(AN: Writing really good Doctor Who stories can be difficult because, if you think about it, the Doctor and the TARDIS are deus ex machina in extremis! The Doctor just shows up, waves his sonic screw-driver, quotes Friedrich Nietschzie and the world just magically rights itself. I like those episodes [few and far between] where there is no quick fix, where the Doctor has to solve his problem the hard way. While obviously with what I'm going with in this story [not 100% canon, as with The Doctor's Star Wars and Revenge of the Master] something will have to change later on in the line, I still want to go through with this.)

(Yes, I did see the trailer for the 50th anniversary, and in typical Moffat fashion, the 8th Doctor [one of my favorites, next to the 1st, 4th, 7th and 10th] was just a face in the background, behind and smaller even than the Ood! I swear he didn't even get a special, or even a showing of his film, as all the other Doctors have leading up to the 50th anniversary special!)


The Flight to the Ford

"Doctor, are you alright?" Clara asked, kneeling at his side.

"Ah! Morgul blade!" the Doctor exclaimed, rising up from where he was laying. He pointed to something lying on the ground while his hands reached for his wound. "Some kind of...blood-based mutagen. Once it hits the heart, I'd be corrupted. I'd become like them."

"A Ringwraith?" Clara asked.

"Considering who and what I am," the Doctor replied. "That's a strong possibility, especially that I might be able to...ah! Maybe not, then."

"Well, what are you going to do?" she asked. "You're a Doctor, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," the Doctor replied. "But it's not like my previous incarnations, where I carried a doctor's bag with me. And...ah! I can't perform almost open-heart surgery here. I could burn the blade-point out with a bit of regeneration energy. I don't think they were counting on that, that I could shake off this blow as easily as ah! Any they could throw out! But I really don't want to go, not yet, not like this!"

By this time, Aragorn was walking over to where Clara and the Doctor were, a still-burning torch in his hands.

"We press on," the Doctor panted. "If anyone can get this out before it's too late, it would be Elrond, yes?"

"Yes, he could," said the Ranger, looking grimly upon the Doctor' injury. He then offered the Doctor his hand and helped him up on to his feet.

"Wait, can you move?" Clara asked the Doctor.

"Yes," he replied. "It's just...ah! This will definitely complicate things. I'm not exactly a Hobbit, so I might fall sooner. If I do, don't hesitate to kill me. Last of the Timelords, yes, but you do not want that as your enemy!"

"Doctor, you're starting to scare me," Clara stated, though her voice didn't sound scared in the least.

"Good, it's not a bad thing to be afraid of real danger," the Doctor stated. "It's only bad when ah! When we let that fear control us!"

"But we're still far away from Rivendell, aren't we?" she asked. "Six days, right?"

"More like two weeks," the Doctor added.

"Two weeks!" she exclaimed. "How are you going to survive for two weeks?"

"I'll manage."


It had been a week since the attack below Weathertop. While the Doctor seemed like his rather usual self, Clara noticed that he did not run very much, and after the fifth day, he did not run at all. Sometimes, when he thought she wasn't looking, he would grip his chest and seem to wince. Aragorn kept the Hobbits going as quickly as possible, for he recognized the urgency of the situation. But Clara, despite her knees aching and her back screaming for rest, tried her damnedest to keep up with the Doctor. She had a few things to ask him.

"Doctor, how are you feeling?" she asked. "Are you feeling alright?"

"No worries," the Doctor replied. "I wish I had a jelly baby, or maybe a jammy dodger. Something to keep my spirits up."

"Doctor, you know this story better than I do," she said. "Surely you know what it means to be stabbed by one of those daggers."

"Yes, I do, that's why I'm keeping my head about me," the Doctor said. "It shouldn't be too long before we get to Rivendell."

"But wasn't Frodo supposed to be the one who got wounded?" she asked. "I mean, what's going to happen if he isn't wounded?"

"Well, he'll live a longer, happier life because of it," the Doctor replied. "He won't drown in the west, chasing some empty fantasy, and Sam will have him with him for several years more, which should make them both happy."

"But what about you?" she asked. "I mean, even if we get to Rivendell in time, won't that wound affect you?"

