I’m a Doorman at an Assassin’s Hotel

"How are the scholars doing now, I wonder?" I couldn't help but break the tense silence as we trudged forward. "Leaving them in Rohan… was that really a good idea?"

Elaysa shot me a cold glance, her tone as frosty as her gaze. "Stop worrying unnecessarily. Their task is to analyze the Space Stone's energy fluctuations. Rohan won't interfere. You should be more concerned about completing your own mission."

"I just feel uneasy about leaving them so far from the heart of everything..." I muttered, my apprehension lingering. Joseph and Murphy might not have been fighters, but they were part of the mission, and their safety gnawed at the edge of my thoughts.

"Either shut up or pick up your pace." Elaysa cut me off brusquely, her sharp eyes scanning the path ahead. "The closer we get to Mount Doom, the greater the danger. Stop wasting time."

I clamped my mouth shut and quickened my steps, though internally, I was grumbling: Does she really need to be this ruthless about everything?

Ahead of us, Gollum was bounding along, his movements erratic and his muttering constant. Every so often, he glanced back at us with a mix of paranoia and desperation, as if torn between guiding us and fleeing.

"Stay alert," Elaysa murmured to me, her voice low but firm. "He could be leading us into a trap."

"He doesn't seem like he's lying, does he?" I mumbled back, though a knot of unease tightened in my chest.

The oppressive atmosphere around us made it hard to breathe. Even without immediate enemies, the weight of unseen threats bore down heavily. Every step felt like it carried us deeper into peril.

Suddenly, Elaysa froze. With a sharp gesture, she signaled us to stop. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the dense trees around us. Her ears seemed to tilt slightly, straining to catch the faintest sound.

"Something's nearby," she said in a tense whisper.

"What is it?" I instinctively held my breath, scanning the surroundings. An ominous sense of foreboding crept over me.

Before she could respond, a chilling wind swept over us, cutting to the bone. The air grew icy, and my spine stiffened as though a spectral hand had gripped my neck. I spun around just in time to see a towering figure emerge from the shadows—a Ringwraith, shrouded in black mist atop its midnight steed. Its oppressive aura was almost tangible.

"A Ringwraith!" I gasped, my heartbeat faltering.

Without hesitation, the wraith drew its long sword, the blade glowing faintly with a sinister chill. Its gaze locked onto Frodo, as though piercing through his very soul to the One Ring hidden beneath his shirt.

"Protect Frodo!" Elaysa barked, positioning herself between him and the Ringwraith. Her daggers gleamed as she struck with lightning speed, but the wraith evaded her attacks effortlessly. Their clash was swift and brutal—Elaysa's movements sharp and precise, yet the wraith's overwhelming power made it nearly impossible to gain the upper hand.

Frodo's face drained of color, his body trembling under the wraith's oppressive presence. He could barely stand, and Sam struggled to hold him up, shouting, "Get it together, Frodo! We have to move!"

Amid the chaos, Gollum's shrill cry broke through. His eyes burned with madness and greed as he lunged at Frodo like a feral beast.

"My precious… MY PRECIOUS! It's mine!" Gollum screamed, his wiry frame pinning Frodo down as he clawed desperately at the chain around Frodo's neck.

"Gollum!" I shouted, rushing to intervene. But Gollum was relentless, his bony fingers nearly grasping the Ring as Frodo thrashed beneath him.

"No! You can't have it!" Frodo cried, his voice filled with terror and desperation.

The Ringwraith shifted its focus, its gaze narrowing on the struggling pair. The wraith raised its sword, the blade slicing through the air with a chilling hum as it drove the weapon into Gollum's back.

Gollum let out an ear-piercing shriek. His body froze, then crumpled. Blood pooled beneath him, but even in his final moments, his eyes remained locked on the Ring, filled with unyielding longing and despair.

"No!" Frodo's voice cracked, weak and trembling, as the wraith stepped forward, its shadow engulfing him.

The Ringwraith seized Frodo with a gloved hand, lifting him as if he weighed nothing. Its blade plunged into Frodo's chest, eliciting a pained gasp as Frodo's body went limp.

"Frodo!" Sam's anguished cry echoed through the trees as he rushed forward, only to be repelled by the sheer force of the wraith's presence.

