JastaElf – Yes, indeed. Legolas was acting quite rude, and no one knows
better than you how he was raised!! (author groans and grasps her own
temples in despair)
Irena – Thanks for continuing to follow this. Thanks for the compliment!!
AJ Matthews – Glad that you find this interesting. And yeah, I think Legolas is pretty cool for defending a friend myself!
Horus – The fire's just getting started!
Jan – Glad that you enjoyed the last one so much. Elrond's headache is about to go. Though not all his problems (especially the oddity from Mirkwood)
Ayod Botla – Love your Happy Dance! Glad you found that chapter so exciting. Thanks a lot, that excites me!
A/N – Vandal Root is another name for Fragrant Valerain. Okay, I took some liberties with its properties, though it is a calmative and a nervine and can be used to treat hysteria and all sorts of nervous conditions. I just wanted something to relieve some of Elrond's tension.
Elrond grimaced as he sank into a comfortable chair with a deep blue cushion on its seat. He rested his elbows on the round table before him and placed his throbbing head in his hands. Night had fallen and the stars were filling the sky. The sound of night birds and crickets echoed throughout Rivendell, accompanied as always by the sound of the falls. Such peaceful surroundings seemed at odds with his thoughts. He groaned and looked up, sensing a presence approaching him.
It was the Istari.
Mithrandir stared down at him benignly, his blue eyes filled with concern. And to Elrond's annoyance – mirth.
"What is it now, Mithrandir?" He asked. "Have you invited Sauron to tea?"
Mithrandir chuckled. There would be enough time for seriousness later.
"No, though perhaps it would make matters easier if we did." He shrugged and smiled over at the glowering Elf Lord.
Elrond glared at the Wizard, leaning his head against the back of the chair.
"So, where is the Orc with my tea?" He asked irritably. "I can't believe you think I will drink an Orc potion."
"You'll feel better if you do. Just ask Prince Legolas. He has had first hand experience with Elu's 'potions'." The Wizard pulled out his pipe taking the chair opposite Rivendell's lord. He quietly packed fragrant Longbottom Leaf into the bowl, his eyes on Elrond.
"I cannot believe that I am letting an Orc stay in Rivendell, Mithrandir. An Orc!" He shook his head, causing the pain contained therein to increase as though a cave troll were smashing its hammer onto the sides of his skull. "I don't need this now, Mithrandir. You know the seriousness of what we will discuss here in a few days time. I will get Thranduil for this, you know." He said, meeting the Wizard's twinkling blue eyes. "Someday I will make him pay for this – this joke – of his."
"It may have started out as a grand joke, Elrond, but dear Elu Heneb is very overwhelmed by this. I wish you would try harder to accept him as an ally. We are going to need as many as we can get." He finished softly, his eyes distant.
The Elf Lord snorted.
"Ally, indeed. An Orc as an ally of the Free Peoples. You ask much, Mithrandir."
"Perhaps." The Istari shrugged, sending a smoke cloud shaped like an oak leaf. It drifted away into the night.
Elrond sat smoldering silently, his long fingers drumming on the tabletop. The table was of a rich dark wood, inlaid with paler strips of wood in an intricate knot design. His gaze would often travel around the table, picking out the pattern, but not this night. There were too many troublesome knots in his own life right now.
"Prince Legolas was somewhat rude." He said at last, looking for something insulting to say. And since Thranduil was not here himself, his son would serve. "Was he perhaps raised by Orcs?"
Gandalf chuckled, his teeth clamped onto the pipe stem.
"I don't believe so. And I think that Thranduil would take offense at that remark. Or was that why you said it?"
Elrond sighed. Now who was being rude?
I am, he thought miserably.
There was a slight sound at the door and Gandalf smiled.
"Come in, Elu. See, Elrond, your tea has arrived."
The Elf Lord closed his eyes and stifled a groan. He heard the sound of things being set on the table. And when he opened his eyes – he could avoid this no longer – the Orc was standing nervously by the table, his blue eyes darting from the Wizard to the Elf and back again.
"I…I don't mean to disturb you, Lord Elrond." He stammered, bowing, pressing his hand to his heart. "But Mithrandir said that I should bring you a –"
"Yes. I know." Elrond waved his hand impatiently. He eyed the steaming contents of the cup set before him with suspicion. A small pot was set not far from it. If it's good for an Orc, then it is deadly for Elves. He glanced over at the Istari who nodded, smiling like a child. "I might as well get this over with." He said at last picking up the cup and smelling it. "What is in here?"