"Well, yes," the Doctor said. "It'll be on this form until I regenerate, by then it will be nothing more than a memory of a very bad day, like the Time War. Much better that I bear that burden than Frodo."

"But can you do that?" Clara asked.

"Can I do that?" the Doctor laughed. "I've absorbed the time vortex from the heart of the TARDIS, I've carried gamma radiation in my body for six days, destroying me slowly from the inside. The memory of a little knife wound isn't going to be that ba-ah!" He clenched the left side of his chest. Clara gave him her arm, which he rested upon.

"Blimey, that wasn't good!" he exclaimed.

"Where are we?" she asked. "I don't recall this place."

"This is known in the Common tongue as Angle," the Doctor said. "The sound of water you hear is the Hoarwell, or Mitheithel in the Elvish tongue. We should be close to the Last Bridge."

"That close already?" Clara asked. "I thought there wasn't a bridge."

"That's the Loudwater, or Bruinen in Elvish," the Doctor explained. "This bridge is precisely called the Last Bridge because there is no bridge over the Loudwater. We're at least seven days out of Rivendell."

"Do you think you can make it?" she asked.

"I'll manage," the Doctor said.

They pressed on, until before them the trees parted and they saw the wooden bridge which spanned the Hoarwell River. The Hobbits, who seemed to be pleased with the change of scenery, waded at the edge of the water and cooled their tired feet. The Doctor and Clara also popped off their shoes and socks and placed them in the chilling waters of the river. Aragorn, meanwhile, looked upon the bridge and along the shore to see if there was any token that someone - such as Gandalf - passed by this way.

"Something's wrong, Doctor," Clara said.

"Of course something's wrong," he replied cryptically.

"They act like nothing's wrong, like we weren't just attacked, like you weren't just wounded now!"

"I know," the Doctor said. "But it won't last. The Ringwraiths will certainly be back, and in greater numbers. They don't know that I'm a Timelord, I doubt they've even heard anything about Timelords, beyond a mere superficial name association. They'll be coming for me once they think I've turned, and they still haven't got the Ring."

"I don't like it," she said.

"Do you think I do?"

"No, there is something really wrong, can't you feel it?" Clara asked, looking back over her back at Frodo. "I...I heard it speaking to me, several times before, mostly when I could see it or when Frodo was near. It kept whispering things to me."

"What things?"

"Rubbish things," she said. "Empty promises. Said I could have my mum and dad back if I took the Ring. Completely mental, that. And still..." Her tone dropped, going from amused and unaffected to a little bit concerned. The Doctor looked back at her.

"What?"

"What if it's possible?" Clara asked.

"Listen to me," the Doctor said, placing his arm around her shoulder. She looked back at him. "Don't listen to anything that comes from that Ring. It's trying to deceive you. It wouldn't do anything but call the Ringwraiths to us if you took it."

"But it's already doing that now," Clara added. "Just hanging around Frodo's neck, doing nothing. I wish we could be rid of it."

"And we will," the Doctor said. "Once they're in Rivendell, we can go back to the Shire and look for the TARDIS and be back in time for you to nanny Artie and Angie."

"You're taking this all rather well, aren't you?" Clara asked.

"Ah!" the Doctor groaned. "Well, what about you? You take everything well!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked. "Should I be running about screaming like a little child?"

"No, it's...ah! Never you mind," the Doctor groaned. "I'm just a bit daft, that's all. This wound is starting to get to me."

"You can say that again," she added as an aside.

Moments later Aragorn appeared, cradling something in his hands.

"Did you find anything?" Frodo asked. "Was Gandalf here?"

"If he did pass this way," Aragorn said. "He left no sign that I can discern. But I did find something else." He held aloft a gem-stone which glistened green in the light.

"An emerald," the Doctor stated.

"Do you think Gandalf left it here?" Frodo asked.

"No," Aragorn replied. "But I will take it as a good sign. Perhaps we can cross the River Bruinen without incident. I feared that we might find the Ford held against us."

The Doctor looked at Clara, shaking his head condescendingly, when he flailed suddenly, gripping his left heart.

"Is something wrong?" Aragorn asked.

"No," the Doctor lied. "But I think we should press on. We've had one too many stops so far. They're still on horseback, and it's a long walk to Rivendell. No time to waste!"


