Title: Arrival At Rivendell
By: Romanse
Summary: An accounting of events between the chapters, "Flight of the Ford" and "Many Meetings" in J.R.R. Tolkien's, The Fellowship of the Ring.
Notes: This is the very first fan fiction I ever wrote. It remains very near and dear to my heart for the absolute magical experience it provided my awakened and ravenous muses and for the wonderful memories of fan interactions that I had back then. My hope is that someone here will find and enjoy it too.
Chapter 1: A Herald Arrives
At 128, Bilbo Baggins was for the most part happy, content, and very old for a hobbit. Ever since he had settled down in Rivendell some seventeen years ago, he had passed his days in peace, submerged in the ways and thoughts of the Elven folk. For many a year his most vexing problem had been composing stories and rhymes of Elven lore worthy of the ears of Lord Elrond Half-Elven and his household. Though he loved his heir Frodo dearly, he thought less often of him and of the Shire, presuming that, all these years, Frodo had been passing his time in bliss, master of Bag End and of himself.
But that contentment had begun to change recently. Something unnamed, nagging and worrisome had crept into Bilbo's heart and mind, and he had found his thoughts turning ever and anon to Frodo. He could not quite put his finger on what was bothering him, but as he sat in his little room, on top of his bed, the thought again came to him. Something is not right with Frodo. He had consulted with Lord Elrond during one particularly slow-passing midafternoon, but Elrond had simply said that Frodo was still in the Shire and that if things were amiss with him, then Gandalf would have told Bilbo. He was content with that answer for a time, but all too soon, and with ever-increasing urgency, the feeling returned that Frodo was in some deep peril.
At long last the day came when Gandalf himself arrived as a herald of ill-tidings in Rivendell. Before the first rays of dawn had crept into the night sky, the wizard arrived at the house of Elrond, borne on the back of a great white steed. His gray robes billowed and whipped around him like an angry sea. His face was grim and anxious. It was clear that great need had pressed him, in either haste or danger, to ride hence in such a manner to Rivendell. When Lord Imodoion, the first to greet him, beheld Gandalf's grim and anxious state, he did not stop to question him, but instead, ran ahead on light, swift feet to alert Lord Elrond, who was still in his chambers.
While Bilbo slept, oblivious to Gandalf's arrival, Gandalf and Elrond took counsel together in the private chambers of Elrond. The soft lights of strategically-placed candles illuminated the chamber and cast shadows on the richly-carved wooden beams. The air was crisp and fresh, alive with the sounds of living creatures stirring. Elrond, clothed in soft robes of black and gray, reclined in his ornately-carved chair covered with gold and green cloth while Gandalf paced, shoulders bent with weariness. Servants had discreetly entered the chamber and laid out washing bowls, platters of fruit, and goblets of wine. The two paid no heed to the offerings. Gandalf spoke, and Elrond listened in grim silence to all that he relayed. Gandalf told of his encounter with Radagast the Brown, and of the treachery of the former head of his order, Saruman the White. Elrond in turn was deeply disturbed by the news of Saruman's betrayal and imprisonment of Gandalf in the tower of Orthanc. Elrond's ageless eyes looked far and deep into Gandalf's face.
"Nine days ago we received news from kindred Elves abroad that Frodo, unguided and heavy-burdened, was attempting to reach Rivendell," Elrond said. "Glorfindel and others from my household were dispatched to search for the hobbits. We have since heard nothing," he added after a brief pause.
Gandalf's face grew pained. "I told Frodo that I would either send word to him in the Shire or go to him myself in person. In any event, he was to set out for Rivendell no later than September the twenty-second," he explained. "I have since learned that the Black Riders have ridden forth again from Minas Morgul and are abroad in search of the Shire; certainly they expect to find both the Ring and Frodo. Even in the company of Aragorn, Frodo and Sam are no match for Black Riders from Mordor; in my heart, I fear the worst. If they were waylaid or the ring lost on the way to Rivendell, then there will be no victory over the Ring; all folk of Middle-Earth will inevitably become slaves of the Dark Lord -- including the traitor Saruman," he added coldly.
"Then let us hope that Frodo will be found and brought here swiftly," Elrond said. Gandalf looked at Elrond as if he expected him to say more, but Elrond had retreated within himself and said nothing. Gandalf silently took leave of Elrond and walked out into the sun that had already risen to fully illuminate the day.
