Merry forced himself to run faster in order to keep up with Gimli and their newfound companion, Strider. There had been no time for the dwarf to properly introduce him to the man but fortunately for Merry, he had questioned him earlier about his "friends" that aided them back at the inn. From what he had been told the odd group of four consisted of two men, Strider and Boromir, an elf named Legolas, and Gimli. Unfortunately that was all the information the hobbit received because not even a second after Strider found them, the blood curdling shrieks of the Nazgul pierced the air and had sent the three of them running. Merry's thoughts immediately went out to Frodo and Pippin. He knew perfectly well what the Nazgul were after and he was certain that they wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone in order to get it. 

I just hope that we can get to them in time. His breath was coming out in rapid gasps and his lungs burned from their furious sprint across the land. It was a race against time and they all knew it. A thought that was nagging Merry was, how were they going to help Frodo escape? If he remembered correctly there had been five riders that attacked them in Bree, there were only four who could actually fight them off, (at least Merry hoped so) two of them were here with him, and one was currently unaccounted for and that included Sam. Now there was a chance that their companions managed to escape the Nazgul and were headed for safety, but that was a very small chance. He also dwelt on the possibility of the Nazgul  finding Sam and Legolas first and he shuddered to think of what they would do to them if they were found.

The only things Merry knew about elves were what Bilbo had told him, and none of his stories ever mentioned if they could kill Ringwraiths. Now that he thought about it, he almost wished that there had been some mention of the Black RIders before this whole adventure began. At least I'd have some knowledge about them. He thought to himself in annoyance, which was mostly brought on by the fear that something terrible could happen to his friends. An unexpected stop nearly caused him to crash into Gimli. He looked up and saw Strider standing with his hand on the hilt of his sword. In front of them he could hear the enraged screams of the Nazgul, and the sound of metal crashing against metal. Strider's body stiffened and in the dim light Merry could see fear flash in the man's eyes.

"What's wrong?" Merry asked fearfully as one terrible scenario after another ran through his mind. "Stay here and do not come out no matter what. Understand?" Strider didn't even wait for him to agree as he drew his sword and ran into the battle. "Wait! Gimli what's wrong?" he received no answer from the dwarf, who was already hard on the man's heels. Merry peered through the trees to see for himself what had frightened them. Despite the five undead riders attacking our friends. He thought dryly. As the sun slowly began to rise, turning the sky a milky grey, Merry could clearly see the battle unfolding in front of him. Two of the Nazgul, one mounted on a horse and the other on the ground, were attacking a man who he assumed was Boromir. The man was doing what he could to defend himself, but it was a battle he was quickly losing.

Two more Nazgul were now locked in combat with Strider and Gimli, both were trying desperately to get past them, and when Merry's eyes landed on the last Nazgul he saw why. The Nazgul had the elf, Legolas, by the neck and was holding him up to where his feet barely brushed the ground. The Nazgul's back was to Merry, but he could clearly see the elf's terrified face as he hung stiff in the air. Another sight caught his eye and he recognized the familiar faces of his friends. But seeing their own horrified faces snapped him out of his daze and sent his mind racing. There were five Nazgul, only eight of them, four who could fight, but two who were quickly running out of time. Think Merry! Think!  He looked at his surroundings and found Gimli's pack lying discarded on the ground.

He knelt beside it and lifted the flap open. He dug around frantically, searching for something he'd heard the dwarf mention earlier that day. His face lit up in relief as he pulled out what he had been looking for. Flint and steel! Quickly he started searching for a large enough stick to set fire to. He had no idea if the Nazgul were even affected by fire, but he couldn't just stand by and do nothing while everyone else was in danger. After what seemed like hours of searching he finally found a branch that would serve him perfectly. He laid it on the ground and rapidly began striking the flint with the steel, but there was one problem. Curse that stupid rain! The branch was wet! It wouldn't light! His mind raced to find a solution and find one it did. He ripped off a long strand of his cloak and wrapped it around the branch.

Please work. He pleaded as he attempted to light the branch once again. Sparks caught on the cloak and it slowly ignited to a brilliant, orange flame. Merry wasted no time in lifting the torch off the ground, his eyes darted at each of the Nazgul until they landed on which Nazgul he would target first. Taking a deep breath, he gripped his makeshift torch and ran into the clearing. I must have gone mad! he kept his pace swift, but not too fast to where the fire would go out. Of course a hobbit running out into the open carrying a flaming torch would almost instantly catch the attention of everyone gathered, and it briefly stopped the fighting just long enough for everyone to see exactly who the said hobbit was. "Merry!" Pippin shouted in a panic. "What are you doing?" What am I doing?! He was hobbit, inexperienced in any form of combat whatsoever, and running with nothing but a flaming torch as a weapon, into a battle with the most feared beings in Middle Earth.