Five more days passed after they crossed the Hoarwell, and the Doctor was not feeling well at all. He spent most of their journey half bent over and leaning on Clara's shoulders. Aragorn could not spare himself, for he was their guide and had to find a way through the wilderness not only for them but for the Hobbits as well. Furthermore, as he reminded them, they were now entering the beech-filled region of the Trollshaws. While they could hope to escape from trolls during the daylight, when they would be hiding in their caves and holes for fear of turning to stone in the sunlight, night would make them completely vulnerable.

After a rather hilarious incident where Pippin, scouting ahead with the others for a camp-ground one afternoon, thought he saw three live trolls, which turned out to be three trolls turned to stone (Frodo wondered if this was where Bilbo met the three trolls in his adventures, to which the Doctor said it most certainly was), they made camp again. But while the sun was still hanging in the western sky, they heard the sound of hoofs upon the Great East Road coming west, towards them.

"Someone's coming!" Merry spoke up.

"Black Riders!" Frodo said with fear.

"No, it's not," Clara spoke up.

"She's right," Aragorn added. "Listen."

They all paid heed and could hear, just beneath the sound of hoofs clopping along the road, the twinkling of tiny silver bells. A few moments later, a rider appeared on a white horse. He that sat upon the horse was no Black Rider, but an Elf. Clara was reminded of the Doctor in many ways, for the face was fair, young and fearless, and his eyes were bright and clean. Tall he was, but his hair was long and shining golden, almost white.

"Doctor," Clara muttered. "Since when was Arwen blond? And a man?"

"That's not Arwen, that's Glorfindel," the Doctor whispered.

"But where's Arwen?"

"She didn't come here," the Doctor said. "Glorfindel did."

"But who is he?"

The Doctor, meanwhile, looked rather concerned, more so than just because of his injury. He could hear Aragorn and Glorfindel speaking to each other, but for some reason, the TARDIS' translator circuits weren't picking up what they were saying, so all his ears heard was what everyone else heard: Sindarin. Of course, he could speak it, but he also knew that something was wrong. Where was the TARDIS?

"Well met indeed," Glorfindel said, speaking now to everyone. "I have come from the House of Elrond, seeking Frodo son of Drogo."

"Has Gandalf arrived at Rivendell?" Frodo asked.

"He was not there when we departed," Glorfindel replied. "My orders came from Lord Elrond. A small part of your errand is known, and I have come out seeking you." It was then that Glorfindel noticed the Doctor, and Clara saw all warmth and merriment leave his eyes. In its place was concern and suspicion. "But I see that you have this one with you."

"This one has a name, you know!" the Doctor stated. "But just call me Doctor, thank you very much."

"A deceptive title, like everything about you," said Glorfindel.

"What is it?" Clara asked. "That Elf Gildor got all suspicious about the Doctor too. What's your row with the Doctor?"

"How much do you know about the one who calls himself the Doctor, young one?" Glorfindel asked her.

"Uh, he's brilliant," she began, stammering a little. "He-He travels through space and time, although I don't think you'd understand what that means. He's cute, really cute. Except for that chin."

"Hey!" the Doctor spoke up.

"Uh, he's clever." she added. "And though he acts like a twelve year old girl, and talks as fast as a five year old, he's the best person I've ever known."

"Then you know very little of him, child," Glorfindel said. "Among my people, the Doctor is a name peril and great evil, second only to the Power that now rises in the East. It was he who dared to trespass into the Uttermost West and wrought such mischief that has plagued this world unto this very day. For a time, we thought he had left us, fled into the Dark Beyond. But that is not so, it seems. Dark days are upon us indeed if Furaedhil walks this land again."

The Elf cast his eyes on the Doctor and Clara thought she saw, for one brief moment, a look of unease and nervousness pass over the Doctor's face. She thought that maybe it was just the side effect of his illness, but for that moment he looked positively frightened, like a thief cornered by the lawman with no tricks left up his sleeves and no way of escape. She looked at Glorfindel, but saw nothing more than the handsome yet grim-faced Elf, golden hair and gray cloak over travel clothes. She then looked back at the Doctor, who was composed by now, but she could still see the fear in his small, beady eyes.

