<Strider and the Hobbits have left the marshland behind and are now crossing rough rocky country. Strider stops and looks at the ruins atop a tall hill.>
<<Strider: This was the great watchtower of Amon Sûl. We shall rest here tonight.>>
<The Hobbits, weary from the long travel, fling off their packs and settle down in an overhang near the hill's summit. Strider opens a bundle, revealing four short swords. He hands them to his companions.>
<<Strider: These are for you. Keep them close. I’m going to have a look around. Stay here.>>
<Frodo, asleep, wakes up with a start. Merry, Pippin and Sam gathered around a fire cooking.>
<<Merry: My tomato's burst.>>
<<Pippin: Can I have some bacon?>>
<<Merry: Ok. Want some tomatoes Sam?>>
<<Frodo (in alarm): What are you doing?!>>
<<Merry: Tomatoes, sausages, nice crispy bacon.>>
<<Sam: We saved some for you, Mr. Frodo.>>
<<Frodo: Put it out, you fools! Put it out!>>
<He stamps on the fire, trying to douse the flames.>
<<Pippin: Oh, that’s nice! Ash on my tomatoes!>>
<Suddenly, a Nazgûl's cry pierces the darkness. The hobbits jump up, startled, and look over the lip of the overhang. They see five Nazgûl closing in on Amon Sûl. They unsheathe their small swords.>
<<All: Uh?!>>
<Frodo motions the others to run up the steps, towards the ruins.>
<<Frodo: Go!>>
<The dark night surrounds them as they climb to the top. They stand in the ring of broken pillars of the old ruin, eyes darting about; shadows rise out of the dark. The Nazgûl surround them, pulling out their long swords. Sam, Merry and Pippin prepare to defend Frodo.>
<<Sam: <brandishing his sword> Back you devils!>>
<Sam clashes swords with the Nazgûl, but is swiftly thrown aside. Merry and Pippin close the gap in front of Frodo, but they too are cast aside. Frodo backs across the hill, dropping his sword with a clatter. He stumbles, falls, and crawls backward until he is backed against a fallen column. Frodo brings out the Ring from his pocket. Immediately, the leader of the Wraiths feels its presence and approaches Frodo, drawing a long dagger. Frodo tries to scramble back, terrified, but has nowhere to go. Desperately, he slips on the Ring.>
<The world changes. The Nazgûls’ true forms are revealed to him, shining like ghostly kings. The King reaches out for the Ring, and the Ring responds, lifting Frodo’s own hand towards the wraith. With desperate strength, Frodo yanks his hand back. The King stabs him through the left shoulder with his long dagger, pinning him to the ground, then reaches again for the Ring. Frodo cries out in pain.>
<At that moment, Strider leaps over Frodo and attacks the Nazgûl with both sword and flaming brand. The King withdraws his dagger and drops it. Frodo summons the strength to pull the Ring from his finger. He reappears in the middle of an anguished scream.>
<<Frodo: Aaaahhhh!>>
<<Sam: Frodo!>> <rushes to his side.>
<<Frodo: Oh Sam!>>
<Strider continues to fight the Nazgûl, torch in one hand, sword in another. He sets them afire and finally drives them away.>
<<Sam: Strider! Help him, Strider!>>
<<Strider: He’s been stabbed by a Morgul blade. <The blade dissolves, its remnants dispersing in the wind.> This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine.>>
<Strider carries Frodo over his shoulder and proceeds to leave Amon Sûl, the other hobbits following closely behind them. Nazgûl cries are still heard in the area.>
<<Strider: Hurry!>>
<<Sam: We're six days from Rivendell. He’ll never make it!>>
<<Frodo (whispering): Gandalf…>>
<<Strider: Hold on, Frodo.>>
<<Frodo: <cries out> …Gandalf!!!!>>
<Back at Isengard, giant caverns have been opened up and a forge is seen at the base, where hundreds of Orcs are working. Sounds of metal clinking rise up into the air. High above, Gandalf is still imprisoned on the pinnacle of the tower. A tiny white moth struggles against the breeze and reaches the top of the tower. It flutters over to Gandalf, who captures it in his fingers. It appears to sit still in his hand and listen to his words as though spoken in moth language.>
<<Gandalf: <whispering a final command> Gwaihir. Go, Gwaihir.>>
<Gandalf sends it off and the moth flies away. Down in the Caverns of Isengard the forging of weapons and armor is well underway. Hundreds of helmets and swords are piling up. Saruman observes all the activity with pride. Deep in the pits, Orcs are tending strange moving formations in the mud. Groans issue from within the mounds. Something appears to be struggling to get out. Eventually a giant creature emerges, killing the Orc who has been helping it to be born. The creature is massive, towering above the smaller Orcs, with huge teeth, and covered in birthing slime. Saruman gazes at his creation in rapt admiration.
|