Ching!

The clash of two swords colliding reverberates through the air. Quickly accompanied by a thud, and immediately after a laugh. The crunch of footsteps, a slight grunt, more crunches, and the whooshing sounds of blades swung through air.

Sheeeeeng!

Another clash, but without a thud to follow. More whooshes and whishes follow, with the occasional clang of swords meeting. Suddenly, there are two quick metal clinks and another thud. And strangely a second, louder thud too. All topped with an exasperated groan and a booming laugh.

The Fellowship has stopped for lunch on a rocky outcropping. This in turn was situated on a small hill in the middle of a valley. In the distance, the valley floor dramatically rises as the earth hardens into formidable mountains. Despite being summer, a few were capped by a little snow. Gandalf eyes these mountains warily.

Kakring!

Elsa looks up from the book in her hands, The Silmarillion, A History of Middle Earth, a tome Elrond lent her, to observe Boromir leading another lesson of basic sword fighting with Merry and Pippin. Although from her point of view it appeared more of play fighting than actual swordplay. As Merry stooped to grab his sword, Elsa decided to observe and determine what he had learned over this past week.

Her smile over the initial amusement of watching the little hobbit attempt to wield what may have been a cleaver to him quickly morphed into a frown at his childish endeavors of swinging the sword with reckless abandon. She became slightly incensed that Boromir appeared to care little of this amateurish fighting that would surely get him killed. After another wide swing that caused the sword to fly out of his again, Elsa had enough.

"You'll never survive a fight with a stance like that." Merry, Pippin, and Boromir cease their 'swordplay' to give curious stares towards her. Aragorn, who had been watching while smoking, became intrigued that Elsa was giving advice on swordsmanship, of all topics.

"So what say you, then, to Merry, to improve his sword?" Aragorn stands and snuffs his pipe, and strolls lazily over to become more involved in the conversation.

Elsa responds quickly, Merry's biggest flaw at the forefront of her mind, and tongue, "You never set your feet properly. At the least, you are unable to put any power behind your swing. At worst, it allows your opponent to read you like a book." She's now walking towards Merry. She pauses momentarily to pick up the sword and toss it back to Merry, who fumbles it a bit before catching it. With a flurried, glowing blue motion, Elsa forms an ice sword in her left hand, and sets herself into a side-facing stance.

Over the next few minutes, Elsa demonstrates a surprisingly wide variety of basic techniques to Merry and Pippin on simple sword fighting and self-defense; granted Boromir had already attempted to teach a few of them. Surprising being the reactions of the actual warriors of the group, who previously assumed that Elsa primarily utilized her ice and snow as means of combat. By the conclusion, the entire fellowship was watching her tactile movements.

"It seems our Queen is full of surprises not related to ice and snow." Gimli is sporting what appeared to be a wide grin, but his luscious facial hair made it hard to tell.

Elsa, startled at first by his voice, blushes slightly as she realizes how engrossed into her demonstration she delved. With a blue flurry the sword dissipates into the wind, which blows it directly into Frodo.

"Ack!" He sputters and swats at his head and upper torso to knock off the snowflakes.

Elsa finds herself caught between apologizing and stifling a giggle. It comes off as a non-serious, "S-sorry", that is an octave higher than her normal speaking tone, stuttered by her chuckles. Frodo glares temporarily at her, but the sight of her embarrassment he finds himself laughing with her.

When their short high jinks dies down, Boromir approaches with a peculiar look on his face: a mix of incredulousness and the appearance of being impressed, "Lady Elsa, for what need does a sorceress of winter have of swordplay?"

Elsa's glee is dampened by the inquiry, as though it drew up troubling memories. "I learned the hard way that there are instances in which a steel blade is a more useful weapon than my magic. They are rare, but it's best to always be prepared." Her frown quickly flips to a smirk, "Besides, I find it rather exhilarating at times and great exercise. However, my duties prevent me from practicing the more complicated movements, so I'm actually no better than a paladin." She chuckles at her own admission.

"What experience was so bad as to make you take up swordplay?"

"It wasn't one event in particular, just all the assassination attempts."

Those that are nearby to Elsa immediately cease their conversations, heads whipping towards Elsa as her statement registers in their heads. A lull moment passes through the group, as they are bewildered by her admittance. Eventually, a few of them simultaneously ask the question on everybody's mind, "Assassination…?"

