CHAPTER FIVE: THE FORD OF BRUINEN
The little Halfling was so weak. He lay upon Aragorn's cloak, his body trembling from the violent coughs that escaped purple lips, his sea-blue eyes clouded in unimaginable pain.
It was impossible for one's heart not to melt at the sight of Frodo Baggins, the tiny Ringbearer, in his dying state. Arwen felt tears fill her eyes as she stepped closer to him. His three hobbit companions backed away to allow her easier access to their friend. Frodo turned, sensing the elf-maiden's presence. Arwen that the sight that greeted him was not the weary, slightly dishevelled rider, but the Evenstar in her fullest splendour.
Dropping to her knees, she met his eyes, whispering to him in Sindarin: "Frodo… Frodo, Im Arwen. Telin le thaed. Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad." [Frodo, I am Arwen. I have come to help. Listen to my voice, come back to the light.]
The tension drained from the hobbit's body as Arwen's words touched the farthest expanses of his mind, drawing him from the shadow of darkness that threatened to encompass him. Whether he had actually understood what was being spoken to him mattered not; the result was the same. Bilbo had, on several occasions, claimed that his nephew was fluent in Sindarin - but the old hobbit did have a tendency to exaggerate.
Aragorn dropped to his knees beside his beloved, fiercely clutching a stalk of athelas. Plucking a single flower, he placed it in his mouth and began to chew, his face contouring into a wave of disgust at the acrid taste. Arwen cautiously opened the hobbit's shirt, stifling a gasp when the angry wound met her eyes; the wound that was pouring darkness into Frodo's veins, corrupting his soul and pulling him back towards the Shadow World.
Small voices marvelled at her arrival, wondering who she was. "She's an elf," one of them pointed out, and she felt three pairs of eyes stare at her in nothing less than amazement.
"He's fading…" she whispered, knowing that even with two and a half millennia of tuition in the arts of healing, this injury was far beyond her skill; this was one ailment she would not even attempt to cure.
A flame of determination in his eyes, Aragorn pressed the athelas into the incision in Frodo's chest. A strangled cry escaped the hobbit's lips as his frail form began to shudder vehemently.
"He's not going to last!" Arwen proclaimed. "We must get him to my Father!"
In one fluid movement, the Ranger and the elf-princess were on their feet. He swept the injured Ringbearer into his arms as they strode towards the horse. "I've been looking for you for two days now," she explained. "There are five wraiths behind you. Where the other four are, I do not know."
Aragorn set the dying hobbit on the horse before turning to his love, speaking to her in Sindarin to ensure that the hobbits could not understand. "Dartho guin Beriain. Rych le ad tolthathon." [Stay with the hobbits. I will send horses for you.] He prepared to mount Asfaloth, when Arwen's hand stilled him.
She shook her head. "Hon mabathon. Rochon ellint im," [I will take him. I am the faster rider] she insisted. After all, she did have two and a half millennia more experience than him.
"Andelu i ven." [The road is too dangerous.]
Had the situation not been so dire, Arwen would have kissed her love for his sheer dedication. He was thinking of her safety above all else - but it was necessary for the Ringbearer to be delivered to Imladris immediately, and Arwen alone had the skill to do that. She barely heard the worried exchange between the other hobbits as they wondered over what she and Aragorn were discussing. "Frodo fîr. Ae athradon i hir, tur gwaith nîn beriatha hon." [Frodo is dying. If I can cross the river, the power of my people will protect him.] With a sigh, she lifted a hand to caress his cheek for a moment. "I do not fear them."
He swallowed, acknowledging the truth of her words, but looking fearful nonetheless. Even if she was a warrior-maiden like Luthien, Arwen knew that her love would never cease to worry about her. It was one of the things that made her so sure that she could forsake everything she was - and would become - to be his wife. "Be iest lîn," [According to you wish] he answered with a heavy sigh, covering her hand with his own and giving it an affectionate squeeze.
Aragorn placed his hands on her hip and lifted her onto Asfaloth's back. Arwen could sense the reluctance in his movements, see the fear flickering in his sea-grey eyes. When he returned to Rivendell, she would reward his dedication - and she knew exactly how.
"Arwen…" he whispered. "Ride hard. Don't look back."
