More days passed, and the forest exit drew nearer. There were still two days until Rivendell was reached, but Frodo's condition was growing steadily worse. After the first day with his wound, he grew unable to walk. Avalain had seated him upon Belutha to ensure that he would not fall… but as three days more passed, it now seemed that Frodo was hardly conscious of anything.
Avalain gazed over the hobbit despondently, practicing every sort of healing art she could remember. While some of them had beneficial effects, they did not last long.
Frodo's eyes were wide; sweat glistened upon his forehead. Even as Avalain chanted Elvish spells, his breath came in ragged gasps that sounded remotely familiar…
"Strider! What's going to happen to him?" questioned Sam.
"He's passing into the Shadow World. He'll soon became a wraith like them," answered Aragorn, a grim look to his face.
Frodo emitted a strangled cry—and a response echoed back.
"They're close!" hissed the Ranger. "Sam, do you know the athelas plant?"
"Athelas?" repeated Sam.
"Kingsfoil."
"Aye, kingsfoil, it's a weed!"
Relieved, Aragorn sighed. "It may help to slow the poisoning. Find as much of it as you can and bring it to Avalain."
Before Avalain could speak a word, the two hustled off in search of the plant. Although athelas was admittedly helpful, she was unsure it would be so here.
Minutes passed, and the She-Elf began to grow worried. Even with her keen vision, she could not pick apart the silhouettes of her companions. As she sat, Merry and Pippin were scrounging the forest floor around them, as if perhaps they would recognize the athelas plant themselves if they focused hard enough.
After about ten minutes of their absence, Avalain sighed slowly and rose to her feet, a hand at the sword sheathed around her waist. Without glancing back at the hobbits, she murmured, "Stay here. I'm going to look for them."
"No need."
Avalain blinked and turned upon recognizing the voice as her sister's. Behind her stood Aragorn, a hand full of athelas—and beside him, Sam.
With a shrewd smile upon her face, Avalain exclaimed, "I should've known you would find us sooner or later, Arwen."
That made the other She-Elf laugh. She swung herself off her horse, Asfolath, and walked over to her younger sibling. The two embraced tightly, having been parted for near a year until that moment.
Once they withdrew from the other, Arwen switched to the Elven dialect and asked, "What has happened here, that this halfling has been stabbed by a Morgul blade?"
"On top of Amon Súl, five wraiths found us. I am not hurt, but Frodo Baggins, the one who must reach Rivendell, has been gravely wounded. I have struggled to slow the effects of the darkness for the last number of days."
Arwen sighed, her deeply blue eyes blinking rapidly. She looked between Avalain and Aragorn before stating, "I will take him."
"It is far too dangerous," protested Aragorn, eyes narrowed.
"Then we shall both ride," declared Avalain, raising her chin slightly. She glanced at her sister, who smiled encouragingly, before adding, "We are the faster riders. If we can cross the river, the borders of our land shall protect us."
The Ranger bit his lip in remonstration, but, observing the fortitude of the daughters of Elrond ahead of him, waved his arm and stepped aside. Then, switching back to the Common dialect, he said, "Take him. May Belutha and Asfolath guide you swiftly. The four of us shall follow."
Sam started as the two Elves began to ready their horses. Hoarsely, he queried, "You mean you're going to ride out there with Mister Frodo alone?"
"It's the only chance we have to save him from this toxin, Sam," replied Avalain, her amber eyes sparkling. "I would not do this if I had any other choice."
With these words, she stepped over to the hobbit and picked him up from the ground. He hardly seemed cognizant of what was happening as he was seated upon Belutha. Avalain wrapped her arms around him, alarmed by how he seemed to feel both warm and cold to the touch.
Avalain glanced back at Arwen, whose mouth was set in a determined line. "Are you ready, sister?"
The older She-Elf exhaled and said, "Let us go."
And with that, they sprinted forth towards the exit of the forest.
Before long, the trees disappeared. Tall brushes of unkempt prairie soon surrounded them—the sun glowered down as it sunk into the west, serving as a reminder that there was precious little time to escort Frodo to Rivendell.
Avalain kept a close eye upon her faithful steed throughout the journey. It was an exhausting task, transporting both an Elf and a hobbit across the terrain. What would normally have been a full day's leisurely ride to Rivendell was being pushed to little more than half of that. As strong and stubborn as Belutha was, the She-Elf feared that she was putting too much strain on her horse.
Still, however, Belutha persisted. The prairies vanished, and twigs, logs, and fallen trees soon took their place. This was the final leg of the journey—once they made it past the Trollshaws, the river would greet them.
A chill ran down Avalain's spine—she glanced backwards and gasped.
The Nazgûl were there, slowly but steadily gaining ground. Even as Avalain's eyes glanced across them all, she knew that the Nine were finally and fully assembled, ready to take their master's weapon back to Mordor.
"Noro lim, Belutha!" she cried, and the horse did as was bade. Frodo jolted at the sharpness of her voice and began to tense and shiver.
The wraiths shrieked as one, and spurred onward as well.