Elu cleared his throat and began to tick off the ingredients on his fingers. Elrond raised his brows and stared at the little cup. Where had the Orc learned this?
"And who taught you this knowledge? Sauron, himself?"
Elu's eyes widened.
"Oh, no, Lord Elrond!" He gasped, eyes moving fearfully to Mithrandir. "I never met the Dark Lord. And…I don't think he would know anything to do with Healing."
Gandalf chuckled and patted the Orc's hand reassuringly.
"Do not worry yourself, Elu. Lord Elrond's headache has upset him quite a bit and he is only teasing you."
Am I, Elrond thought sourly. He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. The heady herbal flavor flooded his mouth and he swallowed. It wasn't that bad really. He drained the cup. Now he would see.
"This will be on your head, Mithrandir, if I should begin to roll about on the floor in a death agony. And you –" He shot a glance at the Orc, who had just begun to relax. "My sons will kill you and eat you."
Elu gasped and looked to the Wizard for help.
"Really, Elrond. I think you were the one raised by Orcs. Ignore him, Elu. He is being unaccountably rude."
Elu blinked, his mind in turmoil. He knew that the Elf Lord was still not comfortable in his being here. And the Orc hoped that nothing would happen to jeopardize his stay in Imladris.
Ah, but the black thoughts.
He prayed to Elbereth that they wouldn't come upon him while they were here. Legolas was going to speak to Lord Elrond about them, perhaps persuade him to heal him of them. But until then he would have to be on his best behavior. He did not doubt that Elrond's formidable sons would kill him in a heartbeat. Though he doubted that they would eat him. Only Orcs would do that. But all the same he slowly brought his gaze to the Elf Lord.
The grimace of pain on Elrond's face seemed to have eased, though a frown still troubled his lips. Whether he wished to admit it or not, the headache was easing somewhat. Isn't that too bad, he thought. Now I will have to apologize – to an Orc. He poured more tea into the cup.
In the distance there could be heard the sound of voices singing and the Elf Lord had to smile, feeling some semblance of peace coming over him. The words of the song were new to him and he found himself listening with pleasure.
Gandalf smiled and looked to the Orc, who was also entranced by the sound. When at last the voices died away, the Wizard turned to Elrond.
"Catchy tune, eh, Elrond?"
"What? Oh, yes. That was very beautiful. Though I don't believe I have heard it before."
"I would guess not. That was one of Elu's."
"Elu's?"
Elrond turned to look at the Orc, who started and hung his head in sudden embarrassment. Rivendell's Lord poured more tea into his cup.
"Elu's?"
"Yes, Elrond. Elu's." Gandalf laughed. "Surely you remember Aragorn telling you that he makes wonderful songs."
Elrond raised one brow as he studied the Orc. He was really feeling quite mellow and allowed himself a smile.
"Would you care to sing for us all sometime, Elu?"
The Orc stared at the Elf Lord in confusion. One moment he was threatening to have him devoured, the next he was asking him to sing.
"I – You want me to – sing?"
"Of course, Elu." Elrond moved to pour another cup of tea, but the pot was empty. He frowned slightly and shrugged. "Yes. You should prepare something for us."
Elu stammered his thanks, his eyes filled with confusion.
Gandalf stood and stretched, then moved to knock the ashes from his pipe into the fireplace.
"Elu and I bid you good night, Elrond. We shall see you in the morning."
"Yes. Good night, Mithrandir. Elu. Stars shine on you." He smiled at them, waving slightly, then reached for the empty teapot once more.
As the Istari and the Orc passed into the hall, Gandalf turned to Elu, his blue eyes bright.
"Just how much vandal root did you put in that tea, my dear Elu?"
Narbeleth 20, 3018
The Hobbits were very glad that Glorfindel had joined them. They felt much safer knowing that they had the Elf Lord with them as well as the Ranger. He had a merry voice, low and musical that soothed their ears. He often sang to them or with them. And he even sang with Strider a few times. But now as they drew near to the Ford, he had fallen silent, seeming to listen intently to everything about him. The afternoon sun played on his long blonde locks, setting them on fire. They had walked in the cool grass earlier, reminding them of quieter times at home in the Shire, but now the Road suddenly plunged beneath the dark shadow of tall pine trees, and entering a tunnel-like place with damp red stone walls. Their voices echoed in this dark place and they liked it not at all. It was with great relief that they saw the end of the tunnel. At its end they could stand and see the Ford of Rivendell.