With a final nod, she slapped her stallion's neck, digging her heels into his side to spur him on. "Noro lim, Asfaloth!" The horse obediently burst into a gallop as Arwen wrapped one arm around the Ringbearer, forcing herself not to look back at Aragorn. The tears in her eyes would only spill over if she saw his panicked gaze.
The last sound she heard from the clearing was a defiant cry. "What are you doin'? Those wraiths are still out there!"
* * * * * *
A grey dawn rose as Arwen pressed her weary horse onwards. Icicles reverberated down her spine as the Nazgul drew nearer and nearer…
The injured Halfling groaned, and she could feel the strength slowly draining from his body. Urging her horse onwards, Arwen's eyes slipped shut for but a moment as she offered a prayer to the Valor. "Ai Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel! A tiro ho!" [Oh, Elbereth Starkindler, from heaven gazing afar! Look towards him!]
Suddenly, an icy hand gripped her heart. The song of her spirit turned from a frantic march into violent crescendos of terror. The Nazgul were near - too near for her liking. She could hear the pounding of their horses' hooves against the ground as she dug her heels into Asfaloth's side. His graceful gallop turned into a frenzied canter - he too could sense the evil that was rapidly surrounding them, engulfing both horse and rider in its sinister shadow.
Arwen gasped as she caught of a flash of black. She cursed - it was one of the wraiths! Then, to her left, was another!
Spurring her horse owwards, she swore as eight of Nazgul surrounded her, darting like rats out of the shelter of the trees. They were coming for the Ringbearer and the One Ring. But she would not allow Frodo to pass into their hands. For the sake of Middle Earth, she could not.
Her heart raced, her breath coming in shuddery gasps. The Halfling, his eyes clouded as the poison of his wound filled his veins, lifted his head towards the nearest wraith as a gauntletted hand reached out to wrap itself around Frodo's throat…
"Noro lim, Asfaloth!" Arwen screamed. The Ford was close. If she could just evade the Ringwraiths for a few more moments, then the power held in the valley of Imladris would protect Frodo from harm. Just a few more moments…
The grassy field melted away to more rocky terrain. Asfaloth's hooves pounded against the stone underfoot like a drum. The wraiths screeched as they sensed the power of the elves around them.
Arwen dug her heels into her stallion's sides, spurring him into one last, frantic gallop as they crossed the River Loudwater. Once within the vicinity of her father's influence and power, she paused, gasping for breath. The Nazgul, joined by their leader, the much-feared Witch King Of Angmar, stood poised on the opposite bank.
The Witch King drew his crude Morgul blade. "Give up the Halfling, she-elf!" It hissed menacingly.
Arwen drew her own blade in retaliation. "If you want him, come and claim him!" She shot back, swallowing her fear.
The Nazgul seemed prepared the rise to her challenge. Eight blades were drawn from their sheaths amidst the scraping of metal against metal. Sauron's dark servants screeched before commanding their dark horses to cross the river.
Arwen's eyes slipped shut as allowed the power of the elves to fill her body like a potion. Then, her mind called to the Vala King Ulmo, Lord of the Waters. "Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer: Rimmo nin Bruinen dan in Ulaer! Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer: Rimmo nin Bruinen dan in Ulaer!" [Waters of the Misty Mountains, listen to the great word: Flow waters of Loudwater against the Ringwraiths!] She chanted, every fibre of her body praying for the result. She repeated the chant again, only louder and more forceful: "Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer: Rimmo nin Bruinen dan in Ulaer! Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer: Rimmo nin Bruinen dan in Ulaer!"
As she blinked, the sound of water crashing against rock filled her ears. She turned her head, one arm still wrapped protectively about Frodo's waist.
The waters of the Ford crashed into the wraiths as a wave that could only have come from Ulmo himself swept them away. Tortured shrieks filled the air as the Nazgul found themselves subject to the power of the Vala lord, working through the Evenstar herself.
Silence descended. Arwen took a moment to still herself, before a strangled gasp escaped Frodo's parched lips. A breath caught in her throat as she leapt down from Asfaloth's back and lay the hobbit on the ground.
Skin that should have been a healthy peach was now ashen and dripping with feverish sweat. He groaned, foaming at the mouth, as the life seemed to slip from his body.
"No Frodo! Don't give in! Not now!" She begged, pressing a gloved hand to his cheek. Tears slipping down her cheeks, she pulled the hobbit into her embrace, caressing his head soothingly. "What grace is given me, let it pass to him. Let him be spared. Save him."
