Title: To Save a Hobbit
Author: Khylea
Rating: PG for mild violence
Characters: Elrond and Nazgul. Frodo, Sam and Gandalf secondary characters.
Archive: Feel free, just drop me a URL where I can visit it please sl_chester@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, the wonderful J.R.R. Tolkien does. I do not make any profit. No harm, no foul, okay? He didn't write this scene, so I did.
Feedback: Oh please....skip the feedback, okay? I HATE feedback....NOT!!!
Summary: What exactly did Elrond do to save Frodo from the Witchking?
Dedication: For Anais, who keeps me writing. :)
Author's Notes: Came up with this story from an offhand question Reona asked on the Lord of Imladris Yahoo group: "Elrond's healing ability; can he only use herbs and medical devices or can he use his elven 'light' or whatever to magically heal a wound?" I had been thinking of something along these lines for a long while, but Reona's comment made me re-think of it, and suddenly, a fic was born. Thanks, Reona!!!
The smoke cleared from around the elf's body as he looked up, appraising his surroundings. He was in a small canyon, a few dozen steps long, half that wide. Sheer black rock walls rose on all sides, without handholds of any kind, and far too steep to climb anyway. The air smelled of sulfur, hot and choking in its intensity. Far off in the distance he could hear the rumbling of Mt. Orodruin, and shivered lightly.
He looked to the other end of the canyon, seeing his opponent slowly approaching him. With a deep breath, he removed his long outer robe, then his thin inner one, standing only in leggings and a thin undershirt. Quickly glancing around, he saw the floor was also smooth black rock, no openings or escapes visible to his sight. He was not surprised the Witch King had brought him here. He had such a hold on Frodo's mind, he was able to dictate where they would meet in battle. The lack of a visible escape did not bother Elrond. If he won the battle, he would return to his own body, sitting beside the hobbit in Imladris. If he lost, he would drift forever in oblivion, making a physical form unnecessary.
He quickly shook his head, pushing back the thoughts. He would not lose. He could not. Not when so many depended on him. Though his visions had been clouded of late, some part of him sensed Frodo still had some part to play in this tale, that his death could not be allowed.
"Give up the halfling, half-elf." The Nazgul hissed, causing a shiver to shoot down Elrond's spine. But with another deep breath, he straightened his spine, staring into the deep folds of the Nazgul's hood.
"Never." He said softly, but with an underlying tone that would have made many shrink away in fear.
The Nazgul however, did not shrink from anyone, continuing to advance on the elf, unsheathing his sword and hissing in displeasure. "Then it will be two souls I shall have this night."
Elrond reached out his hand, feeling the cool touch of Hadhafang caress his palm. He did not stop to think of it being odd that his sword was suddenly there when he needed it; that was simply how things were in this world. If only he could defeat the Nazgul with nothing more than a thought.....
"You will have no one, dark one!" Elrond said dangerously, moving closer, carefully appraising his opponent. The Nazgul stopped advancing, allowing Elrond to move closer. They stopped several paces from each other, not moving, simply staring the other down. With an unspoken signal, they each brought their swords to the ready, circling, circling, looking for an opening.
It was the Nazgul who struck first, lunging forward at a perceived weakness in the elf's defenses, bringing his blade down quickly on Elrond's seemingly unprotected left side. But it had been a ploy to draw his opponent in, and Elrond nimbly stepped to the side, spinning out of the way and leaving a long gash on the Nazgul's sword arm. The dark creature leaped back, howling in pain, hissing at Elrond in the Black Speech.
Again he attacked, again Elrond parried, this time slicing through his robe, leaving a long gash on his side. Though in the real world, the only things that made Nazgul visible to others were the clothes and armor they wore, here on the mind-plane, they could not hide their true nature. Their evil emanated off them like a wave, leaving them visible to anyone with the sensitivity to know how to look.
The fight went on and on, the Nazgul becoming more and more enraged as wound after wound was laid upon him while the elf danced away, as difficult to catch as a butterfly. Sweat dripped from Elrond's face, his breathing was harsh and rattling in his throat, but he determined to ignore it the best he could. He was wearing down his opponent, he knew. He just needed an opening, some break, and he could deliver the killing blow.