"Three in one month to be precise. But since my training, and raised amount of guards, they seldom occur anymore. Last one was over five months ago." Elsa glances at the befuddled faces before her, "What?"

"It's just…who would want to kill such a kind and lovely Queen as you?" Sam's question is accompanied with a smile, but his confusion makes his upward curled lips lukewarm at best.

Nonetheless, still unaccustomed to the formal compliments occasionally spoken by the more polite/noble members, Elsa blushes slightly at the question, "Oh…uh, thank you." The blush lessens, but is still visible as she continues more authoritatively, "But to answer your question, mainly just religious nutjobs who claimed my abilities were evil witchcraft or that I was in with Satan and such."

Once again, she is met with more confused looks, "You know, Satan, the Devil, the most infamous sinner in the world." The only reaction is wary glances between each other, still confused and wondering if anybody else knows who or what this 'Satan' is. Gandalf wonders if his analysis that she's likely talking about her world's equivalent to Morgoth is accurate. Elsa groans as she realizes another aspect of her world that needs exposition.

Her beginning of Satan's perceived role in the main three monotheistic religions, primarily the modern interpretations of Christianity, was immediately shot down and delayed by the general consensus of nobody know what Christianity is. The resulting backtrack eventually kept repeating itself as Elsa discovered the necessity to explain practically every aspect of the major monotheistic religions and their influence on her world and its history. Having never encountered a situation of explaining the most populous religion in the world, Elsa would occasionally add some personal comments into her narration on aspects about the religion on instances in which she suddenly realized were rather ridiculous. Eventually, even a few of the fellowship members, who were still listening, could point one out.

"So these people believe their God is a being who, among other things, can create life out of nothing, and yet when they meet one capable of the same, if your accounts on Olaf and…Marshmallow, are correct, they suddenly desire to rid of you? I'm surprised more of them aren't bowing at your feet." Quipped Legolas, one of the longer comments so far. To his right, Gandalf nods in agreement while thinking to himself how Eru would react to another individual of, while not even remotely close, similar powers in regards to life.

"Don't even get me started on those individuals. I swear sometimes they're even worse." If it was possible, Elsa managed to groan the entirety of the last sentence. This caused those listening to immediately imagine Pippin and his thing for breakfasts.

"Um…worse?" Was all Frodo could manage, struggling to picture a scenario where fervent devotees could be worse than assassins.

"With assassins, it's simple. They think they can kill me, they fail, they are punished, and that's the end of it. But the people who bow at my feet, and not because I'm a Queen…" She pinches her nose, "All they manage to do is open up a can of worms that I can never do anything about." She had stated this while keeping her eyes closed from the nose pinch, and thus failed to notice another round of confused eye glances.

"Just what…does a can of worms have in relation to these…worshippers?" Even Gandalf, best present with word play, was confused by the idiom.

Elsa slowly raises her head, but at first glance at the confused looks, groans again. Our language and cultural differences are going to be the death of me. She sighs before facing Gandalf, "Sorry, another euphemism. I guess a different method to describe it would be the arguments, gossip, and other such nonsense that burst forth whenever anyone tries to compare me to a God. Quite frankly they are the worst discussions I've ever had to deal with."

A collective 'Ah', and some nods resounded through the group. Granted, this didn't relieve Elsa of her over exaggerated stress, but at least the discussion could move forward, for now.

And it would have, too, had it not been for a peculiar comment by Legolas. "I see birds, in the distance. A large flock of them. Black. And heading in our direction." All glanced towards him before following his eyes. But since none were capable of matching his sight, these 'birds' appeared as nothing more than a speck. A speck that was moving remarkably fast. Gandalf furrows his brow, studying the speck as it enlarges into wavy, shimmering, and rippling cloud of black. With quick realization of its true nature, he shouts a warning,

"Crebain! Spies of Saruman! Hide!"

A momentary lull falls over the group, before all scamper to find a covered spot. Even Elsa, who found trouble comprehending how birds could work as spies. She manages to secure a location under an unusually thick bush. As quickly as their commotion had begun, all is silent. The silence continues until a whispering thum could be heard. Within a matter of seconds the thum had increased into a voracious roar as a whirl of birds swarm the rocky outcropping. Circling endlessly and with no clear direction. If any of the fellowship had seen such a sight, they would have compared this situation to a school of fish.