Well, it's too late to back out now. Setting his jaw, he gripped the torch tighter and continued on his path towards the Nazgul. The one he had specifically targeted was the one who had Legolas. By that time everyone had snapped out of their shock and the battle resumed. As he neared the wraith he couldn't help but suddenly feel very small. It stared at him, still as it raised its sword. A quick glance to his right and he saw Legolas, his face pale and eyes wide while his mouth was open in a soundless scream. That was enough to give Merry the courage to run head on into the Nazgul. He swung his torch at the same time the wraith swung its blade. He jumped back and just missed being stabbed by the blade. Merry chastised himself for moving away and furrowed his brow in determination. 

No backing away, not this time. He shouted as he charged at the Nazgul, this time the flame caught on the Nazgul's cloak. Merry couldn't believe it as the fire spread, but his joy was short lived as a searing pain shot through arm. He screamed and fell onto his knees, dropping his torch and grasping his right arm with his hand. His entire arm felt like it was burning, from the inside, and it was quickly spreading to the rest of his body. He never noticed the Nazgul, now screeching as the fire intensified, dropped its sword and Legolas onto the ground. It fled and quickly, the others abandoned those they had been fighting and raced towards the hobbits. But three halflings were now enraged at seeing Merry hurt. Pippin ran forward with Sam on his heels, Frodo followed at a slower pace, as if getting near the wraiths caused his movements to slow.

Merry was barely aware of his friends coming to his aid. Someone grabbed the torch and waved it at the Nazgul who got too close, he felt hands grabbing him by the arms and pulling him to safety. But the moment his arm was moved pain exploded throughout Merry's body. He screamed so loud that the hands holding him dropped him in shock. Merry refused to release his arm as he writhed on the ground. He didn't know what had happened, and at the moment he didn't care. All he wanted was to die and end this torment.

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Frodo looked down at his cousin in silent horror. He could see nothing wrong with him as far as wounds went, but one look at his face was enough evidence to prove that he was in pain. Pippin had tried moving him and that had only caused him to scream even louder than before, now the young hobbit was too scared to touch him. Sam was holding the torch and bravely fending off the Nazgul, but there were four of them and only three hobbits. A shriek caught Frodo's attention and he watched as another wraith was set aflame. The fire from its cloak caught onto the Nazgul beside it and they both fled. Now only two were left, would they fight or flee? The wraiths looked at the hobbits, Frodo specifically, in a chilling voice they hissed, "We will be back halfling." The Nazgul ran like ghosts after the other two, who were now nothing but glowing lights in the distance. 

They were replaced by the familiar figures of Strider and Boromir, a dwarf had also joined them and he knew that he must be Gimli. All three were gasping in exhaustion, Boromir seemed to be the worse one off. One arm was wrapped around his side and his forehead was bleeding. "Help him Strider! Please!" Pippin's frightened voice brought Frodo's attention immediately back to Merry. Pippin was kneeling beside him with tears falling from his eyes. Merry's entire body trembled and his skin was turning pale. Frodo watched as the Ranger quickly knelt down beside the hobbit and began searching him for injuries. Movement caught his eye and he saw the dwarf running to where Sam knelt on the ground. He suddenly remembered the elf, Legolas, who had almost died saving his life.

Unless he is dead.  Frodo shuddered and quickly rejected the idea. Surely the elf wasn't dead, he couldn't be. He stepped around Strider and couldn't help the startled gasp that escaped his lips. The elf was completely motionless, skin as white as snow as he laid on the ground. Sam was crying just as Pippin was beside Merry. The dwarf was trying to get some kind of response from him, but he didn't stir. "Strider! What's wrong with him?" Gimli called urgently. The Ranger looked up and Frodo could see the color leave his face. "I can do nothing for them." he said after a moment. A shiver ran through Frodo's spine. "You cannot let them die!" he shouted, voice rising in anger.

"I can do nothing for them for it is beyond my skill to heal. They need elvish medicine." Strider slung a pack off of his shoulder and quickly began binding Merry's arm. Frodo could feel tears welling up in his eyes as he heard Merry cry out in pain. Strider carefully picked the hobbit up and carried him over to Boromir. "Are you strong enough to carry him?" he asked assessing the man's injuries. "What choice do I have?" he replied shortly. "If I don't he will die." Nodding Strider handed the hobbit to him. He then ran over to Legolas, who still lay unconscious with Sam and Gimli at his side. They backed away and the Ranger gathered the elf securely in his arms. "If we want to save them we have to run." Strider told them taking the lead. "But what's wrong with them?" Pippin asked shakily. "Do you want them to die?" the Ranger snapped angrily.

The young hobbit flinched at his harsh tone and quickly shook his head. "N-no." he stammered. "Then no more questions until we reach Rivendell, understand?" Once again, not waiting for an answer, he broke into a run. And that others had no choice but to follow.