Glorfindel had been trotting his horse through the trees when he saw the object fall from the canopy above. In fact, he was sure it had fallen from above the trees, somehow, as he had heard the screaming emanating from up high. He was unsure who it was. Perhaps the eagles had seen a thief and dropped him in to the forest knowing that that was where the Elf-Lord was. Perhaps he was a spy. Glorfindel felt anger rising, for perhaps the spy is working for the Dark Lord, sent to deter him from his quest. He wouldn't know until he investigated. He quietly slid from his horse and drew his sword from his scabbard held at his hip and gently stalked over to where the possible spy was lying on the floor. As he closed the gap, the fallen man lifted his head, and dazedly looked around. Just to keep the man in check, as he had no idea what he was capable of, Glorfindel rested the tip of his sword on the mans throat so it was touching his Adam's Apple. Then the head flopped again.

It was obvious that the man was unconscious, although it could just be a ploy to get him off guard and attack him. It was then that the Golden-haired Elf realised that the man wasn't armed. Surely a spy sent by the Dark Lord would be armed just in case. Most definitely be armed with a bow and arrow or throwing knives at the very least. He quickly looked above at the trees checking to see if there were any weapons snagged in the branches above. There wasn't. Though there was clear proof that the man had fallen through here, he hadn't exactly been discreet about it. Branches were bent and snapped, and there was a clear line straight through the canopy allowing a single thick beam of sunlight to show through. Glorfindel averted his gaze to the ground, scanning the area for weapons. Again there were none, none showing at least, there was just a pile of branches and leaves; again proof that the unconscious man had fallen through.

Then something caught his eye; a dollop of red on a green leaf. Crouching down he realised it was blood. He looked across to the man and saw more blood surrounding him. He then knew what he must do. In order to find where he was from and what he was doing here, he must clean him up and help him regain consciousness. He knelt down next to him and turned him over. The man was badly bruised on his face, and there were cuts – some deep, some shallow – but they were cuts none the less. The bruises resembled fist marks, a clear sign that this man had been in a fight recently. The cuts could mean the same but some could have been caused by the fall through the trees. Then there was the extremely noticeable wound on his torso, spreading from his right hip to his left shoulder and bleeding profusely. The strange thing was that there were no cuts on his clothes, apart from the fresh ones from the tugging branches. Glorfindel quickly looked the fallen man up and down; he was wearing Black silk breeches and a loosely fitting light grey tunic. Well that was what colour it was supposed to be. But it was fast turning to a deep crimson with the thickest colour in a gash that seared the garment in two. The Elf-Lord stood and ran to his horse and took a little satchel from his saddle-bag, then ran back to the dying man.

After a few hard minutes of trying to stem the bleeding in his chest, Glorfindel quickly tied some string to a needle and started stitching the wound. 'This is going to take along time.' He thought to himself. He had stitched about two inches yet already they were coming undone. 'This is a very bad wound indeed.' After about half an hour he was still only half way done.

"I don't have time for this!" He chided himself quietly.

"But I can't just leave him here."

"There are bigger matters than helping this man, he could be a spy."

"But he needs help; I cannot and will not leave him."

Glorfindel sighed extensively and carried on stitching the wound. After about another half hour, he had finally stitched up the wound, but had used a lot of his string to do it; the wound was so deep. He took some bandage from the satchel and cut it with a short knife, then tightly wrapped it around the man's torso. Glorfindel had noticed the amount of scars he had, some long some were short there was one on his back that was almost as long as the wound he had just stitched. He was also, Glorfindel found, well built, he looked too well built to be a spy. He looked to be a soldier. So what was he doing in a tree? Once he had tied off the bandage, he took the satchel back to his horse and while replacing it in the saddlebag, took out a spare tunic. The man's breeches should be alright for now. He just hoped that this tunic fit him. This man looked taller than him and was bigger built. He gently lifted the injured man on his white horse and walked him through the trees. The body slumped forward on the horse's neck. Glorfindel patted the horse on the nose in a soothing gesture and whispered to him. Asfaloth had been getting somewhat distressed at the fact there was another person other than his owner riding him. Glorfindel looked forward, a worried look covering his face. What would he do if he found Aragorn and the Hobbits, they would most likely be chased by the Black Riders, and he had already seen some of them galloping through the forest. He had no idea where the others were. The Ring-bearer would take priority in that situation.