The constant flapping of hundreds upon thousands of wings quickly drives up the temperature. Elsa is reminded of that Sauna Anna dragged her to. What was it again? Oaken's Wandering Trading…Shop? Outlet? Store for Crazy Mountain and Ice Men? She didn't understand why this memory was occurring at such a tense moment, but now she was lost in thought on just how she learned that ice towels weren't as multifaceted as she assumed.

Poor Anna.

Then an idea sparked in her head. Maybe I should follow these birds. Wonder if they'll notice another one trailing them. Thus, under the bushy cover, she started twirling her hands around a sphere of air. Gradually, piece by piece, as she pursued exact replication, she crafted a small swallow of ice. Next, which surprised her with the innate amount of delicacy that she did not anticipate, she molded the bird to become translucent.

Now little one, listen closely. Once these birds have left us I want you to follow them to their master. Observe all that you can and report back to me. I am not sure how much you find could be useful, but it will be better than nothing. As Elsa finishes her instructions, the spies circle once more before flying off quicker than they arrived. Elsa bides her time until she's confident the crebain will not spare a glance backwards. And if one did, that it could locate a miniscule shimmer of light. To ensure this, she pokes her head out of cover and glances around. Exactly as the first spotting was, the flock is nothing more than a speck. Now, go my child. The ice swallow nods, and shoots off into the air. In mere moments not even Elsa or Legolas would be capable of spotting it.

Wait…'my child'? Where did that come from? Elsa shakes her head to clear her thoughts as she rises from her hidden position. Only to find the hobbits gathered right in front of her. Merry, Sam, and Frodo were giving her puzzled looks, but Pippin, ever the ecstatic hobbit, was the first to inquire,

"Was that an ice bird you just released? That's wonderful." Elsa couldn't help but smile at the awe he was spotting. Anna would be jealous.

"Of course it was a bird, nothing else could fly like that." Sam's curt response could be considered harsh, if it weren't for Pippin's apparent indifference.

"What kind of bird was it? A crow? Small eagle? Perhaps a raven? Or what about a-" Pippin is approaching rambling mode quite rapidly before a thought occurred that stopped him in his tracks. This is apparent to all, as his face literally freezes mid-sentence. "Wait, why did you send out a bird?"

"Well, first, yes, it was a bird. A swallow, in fact. And two, why should Saruman be the only one with spies? Granted, a flock of ice birds would definitely be noticeable."

"A swallow? But why? Even when unladen it's air speed terminal velocity isn't that fast." Merry has suddenly engaged in the eagerness of Pippin in this conversation, much to the latter's delight.

"You're thinking of the swallows of the shire Merry. I've heard the swallows of Gondor are much faster. Quicker than all but the eagles Bilbo told us about."

"Perhaps, but I'd bet a week's worth of pipe-weed that the swallows we know are stronger. I even saw one carrying a coconut once."

"A coconut! Are you mad? A seven ounce bird cannot carry a one pound coconut. The weight ratio would prevent if from leaving the ground." For a bizarre reason that he will never be able to explain, Sam rejoined the conversation. And before anyone could do a thing about it, all three became engaged in a quite ridiculous argument about swallows.

Elsa and Frodo only manage to stare at this near menagerie of a discussion.

"Frodo is this a…comedy routine?"

Frodo, concurrently having the same thoughts, can only muster a shake of his head and a weak, "Not that I'm…aware of."

"Right." Elsa straightens herself even further, if that were possible, "I am going to go now." And she turns to walk away. As to where, she doesn't care. Wherever or whoever her eyes land on first. They didn't even bother to consider that my swallow could be from outside Middle Earth. Besides, I'm sure my icy European Swallow is much cuter than any here…wait what? As she walks, okay, perhaps scampers away, she can't help but hear another couple ludicrous and pointless statements.

"Perhaps if two of them carried it."

"What, on a piece of bark or string?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After a discussion amongst Gandalf, Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn, and Boromir, whose knowledge of the surrounding lands extensive, the decision was made to traverse over the peak of Caradhas, as the route to the south would be smothered with spies. Gimli argued voraciously, to the annoyance of Legolas, that a better path was through the mines of Moria, as his fellow dwarves and family would be delighted to host them and provide safe passage. Strangely, Gandalf was strongly dismissive of the underground possibility, and refused to consider the option. Thus, the fellowship was currently traversing along a path parallel to the base of the Misty Mountains.

