FLIGHT TO THE FORD

Sam let out a small exclamation as the elven healer brushed away the last of the dried poultice from the wound. The dawn light revealed a fine dry, pale pink line punctuated by four tiny sutures. Elrond prodded the wound gently, nodding when it showed only slightly more give than the surrounding tissue and no signs of heat or swelling.

"I shall remove the sutures. They are no longer needed." He began assembling scissors, fresh dressings and salve.

Sam finally found his voice. "It's healed so fast."

Elrond smiled and bent to cut the fine threads while Arwen opened the window and the full glory of the dawn chorus drifted into the room on a gentle breeze.

000

Standing upon the balcony, Elrond turned to face into the light breeze and opened his mind more fully to Vilya's whisperings. He was not mistaken. There was definitely something . . . yes . . . he was coming . . . nearing the Fords. And he was being pursued.

The Lord of Imladris spun and ran quickly into the house. He found Gandalf in Bilbo's room and stopped only long enough to put his head around the door and call Mithrandir's name before he ran on, out of the doors into the garden and down the steps through the woods to the river foaming below. He did not wait to see if the wizard followed but he could hear booted feet behind him.

At the bottom of the steep flight of steps was a shingle beach, where the swiftly tumbling river bent around an outcrop of rock on the far side. Elrond ran to the river's edge and turned at last, to see how far behind him Gandalf was. The wizard was just reaching the last flight of steps and Elrond decided it was safe to start. He knelt at the water's edge, ignoring the cold hard feel of the damp water worn pebbles beneath his knees, and slipped his hand into the icy water.

The Master of Rivendell opened himself to the Loudwater, listening for whisper of Frodo's crossing at the fords below. He was aware immediately of Mithrandir's arrival, planting his staff in the eddies, the power it contained palpable.

There . . . Asfaloth . . . running at speed. Frodo . . . faint . . . gasping for air . . . he crosses . . . Ashfaloth turning . . . "Stop" . . . hatred . . . strength gone.

Elrond shuddered as the hooves of the first Black Rider's horse touched the Bruinen.

(Strength . . . Little One . . . resist.)

Sword drawn . . . weary muscles obeying the command to straighten . . . "Go back!" . . . "Go back to the Land of Mordor . . . and follow me no more!"

(Well done, Frodo . . .)

Laughter . . . harsh . . . chilling . . . shards of ice in his ears . . . Fell voices . . . "Come back! . . . Come back! . . . To Mordor we shall take you!"

(No . . . Frodo. Resist them . . . you are not alone.)

Strength failing . . .a whisper . . . "Go back"

Elrond glanced aside, only able to see the hem of Gandalf's robe and the tip of his staff. "He is failing, Mithrandir. I am not sure he will have strength to draw them all into the water."

The wizard's voice was calm. "If he can tempt just a few, Glorfindel and Aragorn may be able to deal with the rest. And we can at least cut them off from him for a while. Then, perhaps, your people can help."

The elf returned to his listening.

Deadly voices . . . "The Ring! The Ring!" . . . Witch King's horse . . . another step . . . two more riders . . . following.

(No . . . Little One. Do not put it on. Resist them just a little while longer. Just a few more steps.)

Elrond was surprised by a final surge of resistance from the frail figure upon Glorfindel's horse.

"By Elbereth and . . . Luthien the Fair . . . you shall have . . . neither the Ring . . . nor me!" . . . sword raised . . . defiance . . . Enemy raising hand . . . heart pounding . . . unable to cry out . . . sword snapping . . . hand shaking . . . enemy nearly upon him . . . Asfaloth snorting . . .

"Now, Gandalf! It must be now!" Elrond cried, putting forth all his power; holding back the raging waters of the Bruinen for just the few moments required to build the necessary volume.

"I am with you, my friend," the wizard's voice called over the mounting roar of the river.

At this assurance Elrond released the torrent of angry water, feeling Gandalf's power flowing past him with it, moulding, shaping, directing.

The three lead riders were swept away by the tumbling waters and the others drew back in confusion. Through Frodo's failing eyes Elrond saw Glorfindel and a small group of shadowy figures bearing flaming brands driving the horses into the rushing waters, where they too were swept away by the angry waves.

Falling . . . roaring water . . . grey mist . . . darkness . . .

Elrond leaned back on his heels and then accepted Gandalf's hand to help him rise, his knees finally registering the discomfort of the shingle beach.

"My people will bring him soon. I must go and prepare." He began to climb the steps back to the Last Homely House, with Gandalf in his train. The Ringbearer had arrived but the battle for his life was still being fought and the battle for Middle-earth had not even been joined yet.

00000

It had been a hard fought battle, not least by Frodo himself. When they had lain him in Elrond's arms that evening the healer had thought it unlikely that he would be alive by the dawn. But he had lived through that dawn, and the next and the one after that. Now he lay in the deep healing sleep that Elrond had pushed him into after the shard had been removed.

The elf looked up as Mithrandir entered, and held a finger to his lips in silent warning, nodding to the small figure curled in a chair at Frodo's left side. Sam had finally succumbed to exhaustion only an hour earlier.

Gandalf came to stand behind Elrond's chair, looking down at the small form lying still in the bed. There was a flush of pink in his cheeks . . . not the high colour of fever but the healthy flush of returning life. Frodo's chest rose and fell in light and steady rhythm, not the gasping and hitching breaths that had torn at all their hearts during those long nights, and when Gandalf reached down and touched the tiny left hand he found it warm, no longer wrapped in icy chill.

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose and massaged the corners of his tired eyes.

"Why do you not take some rest? You have been at his side since he arrived and even elves have limits to their strength." Gandalf whispered. "I will watch him."

"He will awaken shortly. I called him back a little while ago and he is rising to the borders of wakefulness," Elrond replied. He checked Frodo's pulse.

"I had hoped that Bilbo would be here to greet him when he awoke but he would not stay. I think he is fearful that Frodo will reject him." He sighed and gave up his seat to the wizard.

Gandalf smiled. "Do not worry. They will make their peace. There is too much love between them to allow room for bitterness."

"Still, it would be better if there were a familiar face here when he opens his eyes, and he trusts you, Mithrandir. This place will seem very strange and big to him." Elrond nodded across the large bed. "And I think our little gardener here deserves some rest too."

Gandalf nodded and began to light his pipe as Elrond rounded the bed and laid a gentle hand upon Sam's brow.

"Sleep, Samwise."

The little hobbit sighed, his body relaxing further into the chair and the tall elf gathered him up in his arms and headed for the door.

"Come, Little Gardener. I think you will sleep more comfortably in your bed."

As the door closed, from the room behind him, he heard a small voice whisper drowsily, "Where am I? And what is the time?"

THE END