"You must wake up!"

Glorfindel!

She jolted back into awareness, an echo fading and falling around her as she lie waiting, caught in the vertigo of the in-between.

She recalled his last rushed words, conveyed with such conviction – concern – she immediately set herself on edge. To be, essentially dragged, out of a waking dream was unheard of. One always retained their sense of self while away. She should have woken at the very moment her instincts sensed something was amiss. Yet it took Glorfindel to realize not all was well.

If he had not been watching, looking so closely, would he too have not noticed?

"Your lips are blue."

Stark white against bold copper.

Frost on her braid.

Eyelids finally snapped open, scanning across pine needles and crowded branches, thankfully still in the same seated position as when she first drifted away.

Though not everything remained just as she left it.

A thin layer of crystallized ice coated all within her sight, transcending the chilled autumn environment into an early winter's playground. Surrounded by white, untouched and pristine, Nárhína stared at the sudden plunge into the frozen ethereal landscape.

Unnatural.

Even as the stray thought left as swift as it came, she knew it to be true. This foray into much colder weather was to be expected – winter did follow autumn – but this quickly and so unexpectedly? No. Something else was at work here.

Sharp crackles pierced the otherwise silent wood as she finally moved, disrupting the protesting sheet of frost that blanketed her body. Twisting, white broken granules puffed gently into the air before floating down, trailing after her muffled trek to the forest floor.

She dropped noiselessly to the ground before sprinting sharply to the left, racing and weaving through tree trunks on her way to Aragorn and camp, all the while watching and listening for something, anything, to make sense of this drastic change.

There were few beings that could invoke such power, none of which should be able to affect them currently. Saruman had both reach and might with his newfound allegiance but they were still too far for anything of major consequence to occur by his hand.

Confused and not usually without answers, she ran faster, disregarding the slight effort it took to remain silent in favor of reaching the rest of the fellowship as soon as possible.

Though what awaited her was something she had not prepared for.

The entire encampment and surrounding area was white – not surprising, given how she had found herself.

It was the many hunched figures draped in black that left her blood scorching through her veins.

The inhuman pace she set never faltered, the ugly crack of breaking limbs at their limit followed as she burst from the tree line, metal ringing in the stagnant space as she drew her swords up over her shoulders. Nárhína spared a quick, single glance to identify Aragorn, sprawled unforgivingly facedown near the outer edge before finally engaging.

Slicing, blades scissoring, an unholy scream cut off halfway as the body careened toward her, its hooded head falling behind.

Skeletal arms and ivory claws reached out as she side-stepped away. Monotone muttering morphed, growing into an aching hum. Shrouded faces turned her way, golden orbs shining too bright, unblinkingly.

"Cold be hand and heart and bone

And cold be sleep under stone–"

No mouths, the tortured chant sparked through them, into the air, into the others as they lie petrified, unmoving – colder as the dark words resonated and sank into their flesh.

"–never more to wake on stony bed–

One screeched, madness and pain as its left hand fell uselessly to the ground near a hobbit, cut off as it neared the prone figure.

–never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead."

Terrible in its draw, they continued to chant. Channeling power through the dead they drew from, wraith-like forms towered over the spelled company, trembling as they moved.

Not of the living, though not dead either, Barrow-wights dwelt in the doorway of worlds, beings of darkness – dirt dwellers and body snatchers – though the lowest tier.

Nárhína feinted right, sword cutting through tatty fabric and slipping between the open lines of its ribcage, she switched her grip and thrust upward. Dull cracks, one after the other in quick succession burst forth as she ripped her blade through the chest cavity and out near the top of its vertebrae.

"Gandalf!" She yelled as she leapt over the dwarf, shoving a wight away, causing it to barrel into another.

While she could effectively dispatch them all on her own – though they seem to be multiplying – it was becoming tedious. They had no body. No flesh, no muscle that she could see, watch, and prepare accordingly as it tensed, giving away their direction. No eyes, only luminous holes, bright, cold, and completely blank. She could not devote the whole of her focus to disposing of the wretched things while also protecting nine others. They were already under a thrall and while not deadly immediately, the longer the wights stayed in proximity to prey, the colder it would get. And if one didn't succumb to freezing temperatures, they would be stolen away to be slaughtered, used as sacrifice.

"In the black wind the stars shall die–

"Gandalf!" Light! We need light!

–and still be gold here let them lie–"

With little thought to anything else, Narhina turned, her braid whipping across her body with the force of her twist as she swung a single blade down the rocks that outlined the fire pit – whose flames had long since been extinguished.

A short surge of sparks appeared with the grating sound, the strength of her hit causing barely enough friction with the frost.

But barely enough was plenty.

With a roar that sucked the air from her lungs, a great blazing column of fire shot into the sky, molded from her will alone.

Like water hitting heated rock, the Barrow-wights hissed in the molten glow of firelight but they did not move, did not falter in their resolve.

She cursed inwardly, not enough after all.

To become brighter, her fire would need to burn hotter. Even now the ice crystals were melting from the surrounding company – to raise the temperature, just for a brighter flame, would be putting them at risk.