Mid-afternoon colors had started to paint the sky. The blue meticulously fading away as orange, pink, and even some purples gradually licked the edges of the horizon and spread westward. The air was pleasant and occasionally a calm wind would blow by to gently tussle with whatever it encountered.

Well, gently for all those who enjoyed the soft breeze, anyway. There was a lone exception: one woman in an ice dress and train whose frustration grows with each new bluster.

"Oh for crying out loud!" Once more, her dress has been uncomfortably crumpled by the wind. In addition, the train has wrapped around her face and neck before looping up and over her face. If anything, it appears as a rather awkward looking bridal veil. Elsa brusquely unwraps it and throws it back over her shoulder.

"I swear, if that damn wind blows by one more time-" She is, of course, interrupted by another breeze which flips the train right back to its previous position adorning Elsa's twitching face. She musters every bit of self-control to hold in what would have been a fairly loud explicative. Even then, it manages to escape in an angry whisper, "Screw. This." Wiping the scowl off her face, she rips the cloth of her face before addressing her group.

"Pardon me, but can we stop for a moment? I desire a change of clothes." Currently located at the back, she would have found it rather humorous to see all nine men stop and turn to face her with a mix of embarrassed and perplexed stares, if not for the anger boiling under her skin.

"You desire to alter your attire…now? In an open field?" inquired Aragorn, who happened to be standing closest. While he was aware of her grunts and mumbling over the past few minutes, he still considered her request to be, his training as a ranger kicking in, an open invitation to be attacked.

"I assure you this will take mere moments."

"But what about…" Aragorn's next question is halted by another shocking display of Elsa's powers. Namely she actually was going to change in the middle of a field. Him, and the other eight men watching, all thought to immediately turn away, so at the least she could gain a modicum of privacy. To their horror, and joy, her glowing blue magic was simply too enchanting to accomplish this.

Yet all of those previous emotions were abruptly crushed under confusion once again. From what could be gleaned, Elsa's dress was shimmering at every edge. With a simple flick of her wrist, the dress started contorting itself in every which direction. The slit on her leg sealed itself, the area around her collarbone rose up to cover all below her neck, and the train dissolved into the wind. Another peculiar aspect of this sequence is every piece appeared to thicken considerably. And with a flurry of infinite ice crystals swirling over her body, combined with another shimmer, she is finished.

Elsa was pleased to admit she had outdone herself. Being unaccustomed to travel attire, she never happened upon an occasion to craft clothes designed for comfort over style. Mix this and her lack of experience with traveling on foot in general, she decided to wing it rather than relying on her observations of others. And her results are, all ice: thick, dark blue, mid-calf high boots whose soles can mold to any environment on which it steps; navy blue trousers with a line of white going down each side, that perfect mix of formfitting tightness but still flexible and loose enough for strenuous activities, and a couple pockets; a simple, plain, icy blue shirt with the sleeves cut off at the elbows; a snow white vest an inch thick with three buttons; and to top it all of, a powder blue, wide brimmed panama hat with an ice feather sticking out. Because why not? Elsa thinks to herself as she adjusts the hat.

Glancing forward, she instantly blanches at finding herself in another situation in which she is the center of dumbfounded looks. Putting on a more dignified face, she approaches the group, who are still silent, "I want to ask 'what?', but I'm pretty sure I already know why." She continues walking, and soon finds herself at the front of the group, who remain stagnant, some with mouths agape. When she notices only her footsteps, she pauses, sighs, and gives in to her curiosity, "What?"

"Elsa, just what can't you do with your ice? First that bird and now this?" questions Boromir, the first to find words mainly due to his distaste towards the hat. A silly reason if anyone else were to know.

"Hmmm…I have yet to find out." She smirks as the last word leaves her mouth. Holding her chin, she looks up, pondering if she ever truly has met her limit. Even my castle wasn't that hard to create. It was actual more difficult to hold back on those guards. "But I hope that I needn't discover it soon, or during a time of crisis." Taking another look at the group, who have finally started to recover their senses, she turns to walk forward.

Gandalf sighs and adjusts his own hat. He slowly walks off farther down the path, lost in his thoughts over Elsa's last quip. Oh Elsa, it is in times of crisis in which limits are often met.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The fire crackles on its last embers, the long night consuming the flames final breaths. A murky dark indigo blankets the sky, thick, ominous clouds blocking any light from penetrating through. Only Legolas can see farther than half a kilometer. The perfect conditions to unleash a ferocious storm, if not for the utter, eerie, stillness that perpetuates that land and air.