Suddenly Glorfindel turned, his grey eyes wide. He seemed to be listening then he turned quickly.
"Fly!" He called. "Fly the enemy is upon us!"
Asfaloth leapt forward, needing no encouragement. The three hobbits ran down the slope, followed closely by Strider and the Elf. They had only crossed about half the distance to the Ford when the sound of hoof beats became apparent to them all. They turned as they ran, looking back in horror to see a Black Rider clattering from the gate they had just left. He reined in his steed, swaying in the dark saddle. To the terrified Hobbits utter dismay, four more black swathed figures joined the first.
"Ride forward!" Glorfindel called to Frodo, who sat on the white horse's back, staring behind him. "Forward!"
Asfaloth was fighting with the Hobbit who had slowed the horse to a walk. He felt a great reluctance to go forward as he had been bidden. He stared slack jawed at the Riders, a mist filling his vision. But then he knew that it was they, Sauron's blackest servants that were bidding him await them. Anger filled him, a cleansing surge of fear and hatred. His slim hand left the bridle and gripped his sword's hilt. He drew it forth, grinding his teeth in defiance.
"Ride on!" Glorfindel called to him, his eyes wide. "Ride on!" Then he called to Asfaloth, seeing that the Hobbit wasn't listening. "Noro lim, noro lim, Asfaloth!" [Ride on, ride on , Asfaloth!]
The horse gave a cry and leapt forward and away. The Riders screamed and spurred after their fleeing prey. And to Frodo's horror the cry was echoed from the trees and rocks as the last four of the Nine Riders appeared to take up the pursuit. Two rode in a straight line toward him, two chased ahead to cut off his escape to the Ford. He turned back to see what had become of the others, but he could no longer see them at all. The five had fallen in behind him, all blackness and evil. Fear filled the brave Hobbit's mind, so much fear that he could not think. The bells on Asfaloth's harness rang harshly as they sped over the ground in a desperate race with their hunters. The Riders behind them were falling behind, their black steeds no match for the white Elven horse. Frodo felt hope blossom and then die. There was no way they could reach the Ford before the others. Notched and pitted swords glittered in mailed hands. Fear washed over him and he closed his eyes, grasping the flowing white mane. Deathly cold spread about him and he moaned knowing that the Riders were near enough to him now to touch him. But then he felt a great spurt of energy from Asfaloth, who leapt forward with a renewed speed and splashed into the Ford, just as a Nazgul reached out to claim its prize. Asfaloth galloped through the water and struggled up the stony path on the other side of the Ford to the top of the bank. Frodo felt the horse turn, his front feet dancing in apprehension and defiance. The Nine Riders were at the other side of the Ford. He felt his resistance to them fleeing. He could no longer resist the call.
The first Rider entered the water and moved forward.
Frodo shook himself, feeling his body tremble with the effort of resistance, and held the little sword aloft.
"Go back!" He cried. "Go back to the land of Mordor and trouble me no more!" He sounded tired and thin in his own ears and his heart sank as the Nazgul began to laugh at him.
"Come back!" They called in mockery. "Come back! To Mordor we will take you!"
"Go back." Frodo whispered, silent, cold tears wetting his cheeks. "Please go back."
"The Ring! The Ring!" Their fell voices cut the still air, and two more entered the water.
"By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me!" Frodo called to them with his last strength, his resistance to their evil spell shredding.
The lead Nazgul stood in the stirrups, raising his hand. Frodo felt his heart skip a beat then labor on, his breathing nearly stilled. The valiant sword broke and fell from his hand that was shaking uncontrollably.
But suddenly the air was a great rushing roaring noise. Frodo was the river below him rise, waves cresting into white foam. Great waves appeared, crashing down the river and Frodo thought that he could see white riders on white horses within the waves. The three Black Riders that were in the midst of the river were overwhelmed and vanished from sight. The others drew back in confusion and dismay.
Frodo's entire body was seized with a great weariness and as he watched, a great shining figure rushed at the remaining Riders. Behind him ran smaller forms waving flames of red in the mist that seemed to enshroud him.
The black horses, already maddened with terror, leapt away from them, into the surging flood. Then they too were swept away.