It was not until midmorning had passed and Bilbo had left his room to walk in the fair gardens that he saw his old friend Gandalf.
"Gandalf!" The old hobbit cried with renewed vigor and delight when he caught sight of the wizard, who at that moment was deep in thought.
At the sight of his old friend Bilbo, Gandalf too felt some measure of renewed strength and joy. He had of course rested after his long journey and counsel with Lord Elrond, but finding that he no longer wished to lie idle, had arisen to walk in the beauty of Elrond's gardens. He had half wished that he would encounter the old hobbit, and so he was particularly delighted that it had come to pass.
"Bilbo, my friend!" Gandalf cried, embracing him gently.
"When did you arrive? And how long have you been here?" Bilbo asked excitedly.
"I arrived before dawn," replied Gandalf without further elaboration. Bilbo continued walking at his slow but steady gait, but as he did so, he looked at his old friend from the corner of his eye. To him it seemed that Gandalf had been well tended by the Elves of Elrond's house. His gray robes appeared fresh as if renewed by the skilled hands of many. As for Gandalf himself, his beard and hair shone silvery white, strength was in his hand and step. Yet Bilbo discerned some air of disquiet in his friend -- and suddenly, he knew.
It is Frodo! Something is terribly wrong. Bilbo stopped abruptly. "Gandalf, what danger is Frodo in? Where is he? What do you know?" His questions tumbled out, driven now by that terrible certainty that something was indeed amiss with Frodo, and that Gandalf knew of it.
For a moment Gandalf said nothing. Then he spoke gently. "We are all very concerned for Frodo," Gandalf began. "He went abroad on what should have been a rather simple errand. That errand I now know brings far more peril with it than either Frodo or I realized at the time. I had sent word that Frodo and Sam would meet me at the Inn of the Prancing Pony in the village of Bree. We were then to travel on together to Rivendell. Unfortunately, I was delayed in reaching them by the treachery of an old friend." He paused, and it seemed to Bilbo that the face of his old friend grew strangely grim as if experiencing again an evil memory. "Even if Frodo and Sam had thought it best to make their own way to Rivendell, then there are natural perils enough in the world to do serious mischief. But it is neither elements nor animals dwelling in their habitat in the wild that are now my chief concern," Gandalf said.
"Gandalf!" Bilbo interrupted. "I don't understand -- what errand did you send Frodo on? Why was he coming to Rivendell, and what is the danger you speak of?" cried the frail hobbit.
"Frodo, like you, is a Ringbearer," Gandalf said gently. "The ring he bears is the One Ring of Power long sought after by its owner, Sauron, the Dark Lord of Mordor. Sauron will stop at nothing to find this ring and when he does…" Gandalf sighed. "When he does, he will cover all the lands in a second darkness. There will be no place left on Middle-Earth from which free people look upon the stars."
Bilbo stopped in his tracks as a chilling fear gripped his heart. The old hobbit felt the weight of the knowledge of what he had saddled Frodo with, and he cried out, "What of Frodo, Gandalf? Is he to remain as bait for the hunter and be struck down without aid? I will go myself and retrieve the Ring from him."
Moved by pity, Gandalf immediately put his hand on Bilbo's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "Aid is on its way even as we speak, Bilbo." But as he spoke, Gandalf began to feel a strange sensation of unease quietly but steadily growing in his mind. He could perceive with other senses far keener than sight that evil was approaching Rivendell. The hunter pursues his prey, Gandalf thought as he abruptly took leave of Bilbo to seek out Elrond once more.
Bilbo was greatly troubled by the haste in which Gandalf had cut short their conversation regarding Frodo. At first he sought to follow Gandalf but, thinking better of it, he returned to his room to wait patiently for his return. But the wizard did not return, and Bilbo grew weary. Hours passed and Bilbo did not venture out from his room again, but
waited until his supper was brought to him by the elves, as was customary. That evening, an Elf with a face like to that of a merry child brought Bilbo his meal.
"What's happened? Why was there such a commotion?" Bilbo asked. "Do you have news?" he added with a voice slightly above a whisper.
The Elf smiled and laughed gaily, "Why Master Baggins, 'tis not a thing to think of under the roof of this fair house where the sun still shines and the willows embrace us."