The fellowship has made camp half an hours walk from the base of the path up Caradhas, the risk too high of being sighted to actually camp at said beginning. Eight members are currently fanned around the fire, resting, their sleeping rolls providing soothing comfort. The other two members who remain conscious have worry etched into their faces, but for differing reasons. Gimli was taking watch, concerned for the safety of his allies, but also eager for a fight. Him and his axe we're itching for some action.

The other member still awake is one Elsa, who finds herself under the grip of paranoia, but not in fear of her powers. Conflict wrought her inner thinking, as she found relief in her confidence to control herself, her senses couldn't halt their twitchiness at the thought of knowing something will go wrong. Gimli has been keeping watch since nightfall and we have heard nothing of danger. And my trip lines have yet to be broken. For extra precaution, Elsa had laid down two fine circles of ice on the ground, well beyond their range of vision, which could be easily shattered when stepped on. The moment part of said ice breaks, Elsa is immediately alerted to its location, but only if she's conscious. If dreaming, the signal is delayed significantly, but still rings through. And yet…I am unable to shake this feeling that an attack is on the horizon…or something like that. I can't even see the horizon.

As if on cue, her senses perk up to a hoof splintering part of the outer ring. She rises quickly, and before she can shout a warning another part of the ring is trampled on. Within a moment, dozens of hooves have passed through her detector at a rapid rate.

"Intruders!" Shout she and Gimli simultaneously, the dwarf's senses picking up the thundering herd a second after Elsa's ice. Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas are the first to spring up, weapons drawn in a smooth motion. The hobbits are not as agile in their rising, clambering up with the delicacy of a hung-over drunk.

Gandalf, who had mysteriously moved to the forefront of the camp without drawing the attention of even the fellowship, was holding his staff high and muttering incantations in an ancient language. The staff flashes a brilliant blast of light as the surrounding land brightens to a near day-like brightness.

It is then the fellowship spots their foes: dozens of men garbed in black cloaks riding upon dark steeds with glowing red eyes. Lances, swords, bow and arrows, clubs, and even a few maces clutched in their raised hands as they charge towards the fellowship with murderous fervor.

"Night Riders!" Shouts Gandalf as he draws his sword, preparing for the advancing hoard.

While the Fellowship tenses at the name, Elsa feels a strong urge for a dramatically different response, "How appropriate." She mutters under her breath in complete deadpan. I mean, really? Night Riders? Who attack at night? Are they even trying to be obscure and/or original?

Legolas is the first to strike, his arrow downing a rider near the head of the pack. Within rapid succession he takes down two more before Elsa rushes in front of him, her hands glowing with the brilliant blue magic.

She hears shouts calling for her safety, but they are ignored as she readies herself to halt the advancing enemies. Raising one of her boots, she slams it into the ground as ice rapidly spreads in front of her and towards the riders. Before her enemies can make of what is happening, horses are falling on top of each other as they struggle to secure grip on the suddenly slippery ground. As the men are struggling to regain composure, with or without their steed, Elsa blasts the magic in her hands forward to a spot right in front of the misshapen men. In a swirl of cold air and snowflakes, a golem of ice rises above all. It's limb thick and angular, joints punctuated with spikes, and a sword and shield at the end of each arm. Its eyes are an eerie blue that glows from an internal source. Boromir would later note it being as tall as a cave troll. With a roar the snow warrior charges forward and swings at the first men who attempt to attack it.

Back at the camp, the members of the fellowship are readily impressed by the quick turn around Elsa has caused. Even with Elsa, they would not believe it possible to stop a charge as thunderous as that in such a rapid fashion. Before they can give short accolades, though, they are surprised to find Elsa quickly running back. As she reaches the middle of the encampment, she stops to give a quick grin to the standing still members. "I think that's good enough for now, right? The rest of you can take over, that's just fine by me." She gives a half-hearted laugh at the end of her…request, per say.

A collective blink goes around the group, followed by exchanged glances and shrugs. Gimli starts patting his axe upon his hand, growling with anticipation, "Well what are we waiting for? The snow beast needs our hands." With a roar, he rushes off to meet the riders, who have started to gather their wits and restart the assault. Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas follow quickly behind. The hobbits begin a charge of their own before Gandalf's booms a command,

"Elsa, remain here and protect the hobbits!" The four Halflings shout in protest, but he is already out of range. They deign to ignore him, and start running anyway, but before them a waist high wall of ice rises and surrounds the camp. Merry turns to protest,

"Oh come on Elsa, let us fight! We're ready!"