"Come, Avalain!" shouted Arwen, riding slightly ahead of her younger sister. "Follow Asfolath's path!"
The next number of minutes were spent with the horses deftly navigating the fallen flora, attempting to slow down the Nazgûl as much as possible while also getting closer to the borders of Rivendell. As Asfolath continued to twist and turn along the narrow pathway, Belutha followed—but not without some struggle. Avalain knew the only saving grace she had was that the Nine had never traversed the land before, and thus had no idea how to ride throughout it.
She looked back briefly and was relieved to see that the wraiths were beginning to fall behind; but as she looked back ahead of her, a sharp tree branch whipped her across the forehead.
Avalain gasped as a warm spurt of blood trailed down her forehead towards her eyes. She impatiently wiped it away and blinked, locating Asfolath once more.
Finally, the river was in sight. Both horses placed a final burst of speed into crossing it… and just like that, the sisters and the hobbit were safe.
Once again, Avalain glanced behind her to see the Nazgûl were lined up alongside the opposite end of the river, their horses bucking and whinnying angrily. As she gazed upon the wraith who led them all, a blood-chilling voice she had never before heard hissed in her mind, "Give up the halfling, She-Elf."
She gasped and pulled Frodo closer to her body—before she could respond, Arwen spurred Asfolath in front of her sister and rose her sword, Hadhafang, to the air. Her voice cold as a knife, Arwen exclaimed, "If you want him, come and claim him!"
At her challenge, the Nazgûl hissed and shrieked once again… before forcing their reluctant horses towards the river.
Avalain and Arwen exchanged horrified looks—but only briefly. Together, they began chanting, summoning the ancient protective spells their father had once taught them. Their two voices echoed across earth and sky, thundering louder than rainstorms or avalanches. A bright ringing echoed through Avalain's head, proving that her spells were beginning to take effect.
As the Nazgûl were halfway across the river, a greater rumbling began. The Elves watched in grim satisfaction as water rushed over the stones of the riverbed, gradually growing until those ripples became enormous waves. Before their very eyes, the foam of the water took the appearance of horses bearing riders.
Caught in the river, the Nine attempted to run… yet their horses were unable to escape the rapids before the avalanche of water was upon them. The ringwraiths and their steeds alike were submerged by the river, and did not reappear.
Avalain exhaled heavily, a relieved smile beginning to overtake her lips. But her relief did not last long—she heard a gasp from Frodo's mouth.
"No!" she cried, swinging herself off her horse. Arwen followed suit as Avalain gently brought Frodo to the ground… he looked worse than ever before. His blue eyes were almost grey, and his breathing so shallow it was nearly nonexistent.
"Frodo, no! Don't give in," Avalain whispered. But she knew her plea was futile. He was almost too far gone.
Exhausted as she was, Avalain was determined not to let him go. She had made a promise. Holding the hobbit against her body, she murmured, "Let my power become his, and what grace is given me—let it pass to him. Let him be spared."
"Avalain!" exclaimed Arwen, her older sister seizing her body. But Avalain had already made her prayer; her life and Frodo's life were in the hands of the Valar now.
After a brief moment, from what sounded like so far away, Avalain heard her sister's voice, calling for help. She held onto the hobbit and struggled to retain her consciousness, hoping against hope that someone would come.
Time passed—but at last, she heard other voices. The last thing that Avalain knew was her father's face, peering at her with great concern. His voice was hoarse as he commanded others to transport herself and the halfling up to the palace.
Knowing that they had done it, they had reached her father, Avalain sighed and allowed herself to finally succumb to the darkness.
Avalain awoke to a ringing in her ears, and bright lights behind her eyes.
She breathed deeply and immediately recognized the fresh air of her city. Once her ears cleared, she heard the familiar sounds of waterfalls, both so far and so near.
The She-Elf pried her eyes open and, despite knowing better, sat up. Immediately she regretted this decision. Her head began to spin, and the normally comforting sunlight of Rivendell danced chaotically in her eyesight.
As soon as she groaned and placed a hand to her head, however, a long-missed voice announced, "Don't move too quickly, Avalain. You'll only make yourself dizzy."
Her breath hitched in her throat. It couldn't be—but it was his voice. "Elrohir?"
So it was: when Avalain turned, she saw her brother Elrohir smiling at her, his face aged only slightly since the last time she had seen him, over two hundred and fifty years prior. He gently placed a hand to the side of her face and murmured, "I'm glad you're going to be all right."
Avalain flung her arms around her older brother, doing everything she possibly could to restrain from bursting into sobs.
"Well now, what about me?" asked another mockingly affronted voice.
The emotion burst forth from the She-Elf then—but not in tears as she had feared: in laughter.
"Elladan!" she cried next, retreating from Elrohir's embrace to look for her second sibling. And of course there he was, sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room, his normal crooked smile upon his face. As soon as she held out her hand, Elladan rose from his chair and rushed to her side.