"If you have something to say about me," the Doctor said to Glorfindel, trying to sound as confident and cool as usual. "I'd rather you say it to my face and not as though I were not here."

"Furaedhil," Glorfindel said, turning to the Doctor. When his blue eyes fell upon the Doctor, Clara once again saw the Time-lord flinch nervously. "It appears that you are not yet under the Power of the Black Land."

"What is he saying?" Pippin asked.

"Excuse me," Frodo interjected. "Pardon me, Glorfindel, but what do you mean about the Doctor? He has been rather helpful to us in our journey."

"His help is the bait of his trap," said Glorfindel. "But as for my previous words, I see that he has been injured by the weapons of the Enemy. Such as these are rarely not poisoned, but this, I fear, is some greater evil. He must be taken to Lord Elrond in Rivendell at once, or your burden, Frodo son of Drogo, will be in greater danger."

"Why?" Frodo asked. "The wound wasn't serious."

"It was a Morgul-blade," the Doctor said. "I've held it back too long. Glorfindel is right, despite his condescension. We have to be moving faster."

"I speak only the truth concerning you," said Glorfindel.

At this the Doctor laughed. "Truth, truth, truth. What is truth?"

"Speak not the words of the servants and emissaries of Mordor in our ears, Furaedhil!" commanded Glorfindel.

Once again, Clara saw the Doctor flinch and take a step back from the Elf-lord.

"Still," Aragorn interjected. "Even if we attempted to go any faster, we are still two days journey away from the Ford."

"Then he shall ride Asfaloth, and carry the Half-ling with him," said Glorfindel. "Loath am I to do this, but the Enemy want him, as do they want the Half-ling's burden. Woe would it be to us if he fell and they caught him and greater woe yet if the Half-ling fell into their hands."

"And greater woe still if both of them were captured," Aragorn interjected.

"Fear not, Dunadan," said Glorfindel. "Asfaloth's pace can outmatch even that of the steeds of the Enemy."

"I shan't go through with this," Frodo interjected. "Not if I must leave my friends and traveling companions behind."

"I'm afraid you must, Frodo," Aragorn interjected. "For the sake of the Ring, you must go over the Bruinen before they come upon us in the wild. Remember, it is that which they are after and not us."

"Dunadan is right," Glorfindel added. "It may be safer for your friends if you went over the ford."

"Oh, bother this cursed thing!" cried Frodo as he removed from his pocket the small golden ring. "It's brought me nothing but trouble ever since Gandalf told me about it! I'd just as soon throw it in a ditch and run off home!"

"Why don't you?" Clara asked. "Be rid of it."

"That's not a good idea!" both Aragorn and the Doctor said as one.

"In the wild, unprotected, they will surely find it," said the Ranger.

"He's right," added the Doctor.

"So why can't you just bury it?" Clara asked. "Seriously, I'll dig a hole for you with my hands, you can throw it in, we'll bury it up and it'll be forgotten forever."

"There is much you do not know, child," Glorfindel spoke. "The Enemy's power is great, corrupting the very land of life and turning it into a barren wasteland of fire and ash and dust: his realm of Mordor. There is no power in the Earth to battle his power, therefore, no matter how deep it is buried, I fear it will not be buried deep enough to be kept from him."

"Why not throw it in the sea?" Clara asked.

"Or send it into the West..." mused Glorfindel aloud. "Or maybe Iarwain..."

"Not this again," the Doctor scoffed, rolling his eyes before clutching his chest in pain.

"No, now is not the time for debate," Glorfindel suddenly stated. "We must press on. The Enemy will not wait while we do."


They did not get far that day, for it was afternoon when Glorfindel found them. Even after night fell, the Elf insisted that they get as far as they could before they finally had to rest. To Clara, he seemed as enduring as the Doctor, though a little bit more aloof. When at last Glorfindel obliged them a halt for the night, he offered to take the first watch, to which the Doctor offered, saying that he never slept. Glorfindel said something in Elvish and looked at the Doctor with distrust, then continued on about the first watch.

The Doctor did not sleep, and Clara was rather restless, so they spent a lot of their time talking about things that had happened between them in their adventures together. Though the Doctor was an attentive and open audience, he never answered any questions about what happened on Tamriel, mostly because Clara never asked, per his previous instructions. But there was, besides that, something else on Clara's mind.