"Orders are orders Merry, and I am not going to let any of you get harmed on my watch. Besides…" with a smirk, she raises her hands as a blue flourish surrounds them. A sharp edged, translucent, two-foot tall long bow forms in her hands, "I'm more of a distance fighter anyway." She draws back an icy arrow, squints into the distance, and releases. The flying icicle shoots through the air, zipping past many heads and limbs, and successfully embeds itself into…the ground.

Elsa momentarily stares at her miss, wondering where her target went, shrugs it off and pulls back again, an arrow shimmering into existence. This time her aim is true, and one horse that has managed to stagger to its feet is promptly back down with a shattered and frozen metatarsus.

"Should we even ask when she learned archery?" Considering all they can do is spectate, Pippin has quickly grown bored and decided that a bit of commentary would be fun, even if this includes speculation.

He's smacked in the back of the head by Sam, whose face is scrunched up much more than the others in the face of battle, "Later Pip. For now, it's best if we shut it and lay low." Pippin shoots him a glare and readies a retort, but Merry prevents him by slapping a hand over his mouth and forcing him to the ground.

Through the ice wall, the battle is a blue blur. The hobbits can vaguely make out the four warriors slaying the riders in the distance, the whirl of blades, axes, and the occasional arrow flourishing in motion. The flaying of blood is surreal through the ice, constantly ebbing and flowing in color and texture. Gandalf's staff periodically sends out a burst of light; which shimmers the ice into a rainbow display of the battle. The two things that are not obvious for the hobbits to view are the Elsa's arrows and the ice golem. Originally, the golem was nothing more than a lumbering mass of blue near indistinguishable from the ice. But as the battle wears on and his body count rises, the blood he accumulates on his sword and shield start to glow as before dulling into a boorish red blob. Frodo's favorite sight, if favorite could be considered the accurate word, is when Elsa occasionally hits her target and the resulting blue burst makes for a pretty firework. He would have loved the sight if not for his knowledge of what actually happened and the piercing screams that follow.

However, the aggressive line can't be held forever, and the four warriors and a wizard who charged to the forefront are forced to steadily retreat in order to maintain a secure position. In the very midst of their foes, the ice golem is on its last leg, literally. Hopping around on its one good foot makes for an awkward, yet effective fighting strategy, as those who try to take it down are afraid of being hopped on and squashed. Eventually, one of the riders is able to smash a mace into the remaining knee, and the golem topples to the ground, in which its arms are hacked off and the head decapitated, albeit after numerous attempts.

Elsa flinched when her golem caved in. Even though all of her ice creations contained a separate will, she still experienced pain when they ceased. She spotted the main culprit and started her own assault on the man, her ice arrows flying incessantly. She cared little for her aim; for as long as she kept firing, she was sure of her success. That and her ammo is ice arrows, limitless 'dakka' (as she once heard Anna describe it), as long as she remained standing.

Her focus on hitting this particular target is a mistake.

In her left ear she briefly detects a fwip sound. Before she can react, searing pain pierces her left arm. In a cry of agony that briefly deafens the battle, she collapses to her knees clutching her arm. Except, to her surprise, her hand holds a shaft. Looking down to find the source of her pain, Elsa's eyes nearly pop out of sockets at the sight of an arrow embedded in her arm. And for a moment, the shock renders her helpless.

Had Frodo not noticed the injured Elsa, the next arrow would likely have penetrated her skull. Luckily for the both of them, he was able to act quickly enough to drag her off her perch and into cover. Unluckily for Elsa, the landing drove the arrow further into her arm.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!" For a brief moment, the pain is nearly unbearable, and she wants nothing more in the world for it to stop. And to her great relief, it does. The urge to laugh at the release from pain is great, but all she can manage is gasping in huge breaths of air.

As she calms down, luck still apparently on her side, as none of the riders seem to be aware of her new location. She readies herself to launch a counterattack. Using her right arm to support herself, she focuses on creating her ice sword with her left arm.

Nothing happens.

Frowning, she attempts her magic again.

Nothing happens.

Biting her lip, she stares at her left arm, shaft still lodged in her triceps, and focuses all of her willpower to just get her left arm to move.

