- ATHRAD BRUINEN AM IMLADRIS* -
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*To be renamed (translation: 'Loudwater Ford to Rivendell').
Status: Work In Progress 1/?
Quick Summary: The missing chapter between the Bruinen Ford and Frodo's waking in Rivendell. I don't really know what I can say beyond that...
Notes: Alright, strictly speaking the book says that "Elrond's folk met them, (meaning Glorfindel, Aragorn and the hobbits) carrying you slowly towards Rivendell." However I cannot see why they would not hurry to get Frodo to Rivendell, especially since time is against them: "a few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid" as Gandalf says in Many Meetings, so I have adapted the story here. Just call it artistic license!
Disclaimer: I wish I could write something sparklingly-interesting and witty here to illustrate my point, but I can't, so I'll just have to say simply that no characters/scenes/locations/anything-but-the-word-order belongs to me. It is all property of J.R.R. Tolkien or Peter Jackson and team.
Spoilers: Happening in Fellowship Of The Ring, so only for that.
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A/N: This fic is very much a work in progress (and also a quite overdone theme) and also very very short atm. I apologise. I very much look forwards to your opinions, since I have had writers block on this for a long time now. I'm hoping that's only because it's my first long (and chaptered) fic!
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The sun was beginning to set, the cloudy sky turning purple as the light faded. Asfaloth's hooves pounded along the yet dry dust as Glorfindel bore his charge to the house of Elrond. The Elf-lord had ridden as fast as Asfaloth could go, for a instinctive haste was on him. In his arms the unconscious Ring-bearer was growing steadily colder, as the chill from the Morgul wound in his shoulder spread across his whole body. Glorfindel had a good knowledge of healing, enough to know that Frodo was fading fast. The sooner he could bring the perian to Imladris, the better: it may already be too late.
They had crossed the Loudwater River as soon as the waters had subsided to their normal flow, to find Asfaloth standing guard over the Ring-bearer. They had seen him fall from the other side, and the hobbits were beside themselves with fear. Seeming dead at first, Frodo was lying face down on the river bank, puddles of water from the flood pooling around him.
"You ride ahead, Glorfindel. He must come under Lord Elrond's care quickly. We will follow on." Strider had told the Elf as he'd turned over Frodo's pale body and on examination had discovered a faint pulse. Glorfindel had agreed – it was clear time was of the essence.
"What happened?" Glorfindel remembered Sam asking, his eyes fixed on Frodo's mud-caked figure, his face strained with fear. The younger hobbits didn't seem to even notice that they were soaked to above the knees from their river crossing, nor that the mud they were wading through was as high as their ankles.
"If the Ringwraiths tried to cross the river, the waters would rise, so preventing their passage." He had replied, as Strider lifted Frodo gently in his arms. "The flood we saw had enough power to overcome their horses, and bear them away."
"Are they gone? I mean, for good?" The words echoed through Glorfindel's mind now and brought with them the same painful pang – it was terrible to see how hard Frodo's injury was on his friends.
"Unfortunately, no." He had to admit, seeing the hobbits' faces fall as he swung himself onto the back of the white Elf-horse. "Though they should not trouble us again just yet - their steeds cannot have survived." Strider had then passed Frodo up to Glorfindel, and the Elf had held him in his arms, speaking to Asfaloth to run, only looking back to call "We will meet again in Rivendell."
Now he had been travelling alone for two hours, wishing the valley he loved so dearly was closer and mentally willing Frodo to hold on. Since his fall the Ringbearer had not so much as sighed and this troubled the Elf-lord who carried him. Every now and then the unconscious body in his arms would shiver, and Glorfindel wished he could stop to wrap Frodo in clean, warmer clothing and discard the still damp ones which had been soaked by his fall down to the wet riverbank. He dared not stop, for though the threat of the wraiths had been eliminated for the time being, their evil was still working in the hobbit he was fighting to save. He only hoped the uncomfortable and chilling clothes weren't adding to their problems.
