That small figure wore a pink floral blouse, seeming to flee from something terrible, stumbling from between the two megaliths. Behind followed a brown-haired boy clutching what appeared to be a sword-like dagger.
They ran while looking back over their shoulders.
"In the Dark Lord's name, let the fleeing cease their flight." A dark presence burst from shadow, instantly entwining Christina's feet.
With a thud, she tumbled to earth, then tripped the pursuing Saradoc. In an eyeblink, both rolled together on the ground.
The torch fell from trembling hands, its brave flame quenched by creeping mist, cold and damp, until darkness reclaimed all. The dagger too was cast aside, where it lay gleaming pale in the dying light of day.
At this moment, a tall figure darker than shadow itself followed soundlessly. Upon his pitch-black, indiscernible face, two eyes flickered with ice-cold, feeble light—cruel and merciless—fixed on the fallen little Hobbits.
Drawing near, he extended hands gleaming with dark luster and emanating waves of chill, reaching for wine-red curls and brown hair.
"Christina!" Bilbo cried out, charging forward.
According to legend, even the fattest, most cowardly Hobbit harbored courage's seed deep within, awaiting the most crucial moment to burst forth. Master Baggins of Bag End was among this age's bravest Hobbits.
Facing legendary Barrow-wights, he threw himself forward heedlessly, attempting to rescue his young niece.
Yet Aedric moved faster still, launching forward like a loosed arrow. In his mad dash, he drew Mithreleth, his entire being surging with power.
The frustration from being attacked by branches at Brandywine without means to retaliate. The lingering resentment from the Golden Wheat Sheaf's doorway. The anger at being beguiled by Old Man Willow in the valley.
This moment, all burst forth!
As if sensing Aedric's battle intent, the ancient runes etched into Mithreleth's blade erupted in white fire. The symbols blazed like fallen stars, their radiance cutting through the creeping mist.
The surrounding white mist surged upward, gathering behind Aedric like a great wave driven by storm winds rolling forward. A hundred meters' distance covered in three or four seconds.
Those stellar formations became shooting stars crashing toward the Barrow-wight that raised its head.
Facing sudden assault, the wight abandoned its ground prey, extending both hands with sharp talons blocking before itself while speaking human words like rapid incantation: "Talons sharp, cold as ice, hard as steel. Form standing, firm as stone, steady as..."
Yet before the spell finished.
Clang! Sword-edge and talons crashed together violently, crisp resonance rapidly spreading, echoing continuously among the hills.
Aedric staggered backward seven or eight steps. This vertical strike felt like cleaving a tombstone built of ice. His entire body ached and numbed, nearly exhausting all strength.
Moreover, an icy chill traveled up the sword hilt, like frozen claws seeking to invade shoulders and ribs. Bone-deep cold that numbed even his mind.
Then the surrounding mist completely dispersed as warm sunlight fell, two cooling sensations flowing from his heart to block the bitter cold. Aedric planted his feet and swiftly steadied himself, feeling much improved.
Looking up, he saw white mist gathered into towering waves carrying that evil form into the space between megaliths. The Barrow-wight swiftly vanished—apparently his single sword stroke had sent it flying.
For the moment, he couldn't discern its location.
Aedric temporarily relaxed, looking down to examine Mithreleth after the collision with the wight's talons, finding the blade still sharp as new, and breathing with relief.
Only then did Bilbo charge over, dragging one small Hobbit in each hand, struggling to escape the megalith vicinity.
"Uncle Bilbo?!" Christina's face showed surprise, joy, and lingering fear, then, like presenting treasure, she raised her left arm: "Look, this is athelas—it can cure Mother's illness."
Several plants glowing eerie green with pale yellow blossoms. Her right hand followed: "This is a crown, a gift for you, Uncle."
Having spoken, her tense nerves relaxed, and her head tilted as she fainted. Her face was white as death.
Beside her, Saradoc stared wide-eyed, trembling uncontrollably, completely seized by terror.
Bilbo looked at one, then the other, momentarily panicking and not knowing what to do until an angry roar reached his ears: "Bilbo, light this torch for me, quickly!"
At some point, Aedric had retrieved the extinguished torch from the ground, a dagger now at his waist. He extended his left hand before the Hobbit while his right held Mithreleth, still flickering with stellar radiance. Though much dimmed.
Whoof—Bilbo produced tinder to light the torch, looking up at Aedric as if asking what to do next.
"Go, take the children and leave immediately." Aedric's expression was extraordinarily grave. While speaking, his eyes remained fixed on the darkness within the stones: "Follow the slope we climbed down slowly. Don't worry about the mist—I left you a path through the hollow's grass."