Nothing happens.

The battle has suddenly become distant, a forgotten conflict in Elsa's state of mind. Her breathing has increased; her heartbeat is beating like a hammer in her ears, each pulse of blood thumping underneath her skin. Her eyes are wide with horror, as she cannot comprehend her arm's lack of movement. Move damn it! Move! I need you now! NOW! MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!

Nothing happens.

Lost in her panic, Elsa is unaware of Frodo attempting to fight off a rider. Her focus is only on her arm. She ignores the thud of the Halfling's body being tossed aside. She ignores the scarred and gaunt man who slowly approaches her. She ignores everything but her unresponsive arm.

Until she feels a sharp pull on her scalp.

"AAACK!" She's yanked backwards, her unfocused attention broken by the sudden action. Looking up, she finds herself face to face to a quite hideous man who could make the Duke of Weasel Town look charming.

"Well well well, so you're the one Saruman wants. Oooohhhh ha ha ha ha, we're going to have ourselves a right good amount of fun with yoooouuuu, pretty one."

Before Elsa can struggle, she feels a sharp, cool object placed directly against her jugular.

"Now now little one, we want you alive. Oh yes. While perhaps not unharmed, I get a great reward for bringing you with your head attached." He licks his lips as he studies her, a drop of saliva splashing onto her face. "Maybe two if I take my timmme."

Instincts taking over at the sound of his implication, her one good hand flashes toward the blade, and before the rider can even react, she has grabbed it, frozen it solid, and shattered it to pieces. However, the rider still has control over Elsa.

"Oh you little bitch!" He slams her face into the ground. The forceful thud jars her senses and leaves Elsa momentarily motionless. The rider drags her face to level with his, "You may have escaped that blade, but I will make sure you are unable to perform your ice sorcery again!" He slams his knee into her chest, forcing the wind out of her lungs. Coughing for air, she's vaguely aware of the rider reaching for a dagger at his side.

Across the battlefield, Aragorn is the first to arrive back at the camp. After he slices down one of the riders by letting the man's Adams apple go free, his next opponent approaches. A huge beast of a man rippling with muscles and wielding a gigantic claymore towers over the ranger. Had it not been for the long hair and surprisingly striking features, he would have assumed a small troll was facing off against him. Nevertheless, Aragorn raises his sword and prepares his defense. The rider, a bloodthirsty warrior who has felled countless foes, laughs as he readies the first swing. With a mighty slash, he brings his horizontal attack right at Aragorn's blade.

Even if Aragorn had a hundred more years to train, nothing could have prepared him for the ferocity of this man's attack. While all weapons, armor, and his own body remained intact from the blow, he was still sent flying backwards. With a mighty crunch he lands forcefully against the ground. But to Aragorn's surprise, he finds no part of him is broken. Instead, it is the dead rider from before that he has landed on which has produced the sickening noise.

I cannot fight this man with my sword. Either I, or my blade, will shatter under his strength. Glancing at the fallen foe beneath, he spots a discarded quill and arrow. Glancing briefly at his approaching opponent, Aragorn grabs a couple arrows along with the bow, rolls away from the next strike, that which could cleave boulders, rises to one knee, readies his aim, and fire.

His aim is true.

The giant rider is motionless, his sword planted firmly in his fallen companion and the earth, and an arrow going through his nose and sticking out the back of his head. He remains in this position for agonizing moments, before collapsing to the ground with a thunderous crash.

Wiping his forehead, Aragorn readies another arrow and scans the battlefield, seeking his next target. To his horror, he finds Elsa off in the distance in the grasp of one of the riders, and doing nothing about it. The hobbits are nearby, attempting to take down a rider who is blocking them from saving Elsa. In the brief glance he acquires everything he needs to know about her situation: her arm is injured, she is dealing with shock, and is momentarily helpless to stop the man from dragging a dagger down her skin.

In a split second, Aragorn pulls the arrow, aims, and fires with a desperate shout, "ELSA!"

Unbeknownst to him, the rider in question had exceptional hearing, and perked his head up at the random shout of the name Elsa. His eyes quickly widen as he sees an arrow just released from its bow across the battlefield. An arrow aimed directly at him. In a flash, he stops digging his short blade into Elsa's damaged arm, moves his own body out of arrow's flight path, and drags her head up with him.

Right into the arrow's course of direction.