Frodo felt himself sliding from Asfaloth's back, the roaring drowning out all thought. He heard and saw no more.
Irena – Thanks for continuing to follow this. Thanks for the compliment!!
AJ Matthews – Glad that you find this interesting. And yeah, I think Legolas is pretty cool for defending a friend myself!
Horus – The fire's just getting started!
Jan – Glad that you enjoyed the last one so much. Elrond's headache is about to go. Though not all his problems (especially the oddity from Mirkwood)
Ayod Botla – Love your Happy Dance! Glad you found that chapter so exciting. Thanks a lot, that excites me!
A/N – Vandal Root is another name for Fragrant Valerain. Okay, I took some liberties with its properties, though it is a calmative and a nervine and can be used to treat hysteria and all sorts of nervous conditions. I just wanted something to relieve some of Elrond's tension.
Elrond grimaced as he sank into a comfortable chair with a deep blue cushion on its seat. He rested his elbows on the round table before him and placed his throbbing head in his hands. Night had fallen and the stars were filling the sky. The sound of night birds and crickets echoed throughout Rivendell, accompanied as always by the sound of the falls. Such peaceful surroundings seemed at odds with his thoughts. He groaned and looked up, sensing a presence approaching him.
It was the Istari.
Mithrandir stared down at him benignly, his blue eyes filled with concern. And to Elrond's annoyance – mirth.
"What is it now, Mithrandir?" He asked. "Have you invited Sauron to tea?"
Mithrandir chuckled. There would be enough time for seriousness later.
"No, though perhaps it would make matters easier if we did." He shrugged and smiled over at the glowering Elf Lord.
Elrond glared at the Wizard, leaning his head against the back of the chair.
"So, where is the Orc with my tea?" He asked irritably. "I can't believe you think I will drink an Orc potion."
"You'll feel better if you do. Just ask Prince Legolas. He has had first hand experience with Elu's 'potions'." The Wizard pulled out his pipe taking the chair opposite Rivendell's lord. He quietly packed fragrant Longbottom Leaf into the bowl, his eyes on Elrond.
"I cannot believe that I am letting an Orc stay in Rivendell, Mithrandir. An Orc!" He shook his head, causing the pain contained therein to increase as though a cave troll were smashing its hammer onto the sides of his skull. "I don't need this now, Mithrandir. You know the seriousness of what we will discuss here in a few days time. I will get Thranduil for this, you know." He said, meeting the Wizard's twinkling blue eyes. "Someday I will make him pay for this – this joke – of his."
"It may have started out as a grand joke, Elrond, but dear Elu Heneb is very overwhelmed by this. I wish you would try harder to accept him as an ally. We are going to need as many as we can get." He finished softly, his eyes distant.
The Elf Lord snorted.
"Ally, indeed. An Orc as an ally of the Free Peoples. You ask much, Mithrandir."
"Perhaps." The Istari shrugged, sending a smoke cloud shaped like an oak leaf. It drifted away into the night.
Elrond sat smoldering silently, his long fingers drumming on the tabletop. The table was of a rich dark wood, inlaid with paler strips of wood in an intricate knot design. His gaze would often travel around the table, picking out the pattern, but not this night. There were too many troublesome knots in his own life right now.
"Prince Legolas was somewhat rude." He said at last, looking for something insulting to say. And since Thranduil was not here himself, his son would serve. "Was he perhaps raised by Orcs?"
Gandalf chuckled, his teeth clamped onto the pipe stem.
"I don't believe so. And I think that Thranduil would take offense at that remark. Or was that why you said it?"
Elrond sighed. Now who was being rude?
I am, he thought miserably.
There was a slight sound at the door and Gandalf smiled.
"Come in, Elu. See, Elrond, your tea has arrived."
The Elf Lord closed his eyes and stifled a groan. He heard the sound of things being set on the table. And when he opened his eyes – he could avoid this no longer – the Orc was standing nervously by the table, his blue eyes darting from the Wizard to the Elf and back again.
"I…I don't mean to disturb you, Lord Elrond." He stammered, bowing, pressing his hand to his heart. "But Mithrandir said that I should bring you a –"
"Yes. I know." Elrond waved his hand impatiently. He eyed the steaming contents of the cup set before him with suspicion. A small pot was set not far from it. If it's good for an Orc, then it is deadly for Elves. He glanced over at the Istari who nodded, smiling like a child. "I might as well get this over with." He said at last picking up the cup and smelling it. "What is in here?"