"Doctor," she asked. "You never told me why Glorfindel and Gildor don't like you."

"Oh, it was a minor misunderstanding," he said. "Really, they're just being thick, mental: absolutely bonkers."

"Right, but what are they being bonkers about?"

"Oh, it's nothing," the Doctor dismissed. "Foolishness, really. Trust me, in a few thousand years, all of this will be forgotten and they'll be on the path of reason, all of this nonsense about the West and the Valar never to be heard again."

"But what's wrong with it, though?"

"Because they're morons, that's why," the Doctor said. "The West isn't some magic fairy jiggery-pokery land like they believe, it's the New World. I've told them that dozens of times but they still won't believe me."

"Is that why they don't like you?" she asked.

"Part of the reason," the Doctor said. "Now get some rest, Clara. You'll need it more than I do."

"But what about your wound?"

"I'll be fine," he lied. "Now go to sleep."

In the morning, however, the Doctor seemed anything but fine. He slouched more and was muttering names which Clara had never heard before: Jenny, Susan, Rose, Amy, Ace, Romana, Donna, River and several others. She told them that he was just tired, but she could feel by the way he dragged his feet that he was more than tired. This was not the Doctor she knew.

They walked all day, which was now fading into the golden hours of afternoon. Had they time to enjoy the land - between frequent rain-storms - they would have realized that autumn was in bloom about them, with many trees orange and red, shedding their leaves upon the forest around them. As it was, they had little time for this: Glorfindel urged them on for longer marches than Aragorn and allowed very few rests.

While they went on their way, passing along the Great East Road on the left-hand, there was suddenly heard in the distance the sound of horses neighing and a loud, ear-piercing screech.

"They've found us!" Clara exclaimed.

"Come, Frodo!" Glorfindel said, taking the Hobbit in his arms. "Asfaloth shall bear you to safety over the Ford and to Rivendell. There is yet power in that vale, they will not cross the river." He then placed the Hobbit upon the back of his horse.

"Do you wanna bet?" Clara asked.

"Dunadan, help me with Furaedhil!" Glorfindel shouted. Aragorn ran over to Glorfindel's side and helped him and Clara heave the Doctor onto Asfaloth's back.

"Fly now!" he cried out. "Fly! The Enemy will soon be upon us!"

"Can you ride, Doctor?" Frodo asked.

"Of course I can ride!" the Doctor slurred. "You should have..."

"He's in no condition to ride anywhere!" Clara said to Glorfindel. "I'm going with him."

"No!" Glorfindel exclaimed. "You must fly now! Asfaloth's pace is swift, but he cannot bear too many riders."

"Glorfindel!"

"You would be slow," he said. "And the pursuit would catch you!"

"Let them try!" Clara said swiftly, hopping on to the horse's back. The horse groaned under the weight, at which Glorfindel patted his head and whispered something in Elvish.

Suddenly the sound of tree-branches crashing aside was heard. All eyes turned and saw a Black Rider pulling his horse off the road and charging towards them.

"Noro lim!" Glorfindel said to the horse. "Noro lim, Asfaloth!"

Faster than the Doctor could say 'Geronimo', the horse took off, leaving Frodo, Clara and the Doctor to hold on for dear life. While still somewhat drowsy, the Doctor gave orders to those before and behind him. Clara seemed a bit surprised to be riding a horse she had never ridden before - that, he guessed, was her 'scared' face, since she never seemed frightened of anything - and Frodo was bouncing precariously behind him.

"Grab onto my shoulders!" the Doctor exclaimed. "And hold on! No matter what happens!"

"Right!" Frodo replied.

"Clara!" the Doctor added. "Just hold the reins! If we have to move, I'll tell you which way to go."

"Brilliant!" she shouted back.

"Just like driving a motor-bike!" the Doctor stated. "Well, actually, it's nothing like driving a motor-bike..."

"They're coming!" Frodo exclaimed.

Looking swiftly behind, Clara saw nine black shapes galloping towards them at a great speed. Their hoods were thrown back, but she could see nothing but the darkness of their robes and their steeds. The only sounds she heard were the pounding of twenty hooves and the occasional roar of one of their horses or the screech of the riders.