That response did not sit well with the hobbit. Bilbo was old, but he was no fool. He knew that something dark and out of the ordinary had occurred in the past hours and, if Gandalf did not see fit to inform Bilbo, then he would find out on his own. "If we have escaped from some peril then would that I hear of it, so then will my delight at being in this fair house increase all the more," said Bilbo with a stern snort.
Seeing that Bilbo would not be put off, the Elf replied still gaily, "Emissaries from the black land came to call upon the Lord of this House. The Lord Elrond, however, declined to receive them and sent them packing." The Elf laughed with great delight as if relishing some private joke, but Bilbo was not amused and looked rather dismayed.
Perceiving Bilbo's alarm, the Elf added, "Be of good cheer, for Rivendell is safe, and so may you continue to live in peace." With that, the Elf turned and slipped from the room taking with him his light and laughter.
Bilbo found himself alone with his meal and wine. He paid no heed to it, though he was ordinarily over-fond of Elvish fare. He was rather lost in thought, trying vainly to discern some hidden meaning in the Elf's words. None came to him. It was the aroma of freshly cooked breads and meats wafting up to Bilbo's nose that brought him out of his reverie. The old hobbit felt famished and he was overwhelmed by a desire to turn his attention to plate and bottle and away from the morning's evil news in Rivendell. After Bilbo had eaten his fill, he reclined in his cushioned chair next to the roaring fire. He stared at the light and shadows playing on the wall and he grew drowsy. His eyes half-closed and it seemed to him that the shadows danced and then changed into strange visions of dark riders on ghostly steeds. How odd, Bilbo thought before he fell into a restless sleep.
It took Gandalf but a short time to locate Elrond, who was sitting by himself in quiet meditation. When the wizard arrived, several things happened simultaneously. Gandalf had no more finished relaying to Elrond that, within his mind, he had perceived dark forces approaching, when a great commotion arose, as if a portent of things to come. They heard shouts of "Nazgûl! Nazgûl!" Elven warriors renowned for their courage and skills in the art of war were flying towards the paths leading down to the edges of Rivendell. The feeling of imminently approaching evil became so compelling that both Gandalf and Elrond quickly left the room and sought the one most westward and facing the Ford. They went out upon the parapet that afforded them a clear view of the terrain for miles. What they saw chilled them both to the core.
They beheld five figures running on the road as eight Ringwraiths on black steeds bore down on them from the rear. The figures, three small and two tall, leapt off the narrow road just seconds before the Ringwraiths rushed past them. The Nazgûl were bent with evil malice upon a sixth figure -- a lone, small defiant figure clinging to a great white horse that was moving at considerable speed. It was apparent from the way the desperate rider clung to the horse that the beast bore upon its back a hobbit burdened by either injury or illness. It appeared doubtful that the white horse could outrun the Nazgûl, but Gandalf and Elrond watched in amazement as the horse outpaced the eight Ringwraiths and shot across the Ford.
Gandalf's fingers were colorless as he gripped his staff, and his voice was full of urgency as he cried, "Elrond, it is Frodo! Quickly -- bar the Ford!"
Elrond stretched forth his mighty hand towards the water and, as he did so, he issued a command in a powerful voice. Hearing the voice of its master, the water obeyed and at once unleashed its pent-up fury. The wrath too was set free in Gandalf as he raised his staff and spoke words of spell to the water. He had in mind to not only halt the Ringwraiths, but to infuse the experience with as much terror and dread as possible to discourage future attacks. This he accomplished. The sound of the rushing white water was like to that of many boulders crashing, tumbling and breaking. Gandalf, feeling inspired to make a spectacle worthy of song, worked a shaping spell so that the water formed itself into the forms of white riders on charging horses.
Gandalf erupted with laughter at the sight of the powerful water sweeping away the wraiths and their terrified horses. His mirth, however, was soon halted and replaced with alarm as he saw the greatness of the deluge that had been unleashed. From their vantage point, it appeared as though hunters and prey alike would be drowned in the mighty floodwaters. But it was not to be. The waters began to recede until all that remained on the one side of the Ford was the fallen figure of Frodo. He lay without moving and appeared to be scarcely breathing.
Sam, Merry and Pippin fretted, trapped on the other side of the river, anxious to reach the fallen figure of Frodo. The waters, though indeed greatly receded, were still formidable and too high for the likes of hobbits to safely cross. Strider and Glorfindel held them back from attempting to cross immediately, as they greatly desired to do. As the hobbits waited anxiously to cross, Elrond quickly assembled more guides and instructed them to bring the hobbits safely to Rivendell. Elrond and Gandalf stood together on the balcony and watched as the warriors departed Rivendell, riding on mighty steeds, their hair streaming behind them with the swiftness of their passage.
