Bridie furiously brushed her hair out of her eyes, cursing the wind that seemed to pelt her from all directions. In the dim light of the moon, she squinted at the spidery scrawl on the thick, yellowed pages of Mildred's book. The girl was becoming more frustrated by the second, and the incessant badgering from Merry and Pippin was only making it worse. She clearly remembered seeing a page of instructions on how to treat a stab wound somewhere in this confounded book. So where, in the name of all that is green and good, was it?

"Hurry up, Bridie! Hurry up!" Pippin urged her.

"You're not helping!" she retorted through clenched teeth, leafing through the pages frantically, taking care not to tear them in her haste.

It had been a day since the skirmish at Amon Sûl and, thankfully, the black riders had not been seen since, but the group was constantly on their guard. They had stopped to rest in a small clearing in a forest where the stone statues of three hulking trolls towered over them. Bridie had quickly learnt that the place was known as the Trollshaws and that Frodo's uncle, Bilbo, had walked in this very spot some sixty years ago. But now was not the time for a history lesson; since Frodo's injury, the poor hobbit had gone from bad to worse. His skin had turned ice-cold and he could barely move or speak. Bridie had bound his wound with strips of her cloak to prevent infection, but this made little to no difference. It was clear that if Frodo's wound was not treated soon, he would never make it to Rivendell.

"I know the page is in here somewhere," Bridie said for the fifth time. "Just give me a minute."

"We don't have a minute!" Merry practically shouted. "At least, Frodo doesn't! Or have you forgotten that he's injured?" He gestured to Frodo who lay on the ground, whimpering in pain and wrapped in every blanket they could spare. Sam was kneeling by his side, trying to console him.

"And whose fault is that?!" Bridie snapped, resisting the urge to slam the book shut and whack Merry over the head with it. "If you, Sam and Pippin hadn't lit that fire, the black riders wouldn't have found us!"

"Enough!" Strider rounded on them with a glare. "This is neither the time nor place for turning against each other. Besides, none of those herbs listed in that book of yours will be effective against Frodo's wound."

Bridie and the hobbits found this remark far from reassuring.

"So what are we supposed to do?!" Sam cried. "Leave Mister Frodo to suffer?!"

Before Strider could respond, the screech of the black riders rang out through the forest. The sound had become sickening and Merry noted how unnervingly close it was. Strider called Bridie and Sam to his side. "There is but one plant that is capable of treating Frodo's wound," he told them. "The elves call it Athelas, but it is also known as Asëa Aranion or Kingsfoil. Do those names mean anything to you?"

Sam nodded. "Aye, I've heard of the Kingsfoil plant. But I don't see how that'll help; it's not good for anythin' except a bit o' seasoning or adding garnish to your plate."

"That is where you are wrong, Master Gamgee. Kingsfoil is, in fact, a healing herb. It was brought to Middle Earth by the Númenoreans in the Second Age, but its true purpose has since been forgotten by all, save for the Dúnedain. It may help to slow the poisoning. Hurry!"

Off they ran into the trees, searching for the desired plant. Eventually, Strider found a small bunch of the delicate white flowers hidden amid the leaves and turf. He took a knife from his belt and carefully plucked them from the ground. The trio were so distracted by their quest for the plant, they failed to notice a figure creep up behind them and swiftly, silently, draw a sword. Bridie and Sam gasped as a curved blade appeared out of nowhere and pointed at Strider's throat.

"What's this? A ranger caught off his guard?" came the teasing, feminine voice of its bearer.

A young woman dressed in grey riding attire and guiding a white horse stepped into view. She was a very beautiful woman, tall and slender, with snow-white skin and coal-black hair, and Bridie and Sam marvelled at the fair stranger. Strider gave a small smile as he rose to greet her and he spoke a few words to her in a language unfamiliar to his companions. Sam noticed the slight point of the maiden's ears and clasped Bridie's arm in excitement. "An elf!" he whispered. "A real elf!"

The elf maiden gave Sam a kind smile and sheathed her sword. "Indeed I am, Master Gamgee. I am Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond, and I am glad to have found you at last. But where is the rest of your company?"

"Frodo was wounded by a Morgul blade upon Amon Sul," Strider told her. "He lies in the clearing, gravely ill. His other two friends, Merry and Pippin, are with him. Come!"

Taking the reins of her horse, Arwen followed Strider and his companions back to the other three hobbits. Merry and Pippin gazed at the elf maiden in both awe and suspicion as she knelt beside Frodo to examine his wound. Strider crushed the athelas into a paste and gently applied it to Frodo's wound, causing the hobbit to whimper in pain at his touch. Bridie made a note in her head to add a passage to Mildred's book about the athelas plant, if and when she ever found the time.

"He's fading. We must get him to my father!" Arwen said urgently.

Strider carefully picked Frodo up in his arms and lifted him into the saddle.

"Hold on! Where are you taking him?!" Merry demanded.

"Don't worry," Bridie assured him. "She's Lord Elrond's daughter. Frodo will go with her to Rivendell and he'll be safe there, I'm sure."

But Merry was not convinced and he whispered to Bridie, "But how do we know she is who she says she is?"

This was a perfectly reasonable question, Bridie thought. After all, anybody could claim to be the daughter of a well-known, powerful elf lord if they told it convincingly enough. But Strider seemed to know her, and he had proven trustworthy so far.

Strider bid Arwen farewell and safe journey as she climbed up onto her horse behind Frodo. "Ride hard. Don't look back," he said.

Arwen nodded, then whispered a few words to her horse. Immediately, the horse lurched forward and disappeared into the trees. Bridie and the three hobbits could only watch, helplessly, as Arwen rode off into the night, taking Frodo with her.

Bridie moved to stand beside Strider and looked up at him nervously. "Do you think they'll be alright? I mean, they will get to Rivendell safely, won't they?"

It did not take a wizard to understand what Bridie meant by this. The black riders were on everyone's mind and the hobbits were not eager to see Frodo part from the group while their pursuers were still on the hunt.

Strider stood staring at the place where Arwen and her horse had been only moments before, then uttered a quiet "I hope so."