The One Ring slipped from Frodo's grasp, its ominous glow casting an eerie light as it tumbled to the ground. The wraith stooped, picking it up with a deliberate motion. The world seemed to hold its breath.

"The One Ring… returns to its master," the Ringwraith intoned, its voice a bone-chilling whisper. "Darkness shall consume all."

Elaysa's face darkened as she witnessed the scene. Gritting her teeth, she launched herself back into the fray, but the Ringwraith's malevolent aura had become impenetrable, an implacable wall of despair.

Holding the Ring aloft, the wraith exuded an overwhelming presence that froze the air around it. Its laughter—low and resonant—pierced the soul like jagged glass, filling the air with dread.

Frodo lay motionless on the ground, his face pale as death. Blood seeped from the wound in his chest, and his lips moved faintly, as if struggling to speak. Sam knelt beside him, his tears falling freely. "Stay with me, Frodo! Please!" he begged, gripping his friend's cold hand.

"Take him and run!" Elaysa shouted, her tone brooking no argument. Her dagger flashed as she stood defiantly before the wraith, buying us precious seconds.

"You'll die!" I yelled back, desperation clawing at my throat.

"That's an order!" she snapped, her voice cutting through my hesitation.

Swallowing my fear, I hoisted Frodo onto my shoulders, his weight heavier than I expected. "Sam, move!" I barked, and Sam scrambled to his feet, wiping his tear-streaked face.

Behind us, the clash of metal and the wraith's chilling growls spurred us onward. Every step away from that suffocating darkness felt like a battle for survival.

The forest thinned ahead, revealing a faintly lit clearing. Beyond it, the towers of Rohan stood silhouetted against the twilight—a beacon of hope amidst the despair.

As we approached the border, guards emerged, their spears aimed at us. Their eyes reflected suspicion and confusion.

"We're not enemies!" I shouted hoarsely. "He's injured—he needs help! This is Frodo, the Ring-bearer!"

The guards exchanged uncertain glances before one of them nodded. "Take them to King Théoden."

With Sam supporting me, we carried Frodo into Rohan's stronghold. His unconscious form was laid carefully on a fur-lined bed as healers hurriedly tended to his wounds, wrapping his chest in white bandages and applying herbal salves. Sam remained by his side, clutching Frodo's hand as though sheer willpower could keep him alive.

"Will he be okay?" I asked one of the healers, my voice trembling.

The healer's grave expression did little to reassure me. "His wound isn't merely physical. The wraith's blade carries a poison that seeps into the soul. Without powerful magic, it may consume him entirely."

My heart sank. Just as despair threatened to overwhelm me, a familiar voice filled the room.

"Frodo…"

I turned, and there stood Gandalf, his white robes radiant, his staff glowing with faint light. Behind him were Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, their expressions solemn, as if they had just emerged from a great storm.

"Gandalf!" Sam cried, his tears spilling anew as he leapt to his feet. "He's hurt—he won't last!"

Gandalf swiftly approached Frodo, his face etched with worry. His voice was soft yet firm. "The wraith's poison… it will take him unless we act swiftly. He needs the Blessing of Elbereth and Elrond's healing touch. Only Rivendell can save him now."

"But the Ring… the Ring is gone," I said grimly, my words cutting through the air like a blade. "The wraith has it. All of Middle-earth is in danger now."

A heavy silence fell as Gandalf turned his piercing gaze on me. "And who are you?" he asked, his tone measured but laced with suspicion.

"Uh… a traveler," I stammered, suddenly feeling very small under his scrutiny. "I just… happened to meet them on the way. Tried to protect them."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed, his keen intellect probing for hidden truths. "A traveler who knows of wraiths and their weaknesses? Who appears at the critical moment?"

"Look," I said, raising my hands defensively. "I'm on your side, okay? I—"

"Enough," Gandalf interrupted, his voice heavy with authority. "Frodo's life is our priority. Your story will wait."

Aragorn stepped closer, his sharp gaze fixed on me. "If you have any ulterior motives, you will regret crossing us."

"Understood," I muttered, my nerves fraying under the weight of their distrust.

As we waited for Frodo's condition to stabilize, one thought burned in my mind: we had failed. The One Ring was gone, and with it, the fragile hope of defeating Sauron. Yet, amidst the despair, one question lingered—how could we turn this impossible situation around?