The sun was setting and nightfall was fast approaching when the company of weary travelers and Elves of Rivendell arrived at last within the confines of the Last Homely House east of the Sea. Gandalf and Elrond met them at the entrance to the grounds of Rivendell. As Gandalf stood to the side, Elrond gently removed the cold, motionless figure of Frodo from the arms of the Elves that carried him and brought him to a room that had been prepared. The others anxiously followed after them and, though Gandalf was deeply concerned for Frodo, not knowing what ailed him, his keen eyes observed that Sam, Merry, and Pippin were clearly weary, worn and frightened beyond their strength to endure much more. Their clothes were filthy and torn. Their faces were drawn and pale and their eyes reflected the marks of those who have seen too much. They bore little resemblance to the robust, jolly hobbits Gandalf had grown to know and care for. Gandalf stopped them at the door to Frodo's room as Aragorn and Elrond proceeded inside. Glorfindel remained behind the hobbits.
"Stop," Gandalf said gently, putting his arms about the hobbits. "If you want to help Frodo, then you must rest and eat and gather your strength for the evil days that lay ahead. Glorfindel will escort you to rooms where you will be well cared for."
Merry and Pippin were too overwhelmed to argue, but Sam lifted his weary head in stern protest. "Mr. Gandalf sir, I'm going to be with Mr. Frodo. I promised not to leave him and I'm not going to let him…" Sam's voice trailed off as emotion threatened to overcome him with the fear that his beloved master would die. Sam stared at Gandalf with grim determination on his face.
Gandalf placed his hand on Sam's shoulder and said, "Very well, Master Samwise. It may be that yours is the voice that brings the most comfort to Frodo. Come inside, but stay out of Elrond's way."
Sam's eyes shone with gratitude and relief that he was not to be barred from being near his wounded master. Before Glorfindel led Merry and Pippin away, they clutched Sam and begged him to bring them progress reports on Frodo's condition. Sam in turn promised that he would as soon as he was able and, with that, he turned and followed Gandalf into the sickroom.
The room was light and airy and simply adorned. Pleasantly furnished, it was, with chairs and low tables of various sorts. An ornately carved bed was in the center of the room and Elrond had laid Frodo upon it. His small form looked lost and frail in the big bed. Frodo's torn and dirty cloak and tunic had been removed and Sam, with great difficulty, detected the faint rise and fall of Frodo's breast as he labored to breathe.
Strider, Gandalf and Elrond stood beside the bed talking quietly amongst themselves and with the three other Elven healers in attendance. Stridern had given Elrond the broken hilt, carved with evil runes. Elrond gravely studied it to better understand Frodo's hurts, and he made some notes upon a paper. Before giving the hilt to one of the other healers to preserve, Elrond did as Aragorn had -- he sang a song over the hilt in a low, chanting voice. Elrond turned his attention next to a table laden with various vials, some filled with strange, pungent liquids and others with colorful powders. The others watched silently as Elrond carefully began to mix substances. Each time he had mixed and measured one, he chanted over it with words that even Gandalf did not understand. Finally, when all was prepared, Elrond dipped his fingers into one jar of blue-tinged, fragrant ointment and began to apply it gently, but firmly, to Frodo's shoulder, arm and side. Frodo, however, remained deathly still, for he was beyond feeling Elrond's ministrations.
Sam looked on anxiously from the corner of the room where he sat, a small huddled figure with his knees drawn tight against his breast. He longed to help, to do anything but sit and watch helplessly as Frodo struggled to overcome his grievous wound. For the first time since he had embarked blindly on this journey alongside his master, Sam felt the bitter pain of loneliness and a deep longing for the security of the Shire. Sam did not even have the grim Strider to keep him company, for after Strider had conversed with Elrond and Gandalf, he had departed on some urgent, undisclosed errand.
While Sam was thinking of those things, Elrond's fingers were carefully probing the place on Frodo's shoulder that had taken the sting of the Ringwraith's blade. Endless minutes ticked by, and still Elrond continued to probe in an ever-widening circle, his face a mask of concentration. Though Frodo's wound had long ago closed, it seemed to Sam that the Elf lord was searching in vain for something uncertain.