Once again, Glorfindel wondered at the fate that had brought the One Ring to this small creature. Rarely had he heard of the Perian, until Bilbo came to Rivendell, except for when Mithrandir or Elrond thought to speak of them and their land to the west of the Baranduin. Through the years the old hobbit had spent in Imladris, the Elf-lord had learnt much about their ways and gentle nature. The wizard often spoke of the Shire and it inhabitants, and Glorfindel had often heard the two of them speak of Bilbo's young nephew, Frodo. He looked back down at the named, cradled in his arms, a bout of shivers shaking his small form, and his heart tightened as he thought of breaking the news. Bilbo was old, and seeming to grow frailer by the day, if Frodo did not make it he feared greatly for the old hobbit.
The night continued to creep around the Elf as he travelled, and soon the half-light of the dusk had given way to full darkness. After some time, Glorfindel spotted figures ahead. A fear grasped him, and holding Frodo closer with his left arm, he clutched his sword hilt with his right hand.
"Who goes there?" He called into the night, hoping no servants of the Dark Lord were waiting.
"Glorfindel? Hannad Elbereth!" A voice drifted back, and, knowing the speech the Elf-lord relaxed instantly. The elves ahead of him spurred on their horses, and approached. "When the flood came down, we feared the worst." The speaker continued. Glorfindel instantly recognised him as one of his own kin, an Elf named Belegil, and the three behind as other members of Elrond's household. Behind the company were trailing four ponies, and another horse. Glorfindel shifted Frodo's weight a little in his arms.
"Alas," he said, "your fear was well founded. This perian has been gravely wounded, and I must bring him to Lord Elrond before it is too late. Behind are three other of his folk, guided by the Dúnadan."
"You ride on then, as fast as you may. We will find the others and bring them back." Calenmír, a scout of Imladris, answered him.
"And I shall join you, Glorfindel." Belegil said, urging his horse to the direction of Rivendell. Calenmír nodded, and the group parted company.
To be continued...
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*To be renamed (translation: 'Loudwater Ford to Rivendell').
Status: Work In Progress 1/?
Quick Summary: The missing chapter between the Bruinen Ford and Frodo's waking in Rivendell. I don't really know what I can say beyond that...
Notes: Alright, strictly speaking the book says that "Elrond's folk met them, (meaning Glorfindel, Aragorn and the hobbits) carrying you slowly towards Rivendell." However I cannot see why they would not hurry to get Frodo to Rivendell, especially since time is against them: "a few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid" as Gandalf says in Many Meetings, so I have adapted the story here. Just call it artistic license!
Disclaimer: I wish I could write something sparklingly-interesting and witty here to illustrate my point, but I can't, so I'll just have to say simply that no characters/scenes/locations/anything-but-the-word-order belongs to me. It is all property of J.R.R. Tolkien or Peter Jackson and team.
Spoilers: Happening in Fellowship Of The Ring, so only for that.
---
A/N: This fic is very much a work in progress (and also a quite overdone theme) and also very very short atm. I apologise. I very much look forwards to your opinions, since I have had writers block on this for a long time now. I'm hoping that's only because it's my first long (and chaptered) fic!
---
The sun was beginning to set, the cloudy sky turning purple as the light faded. Asfaloth's hooves pounded along the yet dry dust as Glorfindel bore his charge to the house of Elrond. The Elf-lord had ridden as fast as Asfaloth could go, for a instinctive haste was on him. In his arms the unconscious Ring-bearer was growing steadily colder, as the chill from the Morgul wound in his shoulder spread across his whole body. Glorfindel had a good knowledge of healing, enough to know that Frodo was fading fast. The sooner he could bring the perian to Imladris, the better: it may already be too late.
They had crossed the Loudwater River as soon as the waters had subsided to their normal flow, to find Asfaloth standing guard over the Ring-bearer. They had seen him fall from the other side, and the hobbits were beside themselves with fear. Seeming dead at first, Frodo was lying face down on the river bank, puddles of water from the flood pooling around him.