Elu cleared his throat and began to tick off the ingredients on his fingers. Elrond raised his brows and stared at the little cup. Where had the Orc learned this?
"And who taught you this knowledge? Sauron, himself?"
Elu's eyes widened.
"Oh, no, Lord Elrond!" He gasped, eyes moving fearfully to Mithrandir. "I never met the Dark Lord. And…I don't think he would know anything to do with Healing."
Gandalf chuckled and patted the Orc's hand reassuringly.
"Do not worry yourself, Elu. Lord Elrond's headache has upset him quite a bit and he is only teasing you."
Am I, Elrond thought sourly. He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. The heady herbal flavor flooded his mouth and he swallowed. It wasn't that bad really. He drained the cup. Now he would see.
"This will be on your head, Mithrandir, if I should begin to roll about on the floor in a death agony. And you –" He shot a glance at the Orc, who had just begun to relax. "My sons will kill you and eat you."
Elu gasped and looked to the Wizard for help.
"Really, Elrond. I think you were the one raised by Orcs. Ignore him, Elu. He is being unaccountably rude."
Elu blinked, his mind in turmoil. He knew that the Elf Lord was still not comfortable in his being here. And the Orc hoped that nothing would happen to jeopardize his stay in Imladris.
Ah, but the black thoughts.
He prayed to Elbereth that they wouldn't come upon him while they were here. Legolas was going to speak to Lord Elrond about them, perhaps persuade him to heal him of them. But until then he would have to be on his best behavior. He did not doubt that Elrond's formidable sons would kill him in a heartbeat. Though he doubted that they would eat him. Only Orcs would do that. But all the same he slowly brought his gaze to the Elf Lord.
The grimace of pain on Elrond's face seemed to have eased, though a frown still troubled his lips. Whether he wished to admit it or not, the headache was easing somewhat. Isn't that too bad, he thought. Now I will have to apologize – to an Orc. He poured more tea into the cup.
In the distance there could be heard the sound of voices singing and the Elf Lord had to smile, feeling some semblance of peace coming over him. The words of the song were new to him and he found himself listening with pleasure.
Gandalf smiled and looked to the Orc, who was also entranced by the sound. When at last the voices died away, the Wizard turned to Elrond.
"Catchy tune, eh, Elrond?"
"What? Oh, yes. That was very beautiful. Though I don't believe I have heard it before."
"I would guess not. That was one of Elu's."
"Elu's?"
Elrond turned to look at the Orc, who started and hung his head in sudden embarrassment. Rivendell's Lord poured more tea into his cup.
"Elu's?"
"Yes, Elrond. Elu's." Gandalf laughed. "Surely you remember Aragorn telling you that he makes wonderful songs."
Elrond raised one brow as he studied the Orc. He was really feeling quite mellow and allowed himself a smile.
"Would you care to sing for us all sometime, Elu?"
The Orc stared at the Elf Lord in confusion. One moment he was threatening to have him devoured, the next he was asking him to sing.
"I – You want me to – sing?"
"Of course, Elu." Elrond moved to pour another cup of tea, but the pot was empty. He frowned slightly and shrugged. "Yes. You should prepare something for us."
Elu stammered his thanks, his eyes filled with confusion.
Gandalf stood and stretched, then moved to knock the ashes from his pipe into the fireplace.
"Elu and I bid you good night, Elrond. We shall see you in the morning."
"Yes. Good night, Mithrandir. Elu. Stars shine on you." He smiled at them, waving slightly, then reached for the empty teapot once more.
As the Istari and the Orc passed into the hall, Gandalf turned to Elu, his blue eyes bright.
"Just how much vandal root did you put in that tea, my dear Elu?"
Narbeleth 20, 3018
The Hobbits were very glad that Glorfindel had joined them. They felt much safer knowing that they had the Elf Lord with them as well as the Ranger. He had a merry voice, low and musical that soothed their ears. He often sang to them or with them. And he even sang with Strider a few times. But now as they drew near to the Ford, he had fallen silent, seeming to listen intently to everything about him. The afternoon sun played on his long blonde locks, setting them on fire. They had walked in the cool grass earlier, reminding them of quieter times at home in the Shire, but now the Road suddenly plunged beneath the dark shadow of tall pine trees, and entering a tunnel-like place with damp red stone walls. Their voices echoed in this dark place and they liked it not at all. It was with great relief that they saw the end of the tunnel. At its end they could stand and see the Ford of Rivendell.