Avalain rested her head into Elladan's shoulder. It had been so long since all four children of Elrond had been in Imladris; she had missed them greatly, and to have them before her now was overwhelming, but also relieving.
"It is good to see you, sister," murmured Elrohir, his grey eyes sparkling. "We've spent many years with the Dunédain, haven't we?"
"Yes," was all Avalain could say, a grin upon her face. "But you're here."
"Father requested our presence," explained Elladan, his brow furrowed. "For something important, I believe. Something you have already been wound up in, by the looks of it."
The She-Elf laughed, although the sound was without much mirth. "What I believed to be a simple escort turned into quite the chaotic journey, I'll admit."
Her brothers laughed and nodded simultaneously, although their gazes were obviously distanced. It was clear they were both bothered by the reasoning behind their summons.
"Avalain!" cried yet another voice: yet another that Avalain recognized.
She looked past her older brothers towards the doorway. There stood Samwise Gamgee, who was clearly on his way to visit herself and Frodo Baggins, who she suddenly realized was on a bed next to her own.
"Sam," returned Avalain, a bright smile upon her face.
The hobbit swiftly rushed to her side, exclaiming, "Thank heavens—you saved him! And you, too, you're alive and well… Strider!" With this last, he directed his attention to outside of the white infirmary room.
And Aragorn arrived, Arwen behind him. Seeing that the younger She-Elf was awake, they rushed towards her, launching into questions of whether she felt well and if she needed anything.
Once she reassured them that she felt quite well indeed, another figure walked into the room: Lord Elrond.
Avalain's smile grew more genuine than it had throughout the time she had been awake. This was the first time in three centuries that her family was altogether again. She gazed among her older brothers—she had nearly forgotten how alike they looked to their father Elrond. Arwen was here, with Aragorn… it was family; home.
Almost unconsciously, she outstretched her arms—and her father walked into them, embracing her warmly. He kissed her temple and ran a hand through her hair, the way he had always done when she was younger.
"It is good to see you again, my dear," he murmured at last, withdrawing from the gesture and staring at her amber eyes. His own eyes were still tinged with a hint of worry, although gratitude and joy were the predominating emotions within them.
"I have missed you, Ada," she replied, kissing the top of his hand.
The olden term of endearment made the Lord of Rivendell chuckle—knowing what his daughter was going to say next, he waved towards Frodo Baggins on the bed and stated, "He has not woken yet, but he will soon. Gandalf has been aiding my efforts in healing him. He has been very well taken care of."
Avalain smiled as he spoke, but upon hearing Gandalf's name, she cocked her head sideways. "Father, Gandalf did not accompany us on our journey."
"I am sorry about that, Avalain."
The wizard's statement prompted her to turn around. And there was the wizard in his standard robes of grey; yet they were more worn than last she had seen. Dark circles were under Gandalf's eyes, and although he smiled at her, it was thin.
He raised a weathered hand upon seeing that she opened her mouth and, before the She-Elf could say anything, answered, "I was delayed… by a particular wizard I once called a friend."
"Saruman?" questioned Avalain. She was answered with a grim nod. Perturbed, she added, "How can this be? Just sixty years ago he was here in Rivendell, summoned to council with my father, grandmother, and yourself! How has his allegiance swayed so quickly?"
"That is a puzzle we have yet to solve," responded Gandalf, his eyebrows furrowed. "Upon my visit to seek his council, I learned not only that he has switched loyalties, but that he plots to throw the balance of power in his favor. Isengard is put to foul use… during my captivity, I had the misfortune to witness a great deal of it. And yet—at least now, we have some information of what Sauron and his new puppet plan to do."
A feeling of dread consumed the She-Elf. "Is he knowledgeable of our plans as well?"
Shadows lined the wizard's face, aging him another ten years as he replied, "He is indeed. But we have comfort in knowing that the Ring is safe in Rivendell."
"Gandalf," said Lord Elrond sharply. There was a foreboding in his wizened eyes. Seeing that he had gathered everyone's attention with this interjection, the Lord announced, "The Ring's presence shall be discussed in greater detail presently. I have called for representatives of Middle-Earth to decide its fate. They have answered this emergency summons, and shall arrive within the week. Elladan, Elrohir—it is to this end that I have summoned you home. A great stirring is upon us… the end of an age. Avalain, you and Arwen shall help me represent Rivendell. As part of its tale, you are now bound to its end."
The four children of Elrond glanced at one another, each of them noting the other's surprise and poorly concealed excitement. Although the council would be convened in matters that could spell the world's doom, never before had the daughters of Elrond been summoned to have a voice in Rivendell's affairs.
"If you wish it, father," replied Arwen at last, her blue eyes sparkling.
Lord Elrond allowed the smile to finally form upon his face before shaking his head and declaring, "Now let us all retire, so Avalain may continue to rest and recuperate. With the Valar's blessing, she may be returned to her full strength on the morrow."
Avalain, loath as she was to release her company, did not dare to argue with her father after his request for her presence at the council. Instead, she said her farewells to her family and friends, and as soon as they were gone, lay down her head so she may hasten her recovery.