I wonder what he's looking for? Sam thought to himself. Sam knew little of Elrond and next to nothing of his skills in healing, but his irrepressible admiration of Elves helped to nurture the hope in his heart that Frodo would be cured.
The same could not be said of Gandalf. For all his considerable powers in the magical arts and knowledge of lore of every kind, Gandalf himself possessed no extraordinary skills in healing. He did however possess a certain useful skill in being able to read minds and discern memories. The cure may yet reside with Frodo, thought Gandalf as he resolved to probe the depths of Frodo's mind.
As Elrond tended Frodo, Gandalf placed his hand upon Frodo's pale, cold brow. Through bleary eyes, Sam watched him. He said nothing ever of what he witnessed that day, not even to Frodo. Gandalf closed his eyes. Nothing happened. In a brief moment the wizard stiffened as if turned to stone, his lips began to move soundlessly and then his eyes flew open. Sam blinked his groggy eyes, for it seemed to him that the robes of Gandalf took on an ethereal quality. He knew that though the wizard's eyes were open, he looked without sight upon the mortal realm.
Gandalf had indeed read Frodo's mind and memory. His spirit had passed through a darkness that was blacker than the depths of the black pits of Moria, and he found himself being inundated with terrifying visions and sounds that were not his own. His senses had merged with those of the injured hobbit and he beheld clearly now a vision of Merry and Pippin being utterly consumed by a huge, malevolent willow tree. He was assailed by Frodo's feelings of horror and helplessness to save Merry and Pippin, and his mind was full of the knowledge that his small measure of hobbit strength would not be sufficient for the task of freeing his friends from a foe so fearsome and strong. The desperation that had fallen on Frodo was as a dark, heavy blanket weighing him down, trapping him, and threatening to stamp out his ability to reason altogether. Gandalf's face contorted and his lips moved as if to emit a desperate cry for help, but no sound reached Sam's closely listening ears. Like a swiftly passing wind, the terrible vision and the feeling of desperation flittered away into nothingness until it was replaced by a cold dread that gripped with formless, merciless hands about Gandalf. The wizard felt his bones freeze to the marrow and his limbs would not obey his commands. A new terror visited Gandalf. He felt himself now lying on his back, imprisoned in a place where the very warmth of living things was anathema to the evil that dwelt there in the ancient spirit realm. He was in the barrow and, as he looked around his prison, he beheld with horror the arm of the Barrow-wight, creeping along the floor, white and hideously long. Then that dark vision passed as well and the memory of a terror more dreadful settled now on Gandalf. He was clinging desperately to a swiftly moving horse and the relentless wraiths were in close pursuit behind him. He felt the wrath emanating from their burning, lidless eyes. He heard their terrifying voices from within his mind commanding him to stop and surrender both his life and the Ring. Gandalf felt both the pain from the knife-wound and the strain of resistance that had served only to intensify the terror Frodo had felt. Still, Gandalf felt, from somewhere deep within, the gathering of Frodo's courage and the hardening of his will to resist the relentless evil that pursued him. But then, he felt his senses dimming and his body falling -- falling into black pit of emptiness until all ghostly sounds and visions ceased.
Gandalf now knew of the cruel assault on the hapless hobbits by the evil willow. He knew about the terror of the Barrow-wights. He had experienced through Frodo's eyes his fear, his desperation, the lure of the Ring and his courage at defying the terrifying, deadly Nazgûl. Moments passed before the wizard's body seemed to shudder and Sam knew by his eyes that Gandalf had come back to himself.
Gandalf stepped back from the bed and his gaze fell upon Frodo. Pity and something else was in his eyes -- wonder soon eclipsed the look of sympathy. His strength is greater than ever I realized, Gandalf thought. Then a great weariness pressed itself upon him until his hands trembled and he was forced to seek the support of one of the nearby chairs. He folded himself into it and sat in reflective silence.
Gandalf was not the only one overtaken by weariness. Sam could fight his exhaustion no longer. He willed himself to stay awake having foolishly vowed that, as long as his master remained lost in that sinking darkness, he would not sleep but would instead watch and will Frodo to live. His mind and body betrayed his will, however, and his need
for rest would not be denied. Sam's weary head bowed, his eyes closed and the last thought he had before sleep took him was, Forgive your Sam, Master.