He heard a very smooth light almost effeminate voice arguing with himself about whether to leave him to his fate or to help him. He could feel movement, a bobbing motion as if he was at sea but more violent. Then he heard a whisper. It was a soft tone, almost soothing, but what the voice was saying he couldn't decipher, it was in a language he had never heard before. There were also sounds of birds, and the sounds of forest animals. It reminded him of home, or kind of, some of the sounds he was hearing, some of the animals were different to the ones he had back on Brilbane. He willed for his eyes to open, willed to look around at the place he was in, but his eyes refused to obey. The sounds of the countryside were all about him: the wind blowing through the trees, the sound of leaves rustling as they touched each other, the insects on the ground chirping noisily. The General missed these sounds, the sound of home.

He had no idea where he was, or what time it was, according to his own time, he had no idea of the timescale of the place he was in. He didn't actually care at the minute, for he was in bliss, absolute bliss. No pain, just the senses of smell and hearing, and for the place he was it sounded beautiful. Voldan used his remaining useful senses and listened to the countryside, happily listening to the birds and the insects that reminded him so much of home. It was then that a horrible high pitched scream ruptured the air. All the birds and animals were obviously startled by this because of the noise, but it was worse for Voldan who had been listening intently. It felt like the stuff of nightmares, which made him sure that he was in a deep sleep.

Glorfindel shook when he heard the awful scream, looking over at the unconscious man whose face was now wrought with pain or distaste, possibly the latter, at such an awful noise. It was getting late and there was still no sign of the hobbits or the ranger he had been sent two look for two weeks earlier. He looked at the man again; his face was now once again a mask of peace and tranquillity. Unlike his own: one of worry. The only time they screeched like that was when they had found something, and they obviously had, and it was close. He looked back to the man with a look of regret on his face. He had to move quickly, and to do that he needed his horse. He gently lifted the unconscious man from the back of Asfaloth and laid him gently on the floor under a tree. Covering him up with a pile of fallen leaves to cover him from any evil doers around he mounted Asfaloth and shouted a command.

"Noro, beinil." (Run, beautiful one)

Asfaloth moved straight into the gallop, moving as quickly as his Elfish legs would carry him.

Voldan heard the leaves being shuffled, and lightly felt them being placed on top of him, then heard the unmistakeable noise of hooves trailing away. He wondered what had happened, where the person who had helped him was going. He listened intently again the noise of the woodland had changed, now there were the chirps of Nightjars and other nocturnal creatures. So judging by the noise, it was getting late. For the minute he just settled himself for the bliss that was unconsciousness.

Aragorn heard the hooves on the road, approaching hard and fast. A flicker of fear surged through him as the natural thoughts took over: 'Is it a Black Rider?' 'What if they see us?' 'What about the Hobbits, Frodo?' But then he started thinking rationally. He realised that the hooves were not that of Mordor horses, they were not heavy enough. These were other horse's hooves, light and swift. His thoughts were confirmed when the rider came into view. It was definitely not a Black Rider; one could almost say that it was a white rider such was the light that shone from back of the horse. He looked down and saw that the Hobbits were staring in awe at the newcomer, who was an elf. And not just any elf, he realised as he saw the face of the rider when he was closer. This was an Elf-Lord named Glorfindel.

"Ai na vedui Dúnadan! Mae govannen!"

"Le suilon, mellon."