She needed Gandalf but none of them would wake until the wights and their magic were gone.

Or until something stronger took its place.

She cringed, knowing there was no other option.

Forgive me.

She turned inward, searching, calling, and even with her reluctance, even after centuries of unuse – it came. Slinking through her center, the heart of her, it edged up ever so slowly before nestling like a hot coal in her throat. 

"Eccoita!" Awake!

The Power burned. Seared her vocal chords as the syllables sizzled upon her tongue before exploding outward, impacting with an unforgiving gong that reverberated through the bleak black and shook the very air.

The wizard came to with the rage of one cornered in battle with nothing left. Rising with a quickness that belied his mortal shell, she swiftly met the ground as he stood tall.

A fireball roared overhead, consuming a wight that had crept behind her in a window of perceived opportunity in an endeavor to steal a hobbit.

However, she had no doubt that attack was meant for her.

"Remember yourself!" She had prepared for this outcome, though not as drastically as it happened. To do what she did, channeling Power to control, to order, was inherently dark. Taken from its raw form and warped, infected, it was created in its darkest aspect as a tether, a way to circumvent free will.

Using something she would prefer to leave alone – for it is both as terrible and wonderous as a sip of water at the peak of thirst – she had fundamentally forced Gandalf out of the hypnotizing chant of the wights, the dark Power clashing with his light even as he obeyed.

Inadvertently throwing a veteran of war back into long forgotten memories.

"Barrow-wights!" She yelled from across the circle.

Still prone on the ground next to the still blazing tower of fire, she noticed that while he still didn't seem completely Gandalf, he appeared to understand the situation and instead of attacking her again right away, he turned his attention to the gathering of cloaked skeletal phantoms.

Blue eyes flashed, magic humming, pressure building and thickening the atmosphere as the wizard raised his staff above his head.

"Be gone, specters!" His shout was drowned out by inhuman screams, not unlike those of the Nazgûl, as he drove the end of his wooden stave against the frost tipped earth and the clearing was bathed in a white radiance that lasted just long enough for a shadow to disappear.

When she could no longer sense the presence of dead-things, she uncovered her eyes and began to form both a thank you and an apology.

But her body jerked before the she could think on it further, moving on instinct – just as an arrow pierced the soil where she had lain.

Cursing under her breath, Nárhína twirled around, balanced on the balls of her feet as she plucked the arrow from the ground. She took what little time she had to adjust the stolen weapon in her grip before launching herself over the fire, through the still towering flames.

The orange and yellow glow nearly died out as the fire dropped to a more manageable level upon her landing, immediately reducing visibility.

It wouldn't hinder him for long but a moment was all she needed.

She lunged in close, nearly under his guard and the slight widening of his eyes was all she saw before she acted.

Looping the arrow through the highest point between the bowstring and the upper limb of his recurve bow, she rotated, bending over in a vaguely dance-like motion while gripping the shaft of the arrow with both hands and pulled.

She didn't watch the bow take flight, nor did she pause at his sharp surprised inhale, instead following through on her rotation to plant her elbow in the soft flesh of his stomach.

His grunt as he hit the ground was cut short as she threw her body on top of his. Limbs matched limbs in a macabre embrace, thighs trapping and ankles locking, she used their combined weight against him and shoved his hands under his body before winding her hand through his hair, using his braids for more leverage and forcing his head into an odd angle to the right, bracing her forearm across his face.

Hips bucked in a futile attempt to dislodge her. In retaliation, she tightened her grip in his hair and put more weight onto his face, forcing his neck as far sideways as she dared to.

If she just so happened to rub his face in the dirt, so be it.

"Unhand me, filth!" He snarled, still wiggling in an effort for freedom. Soft sounds, the mumblings of the rest of the camp stirring to life reached her ears. She had no doubt that Aragorn was now wide-awake but he was probably hesitant in approaching, most likely unsure with how to proceed. 

The dwarf certainly had no such qualms.

His laughter boomed from the other side of the circle, vaguely reminiscent of a rockslide. She could hear his broken comments through heaving breaths, something highly inappropriate mixed in with what sounded like 'mussed his pretty hair'.

"Calm yourself, Prince–"

"Do not speak to me!" Muffled as it was, the fury reflected in his words was audible.

She, however, would not stand for it.

After all, he had tried to kill her. Pathetic as it was.

In a small fit of temper, fingers clenched, pulling the handful of his hair even tighter, earning herself a pained murmur in response as she lowered her head, lips hovering above the pointed tip of his ear.

"And to think I had such high hope for you," she whispered, the psychological dagger resting in her palm. "Alas, you clearly take after your father," poised, steadying slightly before finally – "some would think it is a blessing that your mother cannot see what a disappointment her only child has become," plunging the knife between his ribs.

A/N: hi. So... not too happy with this chapter but I've tried to reword, reroute, redo, but this is the best version. There are also probably grammatical errors, though I tried to catch them. I know my updates are super sporadic, life is just weird right now.

We also get to learn more about Nárhína in the next chapter. (Finally)