The little Halfling was so weak. He lay upon Aragorn's cloak, his body trembling from the violent coughs that escaped purple lips, his sea-blue eyes clouded in unimaginable pain.
It was impossible for one's heart not to melt at the sight of Frodo Baggins, the tiny Ringbearer, in his dying state. Arwen felt tears fill her eyes as she stepped closer to him. His three hobbit companions backed away to allow her easier access to their friend. Frodo turned, sensing the elf-maiden's presence. Arwen that the sight that greeted him was not the weary, slightly dishevelled rider, but the Evenstar in her fullest splendour.
Dropping to her knees, she met his eyes, whispering to him in Sindarin: "Frodo… Frodo, Im Arwen. Telin le thaed. Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad." [Frodo, I am Arwen. I have come to help. Listen to my voice, come back to the light.]
The tension drained from the hobbit's body as Arwen's words touched the farthest expanses of his mind, drawing him from the shadow of darkness that threatened to encompass him. Whether he had actually understood what was being spoken to him mattered not; the result was the same. Bilbo had, on several occasions, claimed that his nephew was fluent in Sindarin - but the old hobbit did have a tendency to exaggerate.
Aragorn dropped to his knees beside his beloved, fiercely clutching a stalk of athelas. Plucking a single flower, he placed it in his mouth and began to chew, his face contouring into a wave of disgust at the acrid taste. Arwen cautiously opened the hobbit's shirt, stifling a gasp when the angry wound met her eyes; the wound that was pouring darkness into Frodo's veins, corrupting his soul and pulling him back towards the Shadow World.
Small voices marvelled at her arrival, wondering who she was. "She's an elf," one of them pointed out, and she felt three pairs of eyes stare at her in nothing less than amazement.
"He's fading…" she whispered, knowing that even with two and a half millennia of tuition in the arts of healing, this injury was far beyond her skill; this was one ailment she would not even attempt to cure.
A flame of determination in his eyes, Aragorn pressed the athelas into the incision in Frodo's chest. A strangled cry escaped the hobbit's lips as his frail form began to shudder vehemently.
"He's not going to last!" Arwen proclaimed. "We must get him to my Father!"
In one fluid movement, the Ranger and the elf-princess were on their feet. He swept the injured Ringbearer into his arms as they strode towards the horse. "I've been looking for you for two days now," she explained. "There are five wraiths behind you. Where the other four are, I do not know."
Aragorn set the dying hobbit on the horse before turning to his love, speaking to her in Sindarin to ensure that the hobbits could not understand. "Dartho guin Beriain. Rych le ad tolthathon." [Stay with the hobbits. I will send horses for you.] He prepared to mount Asfaloth, when Arwen's hand stilled him.
She shook her head. "Hon mabathon. Rochon ellint im," [I will take him. I am the faster rider] she insisted. After all, she did have two and a half millennia more experience than him.
"Andelu i ven." [The road is too dangerous.]
Had the situation not been so dire, Arwen would have kissed her love for his sheer dedication. He was thinking of her safety above all else - but it was necessary for the Ringbearer to be delivered to Imladris immediately, and Arwen alone had the skill to do that. She barely heard the worried exchange between the other hobbits as they wondered over what she and Aragorn were discussing. "Frodo fîr. Ae athradon i hir, tur gwaith nîn beriatha hon." [Frodo is dying. If I can cross the river, the power of my people will protect him.] With a sigh, she lifted a hand to caress his cheek for a moment. "I do not fear them."
He swallowed, acknowledging the truth of her words, but looking fearful nonetheless. Even if she was a warrior-maiden like Luthien, Arwen knew that her love would never cease to worry about her. It was one of the things that made her so sure that she could forsake everything she was - and would become - to be his wife. "Be iest lîn," [According to you wish] he answered with a heavy sigh, covering her hand with his own and giving it an affectionate squeeze.
Aragorn placed his hands on her hip and lifted her onto Asfaloth's back. Arwen could sense the reluctance in his movements, see the fear flickering in his sea-grey eyes. When he returned to Rivendell, she would reward his dedication - and she knew exactly how.
"Arwen…" he whispered. "Ride hard. Don't look back."