Glorfindel looked at the Hobbits, examining each of them, a slight smile on his face at the greeting with them. Eventually his gaze fell upon the slumped figure on the back of a pony. The smile faded from his face to be replaced by a look of concern. With out a word he quickly made his way to the injured Hobbit. Aragorn was close behind him, the other Hobbits behind him. The four of them watched as the Elf gently and gracefully lifted the small one from the saddle and laid him on the floor.

"He is mortally wounded." Glorfindel stated.

"He has been stabbed by a Morgul blade" Aragorn said slowly, almost regretfully. Glorfindel looked up at him a look of understanding in his eyes.

"We need a leaf of the Athelas plant, Aragorn, it may not cure him but it may stem the poisoning a little while." Aragorn nodded then looked to Sam.

"You know the Athelas plant? We need it."

"Athelas? I'm afraid I've not heard of that, sir." Aragorn looked thoughtfully for a moment, and then clicked his fingers as he remembered the other name.

"Athelas, also known as Kingsfoil."

"Kingsfoil, oh that's a weed." At that they both set off in opposite directions both keeping low to help in their aid to find the weed. Meanwhile, The Elven lord was muttering short sentences in Elvish over Frodo's quivering and sweating body. He shook his head ruefully, seeing effects of the Dark Magic taking over: his skin growing pale and cold, his eyes glazing over. Soon he started muttering words that neither Hobbit or Elf understood, but Glorfindel knew the language.

"If Aragorn doesn't hurry with the Athelas plant, I'm afraid that Frodo will become alike to those who inflicted this upon him." He said looking up to the three Hobbits hovering around them anxiously.

"There was a small exertion of success as Sam found the plant they needed and hurried back to where Frodo lay in the tender arms of Glorfindel. Aragorn arrived a moment later then, reading the situation, paced over to Bill the Pony and took a pestle and mortar from the saddle-bag and went over to where Glorfindel knelt.

"Thank you," the Elf said then immediately set to crushing some of the leaves until they were no more than a paste in the mortar. He scooped it up in his fingers making sure he didn't lose any of the precious substance on the floor then gently rubbed it on the wound of the fallen Hobbit, who gave a shriek of pain as the paste started working immediately. "This is out of my hands as a healer, we must get him back to Elrond, to the Houses of Healing." Aragorn nodded his agreement as Glorfindel, who wouldn't have waited for a confirmation anyway, lifted Frodo up on the back of his horse, then he too jumped up, making the move look effortless along the way.

"Noro lim, Asfaloth, Noro lim!" He cried, as his horse pulled away heading straight into the gallop, followed by the angry voice of Sam.

"Where are you going! Those Wraiths are still out there!"

"There is nothing for us to do now, Sam." Aragorn said softly, resting a hand on the shoulder of the angry yet anxious Hobbit. "He is in safe hands now, Glorfindel will not allow any more harm come to your friend. Now come, we must go if we are to join them in Rivendell."

He took Bill by the reins and started leading him through the forest, sincerely hoping that he was right.

Glorfindel raced towards the Ford of Bruinen, meandering through the sparse trees. He knew there were at least four wraiths behind him, he had heard them. Where the other five were he didn't know. He kept Asfaloth running at the same speed, he knew that Mordor horses were the fastest of other horses but they could never compare to the speed of Elven bred horses. He was coming to the end of the woodland now. Then there were more screeches. Yet they came from up ahead somewhere. Then the source of the horrific noises came into view, as four Black riders came from the trees on both sides. The elf knew that they would come to the sides of him as they were moving diagonally forwards. He couldn't let them grasp the young Hobbit, he had to keep moving, and move faster; there is a time to run and a time to fight. He knew that, and this was the time to run, when he reached the Ford was the time to fight. He looked about him and saw the four newcomers were close at his flanks, one of them close enough to reach out. He had nearly clasped a claw like hand around Frodo's arm when Glorfindel screamed a command at Asfaloth.

"Noro lim, Asfaloth!"