Suddenly Glorfindel turned, his grey eyes wide. He seemed to be listening then he turned quickly.
"Fly!" He called. "Fly the enemy is upon us!"
Asfaloth leapt forward, needing no encouragement. The three hobbits ran down the slope, followed closely by Strider and the Elf. They had only crossed about half the distance to the Ford when the sound of hoof beats became apparent to them all. They turned as they ran, looking back in horror to see a Black Rider clattering from the gate they had just left. He reined in his steed, swaying in the dark saddle. To the terrified Hobbits utter dismay, four more black swathed figures joined the first.
"Ride forward!" Glorfindel called to Frodo, who sat on the white horse's back, staring behind him. "Forward!"
Asfaloth was fighting with the Hobbit who had slowed the horse to a walk. He felt a great reluctance to go forward as he had been bidden. He stared slack jawed at the Riders, a mist filling his vision. But then he knew that it was they, Sauron's blackest servants that were bidding him await them. Anger filled him, a cleansing surge of fear and hatred. His slim hand left the bridle and gripped his sword's hilt. He drew it forth, grinding his teeth in defiance.
"Ride on!" Glorfindel called to him, his eyes wide. "Ride on!" Then he called to Asfaloth, seeing that the Hobbit wasn't listening. "Noro lim, noro lim, Asfaloth!" [Ride on, ride on , Asfaloth!]
The horse gave a cry and leapt forward and away. The Riders screamed and spurred after their fleeing prey. And to Frodo's horror the cry was echoed from the trees and rocks as the last four of the Nine Riders appeared to take up the pursuit. Two rode in a straight line toward him, two chased ahead to cut off his escape to the Ford. He turned back to see what had become of the others, but he could no longer see them at all. The five had fallen in behind him, all blackness and evil. Fear filled the brave Hobbit's mind, so much fear that he could not think. The bells on Asfaloth's harness rang harshly as they sped over the ground in a desperate race with their hunters. The Riders behind them were falling behind, their black steeds no match for the white Elven horse. Frodo felt hope blossom and then die. There was no way they could reach the Ford before the others. Notched and pitted swords glittered in mailed hands. Fear washed over him and he closed his eyes, grasping the flowing white mane. Deathly cold spread about him and he moaned knowing that the Riders were near enough to him now to touch him. But then he felt a great spurt of energy from Asfaloth, who leapt forward with a renewed speed and splashed into the Ford, just as a Nazgul reached out to claim its prize. Asfaloth galloped through the water and struggled up the stony path on the other side of the Ford to the top of the bank. Frodo felt the horse turn, his front feet dancing in apprehension and defiance. The Nine Riders were at the other side of the Ford. He felt his resistance to them fleeing. He could no longer resist the call.
The first Rider entered the water and moved forward.
Frodo shook himself, feeling his body tremble with the effort of resistance, and held the little sword aloft.
"Go back!" He cried. "Go back to the land of Mordor and trouble me no more!" He sounded tired and thin in his own ears and his heart sank as the Nazgul began to laugh at him.
"Come back!" They called in mockery. "Come back! To Mordor we will take you!"
"Go back." Frodo whispered, silent, cold tears wetting his cheeks. "Please go back."
"The Ring! The Ring!" Their fell voices cut the still air, and two more entered the water.
"By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me!" Frodo called to them with his last strength, his resistance to their evil spell shredding.
The lead Nazgul stood in the stirrups, raising his hand. Frodo felt his heart skip a beat then labor on, his breathing nearly stilled. The valiant sword broke and fell from his hand that was shaking uncontrollably.
But suddenly the air was a great rushing roaring noise. Frodo was the river below him rise, waves cresting into white foam. Great waves appeared, crashing down the river and Frodo thought that he could see white riders on white horses within the waves. The three Black Riders that were in the midst of the river were overwhelmed and vanished from sight. The others drew back in confusion and dismay.
Frodo's entire body was seized with a great weariness and as he watched, a great shining figure rushed at the remaining Riders. Behind him ran smaller forms waving flames of red in the mist that seemed to enshroud him.
The black horses, already maddened with terror, leapt away from them, into the surging flood. Then they too were swept away.
Frodo felt himself sliding from Asfaloth's back, the roaring drowning out all thought. He heard and saw no more.