With a final nod, she slapped her stallion's neck, digging her heels into his side to spur him on. "Noro lim, Asfaloth!" The horse obediently burst into a gallop as Arwen wrapped one arm around the Ringbearer, forcing herself not to look back at Aragorn. The tears in her eyes would only spill over if she saw his panicked gaze.
The last sound she heard from the clearing was a defiant cry. "What are you doin'? Those wraiths are still out there!"
* * * * * *
A grey dawn rose as Arwen pressed her weary horse onwards. Icicles reverberated down her spine as the Nazgul drew nearer and nearer…
The injured Halfling groaned, and she could feel the strength slowly draining from his body. Urging her horse onwards, Arwen's eyes slipped shut for but a moment as she offered a prayer to the Valor. "Ai Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel! A tiro ho!" [Oh, Elbereth Starkindler, from heaven gazing afar! Look towards him!]
Suddenly, an icy hand gripped her heart. The song of her spirit turned from a frantic march into violent crescendos of terror. The Nazgul were near - too near for her liking. She could hear the pounding of their horses' hooves against the ground as she dug her heels into Asfaloth's side. His graceful gallop turned into a frenzied canter - he too could sense the evil that was rapidly surrounding them, engulfing both horse and rider in its sinister shadow.
Arwen gasped as she caught of a flash of black. She cursed - it was one of the wraiths! Then, to her left, was another!
Spurring her horse owwards, she swore as eight of Nazgul surrounded her, darting like rats out of the shelter of the trees. They were coming for the Ringbearer and the One Ring. But she would not allow Frodo to pass into their hands. For the sake of Middle Earth, she could not.
Her heart raced, her breath coming in shuddery gasps. The Halfling, his eyes clouded as the poison of his wound filled his veins, lifted his head towards the nearest wraith as a gauntletted hand reached out to wrap itself around Frodo's throat…
"Noro lim, Asfaloth!" Arwen screamed. The Ford was close. If she could just evade the Ringwraiths for a few more moments, then the power held in the valley of Imladris would protect Frodo from harm. Just a few more moments…
The grassy field melted away to more rocky terrain. Asfaloth's hooves pounded against the stone underfoot like a drum. The wraiths screeched as they sensed the power of the elves around them.
Arwen dug her heels into her stallion's sides, spurring him into one last, frantic gallop as they crossed the River Loudwater. Once within the vicinity of her father's influence and power, she paused, gasping for breath. The Nazgul, joined by their leader, the much-feared Witch King Of Angmar, stood poised on the opposite bank.
The Witch King drew his crude Morgul blade. "Give up the Halfling, she-elf!" It hissed menacingly.
Arwen drew her own blade in retaliation. "If you want him, come and claim him!" She shot back, swallowing her fear.
The Nazgul seemed prepared the rise to her challenge. Eight blades were drawn from their sheaths amidst the scraping of metal against metal. Sauron's dark servants screeched before commanding their dark horses to cross the river.
Arwen's eyes slipped shut as allowed the power of the elves to fill her body like a potion. Then, her mind called to the Vala King Ulmo, Lord of the Waters. "Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer: Rimmo nin Bruinen dan in Ulaer! Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer: Rimmo nin Bruinen dan in Ulaer!" [Waters of the Misty Mountains, listen to the great word: Flow waters of Loudwater against the Ringwraiths!] She chanted, every fibre of her body praying for the result. She repeated the chant again, only louder and more forceful: "Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer: Rimmo nin Bruinen dan in Ulaer! Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer: Rimmo nin Bruinen dan in Ulaer!"
As she blinked, the sound of water crashing against rock filled her ears. She turned her head, one arm still wrapped protectively about Frodo's waist.
The waters of the Ford crashed into the wraiths as a wave that could only have come from Ulmo himself swept them away. Tortured shrieks filled the air as the Nazgul found themselves subject to the power of the Vala lord, working through the Evenstar herself.
Silence descended. Arwen took a moment to still herself, before a strangled gasp escaped Frodo's parched lips. A breath caught in her throat as she leapt down from Asfaloth's back and lay the hobbit on the ground.
Skin that should have been a healthy peach was now ashen and dripping with feverish sweat. He groaned, foaming at the mouth, as the life seemed to slip from his body.
"No Frodo! Don't give in! Not now!" She begged, pressing a gloved hand to his cheek. Tears slipping down her cheeks, she pulled the hobbit into her embrace, caressing his head soothingly. "What grace is given me, let it pass to him. Let him be spared. Save him."