His horse suddenly moved faster, therefore evading the groping hand of the Wraith, who screamed in reply to the Elf's actions. He knew that it was more or less straight now, all he had to do was navigate his way through the upcoming trees and he would be across the river and into the protection of Elrond. Glorfindel risked a look behind and saw as he feared; the Wraiths were closing the gap. He had to go faster. Asfaloth, sensing his predicament, sped up to try and outrun the Mordor horses that carried their horrible cargo.

He reached the trees, which were much denser than the others, but as he knew where he was going he kept Asfaloth at the same pace; swerving through the trees with ease and gracefully jumping over fallen branches and trunks. There wasn't far to go now until he reached the branches that were entwined to form a tunnel just wide enough for one horse to travel down. He looked behind; he had temporarily lost the riders whose horses weren't used to riding through these dense trees, especially not at speed. But it wouldn't take long for them to catch up so he couldn't stall just for a moment. Asfaloth didn't need telling, he kept the pace up and once the tunnel was in sight made a beeline towards it. Glorfindel risked another glance behind, still no sign of the Riders. There was brief darkness as he travelled through the tunnel then once out, it brightened up again. Now right in front of them was the fast flowing river that they needed to cross to make it to safety, it would be no problem especially for a horse, it only came up to their ankles. Glorfindel let out a sigh of relief, they were on the brink of safety, though he stayed cautious, all he needed to do was let his guard down for an instant and that could be it, it would be over, and so close to success. He dismounted then looked up at Frodo.

"You must ride to the other side, my friend, you will be safe there. The riders of Sauron cannot cross this river, it is protected." Frodo looked to be about to ask a question, but there was no time, he could hear the Riders coming and looking towards the tunnel he could see the wind blowing down showing that they definitely were approaching, and fast. "There is no time, Frodo, now you must go little one."

Frodo could do nothing but accept, especially when Glorfindel muttered a command in Elvish to Asfaloth, who started promptly trotting in the direction of the Bruinen.

"Wait, what about you? Why have you dismounted?"

"I will stay here and make sure it goes all goes as planned."

"What plan?"

"I will explain later, little one, now go there is not much time left!"

Asfaloth trotted through Loudwater and stopped at the other side just as the riders approached the near bank, 'Why have you stopped, Frodo?' Glorfindel thought. The Elf was out of sight of the Riders in his hiding place within the bushes near the bank. He heard the foremost rider; who was evidently their leader, the dread Witch-King of Angmar speak to the Hobbit, commanding him to give up the Ring. But to Glorfindel's amazement, the Hobbit drew his sword and held it aloft then shouted back.

"By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me!"

Glorfindel looked at the horses of his enemy, they were still nervous. He smiled at that, they would be reluctant to go in to the River which The Witch King would evidently do. Then, as Glorfindel thought, The leader of the Black Riders trotted his horse into the River and held up his hand. He looked at Frodo to see the effects, and he could see them clearly: his sword broke and Asfaloth reared. It looked like Frodo had trouble staying on his back. 'Hurry Elrond,' He thought, 'we have little time.' Lo and behold, as if the River had heard his thought, the waters grew shallow and an immediate roaring could he heard down the valley, as if there was a monster making its way up. The Elf-Lord used this new time to his advantage, drawing his sword and walking out of his hiding place. The Black Riders had no idea of his presence. Because the Ring was so close, they could think of nothing else.

As they entered the middle of the River the roaring grew louder. When Glorfindel looked downriver he could see a giant wall of water approaching, the head of which formed to show galloping horses. The Wraiths noticed it too and started backing up only to be confronted by another force. They saw the shining white light of the Elf-Lord and were frightened back into the River. Now they were trapped, there was no where else for them to go. The water hit them like a ram hitting a gate. If the force of the water didn't kill the horses, the water itself would. In a couple of seconds all the evil was washed away, though looking at Frodo he saw him fall from his horse. There was no way for him to cross yet; the water was still too deep and fast. But luckily he saw a group of elves coming down the road towards the fallen Hobbit, evidently sent by Lord Elrond, they gently picked him up and carried him on a stretcher back up the road, one of them waved at Glorfindel before leading Asfaloth back too. The Elf thought he should wait for Aragorn to catch up, it shouldn't be long now, so he sat down and rested his back against a nearby tree, able to breathe a sigh of relief at last.

