent. Setting up altars here may poison the Brandywine, bringing suffering to both riverbanks’ inhabitants. It could cultivate dark forces, ally with Old Forest trees, conquer Buckland, and spread fear throughout the Shire."
“Honestly, that thought alone gives me a headache no pipe can ease.”
“But,” Gandalf smiled with relief, “we stopped their scheme.”
“Indeed.” Aedric smiled too, blowing smoke rings.
“By the way,” Gandalf said suddenly, setting down his pipe, “I’m curious where that gem on your head came from. Without it, you probably couldn’t see those things.”
“Really?” Aedric was surprised.
He had thought his journal’s gift or the Flowing Water ability might help—but it was the Twilight Gem’s night vision that revealed the invisible.
“Of course.” Gandalf flicked the gem lightly, adding, “My memories are fading, but I remember enough. Use it well—it will serve you greatly.”
With that, the wizard stood, smiling. “Let’s return. Oldbuck will make sure we’re well treated.”
This revision refines dialogue, narration, and pacing for clarity and immersion, aligns strictly with the lore, removes awkward phrasing, and enhances sensory detail and action while preserving all story elements intact.