After about an hour of frantic galloping, where both Clara and the Doctor became more than a little beat up by passing branches, the sound of water splashing about the horse's hooves was heard. Looking down they saw that they had crossed a wide river. Checking the horse, Clara turned it about to face the pursuit. They stopped on the other side of the river, but seemed not to move towards them. It wasn't exactly very deep, and if they had gotten through without incident, surely the Riders would as well.

"What's happening?" Frodo asked, unable to see anything from behind the Doctor's back.

"They're just standing on the other side of the river, on their horses," Clara said. "I don't think they can cross."

"Go back!" Frodo shouted. "Go back to the land of Mordor and follow me no more!"

"Come back!" a high-pitched voice cried, followed by eight other voices taking up the refrain in a cold, harsh chant. "Come back! To Mordor we will take you!"

"Let me handle this, Frodo," Clara whispered, then turned back to the Riders.

"If you want him," she said authoritatively. "Come and claim him!"

"No, please, don't," the Doctor said. "Just don't."

"Why not?" she asked. "I liked that line."

"No, really, don't," he said, just as he had told Rose about her attempts at a Scottish accent. "Just no."

"Doctor," Clara said, her voice quickening with concern. "They're moving into the river!"

One of the lead riders brought his horse about half-way through. He held out his hand and spoke words in a foul and uncouth tongue. Suddenly Clara gasped, reaching for her neck as though to remove invisible hands that had gripped tightly to them.

"You will defy the Dark Lord no more, Timelord!" rasped the Lord of the Nazgul.

"Doc-tor!" Clara gasped.

"Leave my companions alone!" the Doctor said. "If you want me, you'll have to step in line..." He then looked to his right and a smile appeared on his face. "Or perhaps out of the river first."

With a cry, the others charged into the river, while the Doctor took the reins from Clara's hands and urged Asfaloth onward. Behind them roared the rush of water and the sound of pursuit vanished beneath the rumble of waves upon rocks. Clara coughed then straightened up, still coughing from what had been a near-death experience.

"What happened?" Frodo asked. "The River! It's overflown its boundaries!"

"Not now, Frodo," the Doctor wheezed. "Rivendell! Rivendell first! Clara, just follow the road and you'll get there eventually. Trust the horse, he knows the way."

"Right," she replied. The horse neighed and the Doctor patted his mane.

"You and me both," he said.


(AN: -sigh- Please, don't go to my other stories and ask me if I'm going to update this story. As I said on The Dragonborn and the Lioness, I've been ill for six months and just have no desire to write anything, not even that. I finally got that one chapter out, but this is going to be just as difficult, as I'm losing faith in Doctor Who. Well, when you see my author's notes go from calling Moffat "bamf" to "hater of Paul McGann", among other things, yeah, the signs are there.)

(I've been putting some thought into where I'm taking this one in particular, but I'm keeping the reveal of why the Elves don't trust the Doctor for Lothlorien [yeah, they go there, but not the way you may think]. As far as why Aragorn is more trustful of him than Gildor or Glorfindel, let's just say that is mankind's greatest weakness, their willingness to listen to anyone who has a good story: like the one the Doctor told to the little girl in "The Rings of Akhaten", or the one Sauron told to Ar-Pharazon, that they could claim Valinor as their own, which resulted in the downfall of Numenor. While obviously this is book-verse Aragorn and not movie-verse Aragorn, and therefore he won't be weak, self-doubting and cowardly, he is 87 years old. While he does pay heed to Elvish council, he does not rely on it as heavily as the movie-verse Aragorn would [honestly, Peter Jackson, how many 80-year-olds are still wracked with all the self-doubt and insecurities of a 13-year-old?]. He gives the Doctor the benefit of the doubt, since he sees in him so far nothing but good and has not known him as Glorfindel and the other Elves have.)

(Lol, couldn't resist with that last bit. I know those lines are hideous and 100% Peter Jackson, but seriously, the whole Arwen scene from the movies is played off like she's an out-of-place Mary Sue [which fits perfectly for the pre-"The Name of the Doctor" revelation Clara]. It was asking for it.)