"You ride ahead, Glorfindel. He must come under Lord Elrond's care quickly. We will follow on." Strider had told the Elf as he'd turned over Frodo's pale body and on examination had discovered a faint pulse. Glorfindel had agreed – it was clear time was of the essence.
"What happened?" Glorfindel remembered Sam asking, his eyes fixed on Frodo's mud-caked figure, his face strained with fear. The younger hobbits didn't seem to even notice that they were soaked to above the knees from their river crossing, nor that the mud they were wading through was as high as their ankles.
"If the Ringwraiths tried to cross the river, the waters would rise, so preventing their passage." He had replied, as Strider lifted Frodo gently in his arms. "The flood we saw had enough power to overcome their horses, and bear them away."
"Are they gone? I mean, for good?" The words echoed through Glorfindel's mind now and brought with them the same painful pang – it was terrible to see how hard Frodo's injury was on his friends.
"Unfortunately, no." He had to admit, seeing the hobbits' faces fall as he swung himself onto the back of the white Elf-horse. "Though they should not trouble us again just yet - their steeds cannot have survived." Strider had then passed Frodo up to Glorfindel, and the Elf had held him in his arms, speaking to Asfaloth to run, only looking back to call "We will meet again in Rivendell."
Now he had been travelling alone for two hours, wishing the valley he loved so dearly was closer and mentally willing Frodo to hold on. Since his fall the Ringbearer had not so much as sighed and this troubled the Elf-lord who carried him. Every now and then the unconscious body in his arms would shiver, and Glorfindel wished he could stop to wrap Frodo in clean, warmer clothing and discard the still damp ones which had been soaked by his fall down to the wet riverbank. He dared not stop, for though the threat of the wraiths had been eliminated for the time being, their evil was still working in the hobbit he was fighting to save. He only hoped the uncomfortable and chilling clothes weren't adding to their problems.
Once again, Glorfindel wondered at the fate that had brought the One Ring to this small creature. Rarely had he heard of the Perian, until Bilbo came to Rivendell, except for when Mithrandir or Elrond thought to speak of them and their land to the west of the Baranduin. Through the years the old hobbit had spent in Imladris, the Elf-lord had learnt much about their ways and gentle nature. The wizard often spoke of the Shire and it inhabitants, and Glorfindel had often heard the two of them speak of Bilbo's young nephew, Frodo. He looked back down at the named, cradled in his arms, a bout of shivers shaking his small form, and his heart tightened as he thought of breaking the news. Bilbo was old, and seeming to grow frailer by the day, if Frodo did not make it he feared greatly for the old hobbit.
The night continued to creep around the Elf as he travelled, and soon the half-light of the dusk had given way to full darkness. After some time, Glorfindel spotted figures ahead. A fear grasped him, and holding Frodo closer with his left arm, he clutched his sword hilt with his right hand.
"Who goes there?" He called into the night, hoping no servants of the Dark Lord were waiting.
"Glorfindel? Hannad Elbereth!" A voice drifted back, and, knowing the speech the Elf-lord relaxed instantly. The elves ahead of him spurred on their horses, and approached. "When the flood came down, we feared the worst." The speaker continued. Glorfindel instantly recognised him as one of his own kin, an Elf named Belegil, and the three behind as other members of Elrond's household. Behind the company were trailing four ponies, and another horse. Glorfindel shifted Frodo's weight a little in his arms.
"Alas," he said, "your fear was well founded. This perian has been gravely wounded, and I must bring him to Lord Elrond before it is too late. Behind are three other of his folk, guided by the Dúnadan."
"You ride on then, as fast as you may. We will find the others and bring them back." Calenmír, a scout of Imladris, answered him.
"And I shall join you, Glorfindel." Belegil said, urging his horse to the direction of Rivendell. Calenmír nodded, and the group parted company.
To be continued...
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