Coming up, Aedric had deliberately trampled all grass along their route, creating a most obvious trail. Bilbo had trampled it again from behind—those grasses couldn't possibly straighten in such a short time.
Though the mist below remained thick and the sunset reduced visibility greatly, careful searching should quickly reveal the path back to shore. Hobbits' short stature should make this easier.
"You go first—I'll follow shortly."
Bilbo nodded as if finding his anchor, quickly returning to the children's side and producing a bottle of mead from his pocket. This had low alcohol content but was extremely sweet.
He pulled the cork and gripped Saradoc's mouth, pouring a great gulp "glug, glug, glug." He'd suddenly recalled medical knowledge—people in extreme terror benefited from consuming very sweet things for rapid recovery.
Bilbo could hardly carry two nearly grown children.
Indeed, whether from the sweet taste or the mead's pitiful alcohol content, after swallowing, Saradoc immediately shed his pitiful appearance. He sat up gasping heavily, first looking back to see a human bearing a torch and sword guarding him, his pale complexion immediately improving.
Then he saw Master Baggins carrying his niece on his back. Before he could inquire, the other seized him and ran down the slope.
Watching their departure, Aedric's heart also eased. The darkness ahead wasn't peaceful—sounds of falling stones continued clearly, indicating the Barrow-wight was neither destroyed nor incapacitated.
This was no good news.
He didn't dare rashly charge in for a finishing blow. Too dark within—even with torchlight, vision would prove extremely limited.
Moreover, who knew how many of these cursed things lurked inside, or what other enemies hid in dark corners?
Thus, Aedric planned on letting Bilbo lead the others away while he blocked the enemy's exit, delaying the wight for some time. At least here visibility was adequately broad—fighting wouldn't become frantic due to three Hobbits.
Aedric blinked. Mist-condensed water dripped from his hair to his forehead, mixing with emerging cold sweat like an icy serpent slowly flowing across his face.
Just then, an angry roar emerged from darkness. A black shadow charged out with a wind sound, three points of cold light striking directly at his face.
Aedric's spirit lifted as his right hand violently twisted Mithreleth, deflecting the wight's attack aside. Only now did he discover the opponent's ten sharp talons had been severed to seven by that previous stroke, leaving only a pitiful three.
Injuring the opponent sufficed!
Aedric's expression relaxed as his left hand swung the torch, thrusting toward the wight's pitch-black, flat face. Even Angmar's Witch-king, who summoned wights, feared flame's power—he refused to believe this evil thing could withstand burning.
The black shadow retreated ghost-like, evading blazing brightness. Flame and dispersing dark vapor collided, producing faint crackling explosions.
Though missing his target, Aedric had anticipated the retreat. He suddenly stepped forward, Mithreleth striking straight down with perfect precision at the wight's attacking limb.
Cold light flashed, black smoke dispersed, and two arms severed at the elbows fell to earth.
Shrill, fierce screaming arose as the wight quickly retreated, stopping at a distance. Two eyes like flowing ice were fixed upon the human while lips moved as if speaking.
Aedric charged immediately. Having just witnessed the wight chanting spells and employing extremely eerie power, how could he permit further casting?
Aedric's legs moved swiftly, advancing when his peripheral vision caught two black shadows rapidly passing underfoot. Looking closely, the severed arms had animated themselves, wriggling toward the wight like swift black serpents.
Seeking limb regeneration? Think again!
Guessing the opponent's intention, Aedric's right arm swung forcefully, hurling Mithreleth to strike true, pinning the wight's right arm to earth. Then he strode forward, thrusting his torch against it.
Regeneration? Let you bathe in fire immediately!
Flames and shadow entangled as crackling sounds resumed. The arm violently contracted like a rat under burning flames, producing strange "squeak, squeak, squeak" sounds while struggling fiercely to escape the blade's binding.
Diamond runes emanated faint white phosphorescence, firmly suppressing the limb.
The nearby wight had reattached its left arm, boiling black smoke rapidly sealing the wound until it was perfectly healed without a trace. Then he roared loudly, his voice seeming to contain extremely evil power, making his remaining three talons flicker with pitch-black radiance.
His form struck like lightning, speed nearly doubled from before, seeking to rescue his right arm from flames.
Aedric drew his dagger, replacing Mithreleth to pin the struggling arm again. Flame and steel runes shone together, flickering with faint red light—whether illusion or not, the arm seemed to collapse even faster.
He himself wielded his long sword with both hands, meeting the challenge without retreat, the brilliant blade striking directly at the wight's face.
This time the wight reacted more cautiously, not resisting directly but swiftly retreating to avoid the blade. Then retracting his left arm, three talons suddenly shot forth, aimed at the heart.