When Aragorn finally turned up, it was getting late, though not so late that the world relied on the moons light to see. Glorfindel saw the Ranger pacing towards him. Though he didn't look as tireless as usual, he looked weary and his face was crossed with anxiety. To Glorfindel, it looked as if his face was trying to show its age. He would look better once he saw that Frodo was in expert hands. In his hands were the reins to his horse who looked mighty pleased to be here again. To the left of him, straggling a bit were the other three Hobbits that accompanied Frodo on his quest. They each looked more tired than Aragorn, but that was to be expected, they were not used to travelling as much as the Ranger, and for not being travellers, they had been in enough danger the last few months or so than any traveller would want to be in a lifetime. One Dark haired Hobbit in particular was clenching his stomach, which made the Golden haired Elf think that he had been wounded along the way here as he seemed fine when he had first met him. It turned out that he wasn't injured at all; Glorfindel didn't need the use of his Elven ears to hear the rumbling of his stomach. He tried to fight back a smile, but that was one battle the Elf was destined to lose as a smile ripped across his face from ear to ear. The others were laughing and smiling too.

"Ah, my friend, what news of Frodo do you bear to give us?"

"He is well my friend; he is recovering at a rapid rate, considering the wound he took."

"He's gonna be okay?" Sam asked with genuine delight in his eyes. Glorfindel took a thoughtful look at the fair haired Hobbit.

"That I cannot tell you, I haven't been to Imladris since I arrived with Frodo, I was waiting for you to arrive."

"So how do you know that Frodo is getting well?" Another Hobbit asked another fair haired one with a much slimmer build.

"Elrond sent an envoy down to tell me, but that was the only news I have received so far."

"Why didn't you go back?" Aragorn asked.

"I wanted to stay behind to ensure that you didn't get lost, édain." Glorfindel replied, to which Aragorn snorted, but resisted getting into an argument with him, so just smiled instead. "Besides, I could not cross while the water level was so high."

"Why was the water level high, was it a spring tide?" Sam asked, making Glorfindel stammer.

"W-well… You see…"

"We'll explain later." Aragorn intervened. Glorfindel gave him an appreciative glance for the saviour.

"Come if you wish to arrive in Rivendell before the food is removed." He instantly saw the Hobbits perk up at that sentence.

"So how long do you think it will take for Frodo to recover from that wound?" Sam asked the Elf.

"The wound itself should not take long to heal, since it was only small, but the affects might take a while. But not to worry it is not a big wound…" Glorfindel trailed off and his eyes widened.

"What's wrong?" Aragorn asked grabbing the hilt of his sword.

"I need to borrow your horse." Glorfindel said taking the reins from the Rangers hand and galloping off before he could utter a word of protest. "Make your way to Imladris my friends, I won't be long!"

The four looked at each other then carried on following Aragorn again. The worry of Glorfindel was in the Hobbits' minds for a few minutes until they started thinking of the feast again.

"What do you think they'll have?" Sam asked.

"Pheasant and pork and chicken and ham and lamb and mutton and…"

"MUSHROOMS!" Pippin interrupted, invoking laughter from his companions.

Meanwhile Glorfindel was panicking, how could he have forgotten about it? He should have remembered, the poor man could be dead by now. He was quite sure that he wasn't a spy, something struck him that he was more friend than foe. He just hoped that he could hold on a bit longer, it shouldn't take that long to get to him.

Well there's chapter one of this story hope you like it.