Spring had at long last come to Eriador, and flowers grew along the riverbank, their bright hues in a spectrum of colors livening the scenery. Today, the only one privy to their beauty was a young ranger named Aradui. He often came to the river to admire its beauty, and to think. He was unlike most of the other rangers in that he preferred a pen and ink to a bow and arrows. He would write of the water flowing down the river to lands far away that he had never seen, and could only imagine. Often his imagination would carry him away to the sprawling plains of Rohan, or the tall white walls of Minas Tirith.

But today he was content to focus on the land around him. The young man looked around, taking in his surroundings. His thoughts began to drift to what had happened in the past few days.

He had been walking through camp, on his way to retrieve a bucket of water. On his way he listened to snatches of conversations where he could, something he had a habit of doing.

He had overheard one conversation, however, that was much more interesting than the usual discussion of hunting and gathering supplies. Aragorn, the leader of his people, was deep in conversation with another man whose voice Aradui didn't recognize.

"The Istari have warned us. We have two days at most before the Nine cross the Ford."

"Do they have orcs with them? Or do they travel alone?" Aragorn said. His voice was slightly muffled but Aradui could still tell what he was saying. He drew closer to the tent to hear the other voice reply.

"From what we know they are alone, but it's possible that they will meet up with orcs before they get here."

"Most of my men are in the Shire, or on its borders. It would take at least three days to gather them all."

"How many do you have here?"

"Around thirty trained fighters. The Grey Company is away to Esteldin. Halbarad was worried that orcs were gathering in Fornost."

"I have no warriors of my own nearby. It would take a week for word to reach my brethren in Mirkwood. We've been preparing but we did not expect the Nine to come forth."

"I'll gather what men I have here then and send a messenger to the Shire. We must hope that it will be in time."

There was silence. Aradui leaned in closer, in the hopes that he'd be able to hear the two if they were whispering.

Suddenly the tent flap opened, and Aradui was knocked to the ground by whoever had exited. He looked up to see Aragorn and his companion, a tall, dark haired elf, looking at him in surprise.

"Aradui, were you listening in on us?" Aragorn laughed and offered the young ranger a hand up. "You could've joined us if you had wished."

Aradui looked at the ground, embarrassed that his chieftain had caught him sneaking around. "My apologies chief," he said as he bowed slightly. He didn't look the elf in the eye, something about him made the young ranger uncomfortable.

"An apology isn't needed. This is Caledorn, a friend of mine." At this the elf bowed stiffly.

"A pleasure."

Aradui awkwardly returned the bow. "I couldn't help but overhear what you were talking about..."

"Fetching water, are you?" Aragorn looked knowingly at Aradui and smiled slightly. "Then you'll know that I need a messenger. You know my cousin correct?"

"I know of him," Aradui replied. He knew that Gerithor was just a little younger than him, but despite his young age the ranger was grim, and rarely spoke to anyone unless needed.

"He's just outside the Shire, watching the East Road. Tell him that the Nine are coming and that he needs to gather as many men as he can."

"Yes sir!" Aradui said with a salute. This was the first time Aragorn had given him an order directly, and it gave him a feeling of importance. He quickly dropped the water bucket and collected his supplies, then set out.

That had been two days ago. He had been unable to find Gerithor, so instead he gave the message to a ranger who went by Flicker, who promised to deliver the message to Gerithor.
Now that he was done with his mission, he felt tired and decided to take a rest, listening to the songs of the woodland birds and closing his eyes. He slowly drifted to sleep, oblivious to all around him.

The snap of a tree branch woke him. His eyes darted around, and he was suddenly alert to his surroundings.

Slight movement drew his gaze to his right, where he thought he could see someone... Or something. As he slowly recognized what it was, his hand drifted to his sword and wrapped tightly around the hilt. It was an Orc.

Suddenly something whizzed by, and the Orc fell to the ground, a grey feathered arrow in its throat.

Aradui looked around and saw several Rangers appear from out of the tall grass. One of them crouched next to him and put his finger to his lips, signaling silence.

A short distance away another Orc emerged from the underbrush, then two more. They sniffed around, clearly alerted that enemies were near. At the sight of their dead comrade one gave a dreadful howl. This is what started the fight.

"Fire!" A ranger cried. Several arrows flew by and felled all three Orcs where they stood. 

Suddenly dozens of orcs poured out from seemingly nowhere, and many of them carried bows which they aimlessly fired into the grass.

They were still on the other side of the river, and the only way the Orcs would be able to engage in close quarters combat was by crossing the narrow ford that was nearby. They quickly made their way in the direction of the ford, but were pinned down by a volley of arrows from the Rangers. 

But just as the battle seemed to turn in the ranger's favor, a loud screech pierced the air. Nine horsemen, cloaked in black and wielding large steel swords, galloped across the ford, seemingly unaffected by the arrows. The screech made Aradui cover his ears and drop his bow as he cowered in fear. Many of the other Rangers had done the same, though several still stood strong and fired arrows at the Riders. One of the Riders galloped past Aradui, cutting down the Ranger who stood at his side. Aradui dropped to his knees and scrambled to pick up his bow, but he knew it was too late. The Rider came around again, and the young Ranger narrowly missed the blade. He drew his sword and spun around to face the Rider. 

The horseman stopped his steed, and turned to face Aradui. Instead of a face, Aradui saw only blackness. A hiss emanated from the being, and a shiver went down the Ranger's spine. Every ounce of courage he had seemed drained from him, and he dropped his sword. He barely heard the dull thud as his blade hit the ground below. 

The Rider let out a hiss that sounded almost like a laugh, and spurred his horse toward Aradui. The last thing the young Ranger saw was the horse, black as night, and it's Rider holding his sword high.

The rest of the Rangers soon fell to the wrath of the Nine, and their blood painted the water of the river red. To this day it is said that the water around the Sarn Ford is tinted with the blood of the Rangers who died defending it, and some tell of a ghostly figure that has been seen writing with pen and paper on its banks.