Aedric parried with his sword, blade and dark talons grinding together with teeth-aching friction. He gritted his teeth, both arms striving to push the wight away, desperately guarding that fire-bathed right arm.
Both attracting the opponent's attention to buy more time for Bilbo and obstructing the wight's strength recovery.
Naturally the wight wouldn't relent, pouncing again. One man, one monster—thrust and parry, black shadow flickering, sword-light flashing.
From sunset until darkness gradually fell, even stars hidden in sunlight began winking. That arm had been burned beyond recognition, motionless.
The wight raged, roaring continuously, its voice like glacial wind bringing spine-chilling terror. Its remaining arm flailed swiftly, three sharp talons launching a tempestuous assault covering all of Aedric's vital points, forcing him to repeatedly raise his sword in response.
Even attempting retreat brought relentless pursuit.
"This is bad!" Aedric dodged an attack, glancing at dimly appearing stars, knowing he couldn't delay longer.
Night belonged to darkness and evil. His excessive physical consumption was becoming difficult while the wight fought with increasing vigor, showing no fatigue.
Continuing thus meant certain doom! He needed escape!
Aedric's eyes moved, pondering escape plans, when suddenly glimpsing the arm burned to charcoal, inspiration striking as he thought of the seemingly life-energy-filled branch at his waist.
If flame countered evil power, could this branch work similarly?!
Then the wight's talons whistled forward. Aedric neither blocked nor dodged, gritting his teeth and advancing rather than retreating, striking fiercely at the wight's head.
Perhaps not expecting humans to employ such life-trading tactics, the wight twisted its form, using its right arm lacking a forearm to absorb this strike while its gleaming black talons raked the human's left arm.
The resulting wound was hideously savage, paper-white without a trace of blood flow. Bitter cold that sought to drag one into another world lingered around, bringing severe pain and numbness.
Aedric felt a cooling breath appear to check the pain's spread. Presently he had no time for deep thought, quickly drawing the emerald branch from his waist and lashing it like a whip.
The branch writhed like a serpent, wrapping several times around the wight. Then green radiance burst forth like gorgeous fireworks exploding brilliantly, completely entangling with black smoke covering the wight.
One black, one green—now advancing, now retreating, colliding and annihilating with loud crackling sounds.
The wight stood as if spellbound while Aedric heartbrokenly severed the green branch. In this brief moment, black vapor had completely occupied the branch and crept extremely slowly toward Aedric.
After all, it was water without a source—no match for a wight near its lair!
"Cursed thing!" Aedric's heart burned with anger. Advancing two steps, he aimed for the neck and struck. Silver light flashed as the wight's head fell, rolling upon the ground.
Yet the body still struggled violently while the stabilized head actually called "Aba, aba"—shouting something unknown.
"Damn! It won't die!" Aedric turned and ran. In an eyeblink he'd retrieved his dagger, then rushed down the slope along their approach route. Without much effort he found his trail and charged into the hollow toward the riverbank.
Behind, sounds of falling stones were clearly audible—surely the wight had broken free and given chase.
Night deepened, and mist grew thicker. The wight's roars drew ever closer, seemingly just behind!
Even Aedric lost direction in the mist, the trail underfoot vanishing at some unknown turning point. He was lost.
"Bilbo!" "Bilbo!" Aedric shouted, but the surroundings remained utterly quiet with no response.
Sounds of rapid movement through grass arose nearby—left and right, unpredictable. Aedric halted, gripping his long sword tightly, his keen gaze surveying all directions, guarding against the wight's attack.
In this situation, only life or death remained!
Suddenly a melodious song arose, seemingly filled with joy and light. Even the last trace of sunset responded, blooming with incomparable white radiance.
Aedric's eyes brightened. River, willows, a boat, and three anxiously waiting Hobbits appeared clearly. Without hesitation, he ran over joyfully.
In the distance, a figure wearing a blue feathered hat, blue jacket, and boots was singing. This was Tom Bombadil, who'd come nearby seeking beautiful flowers that bloomed only at twilight. Sensing evil power committing violence, he extended aid.
Then, watching the wight flee wretchedly back to its tomb, he frowned and followed, intending to destroy this evil place entirely.
He walked slowly along the path as his angry expression gradually faded with the darkening sky. Suddenly, a cluster of flowers somewhere on the slope caught Tom Bombadil's attention.
In sunset's final rays, these blossoms bloomed their beauty fully, gorgeous and varied. He ran over excitedly, carefully picking the flowers while saying: "Goldberry should see these—best placed in her hair, that'd be absolutely beautiful indeed."
Having spoken, he walked toward home. As for wights and Barrow-downs, these were completely forgotten.