So intent was he on trying to find an opening, he reacted a split second too late to the Nazgul's attack, quickly sucking in his breath as his left arm was slashed by the heavy blade. It bled freely, but quickly evaluating it with his healer's mind, he saw it was not deep, not even close to a fatal wound. He gave a loud cry of pain, dropping to one knee, cradling his injured arm close to his chest. The Nazgul saw his opening and advanced, ready to decapitate his helpless opponent and earn his victory once and for all. But again, it was a ploy, and as the dark one raised his sword to deliver the killing blow, faster than the eye could follow, Elrond had thrown Hadhafang, impaling the Nazgul through the chest.
The creature stopped his advance, staring in disbelief at the sword hilt protruding from his chest. He staggered once, twice, before collapsing to the ground, his body disintegrating like the ash of the nearby mountain. A wind quickly picked up, blowing the remains of his body away.
Elrond regained his feet, stumbling over to retrieve his sword, bringing it to his forehead in a salute to the Valar. He closed his eyes, and a moment later, felt the smoke swirling around his body again, felt the sensation of flying. The sensations gradually diminished as he once again became aware of himself, his sword gone from his hand, clad once again in his robes.
"Elrond?" A soft voice said, and he opened his eyes into the concerned face of the wizard next to him.
"It is well, Mithrandir. The dark one is banished." He glanced over at Frodo's still form, seeing the sunken hollows around his eyes begin to smooth out, the pale, sickly skin recover some of its former color. He reached to gently push the dark hair back off Frodo's forehead, wincing at the pain in his arm.
"Did he wound you?" Gandalf asked softly, looking with concern at his long time friend.
"He caught me off guard and sliced my arm open. Not a killing blow, Gandalf. Worry not." He quickly added, seeing the concern in the ageless eyes. "He will wake soon." He stood, and stretching the ache from his back, strode to the window, looking out at his valley. He let his mind go blank, his consciousness wander over the trees, becoming a bird for a moment, then a fox, then a gopher, burrowing under the ground, needing to feel the warmth, the light, of the valley once more.
Behind him, he heard the hobbit stir, a tentative voice. "Where am I?"
With a small chuckle, Gandalf answered."You are in the house of Elrond. And it is 10 o'clock in the morning, on October the 24th, if you want to know."
"Gandalf?"
"Yes...I'm here. And you're lucky to be here, too. A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid. But you have some strength in you, my dear hobbit!" Some strength indeed, Elrond agreed. Not many can survive the Nazgul evil as long as you did, my friend.
"What happened, Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us?"
"Oh I'm sorry Frodo . .. . . I was delayed." His eyes widened as he heard the hesitation in the wizard's voice, determined to some day ask what caused him to suddenly show up on Gwaihir, grim and tight-lipped, refusing to speak of Saruman.
"Gandalf? What is it?"
"Frodo! Frodo!" Elrond could not help but grin as Sam suddenly rushed into the room, immediately moving to Frodo's side and taking his hand in a crushing grip. Now there is a friend, Elrond thought. Everyone could use someone as devoted as Sam.
"Sam!" His smile widened as Frodo's face split in a grin so wide he thought it might split.
"Bless you, you're awake!"
"Sam has hardly left your side." Hardly left his side indeed, Elrond thought to himself with a small chuckle. I nearly had to push him away to change my patient's bandage.
"We were that worried about you, weren't we Mr. Gandalf?"
"By the skills of Lord Elrond, you're beginning to mend." With a deep breath, Elrond finally moved away from the window, feeling the warmth and light of his valley filling his soul, driving out the darkness from his battle with the Nazgul. Only a slight twinge in his arm remained where the dark one had wounded him, and he knew that would also fade in time.
"Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins." He said warmly, gracing the hobbit with a rare smile, which the small being returned. He knew that with the normal insatiable curiosity of a hobbit, Frodo would later press him for details on how he had recovered, on what herbs and medicines he had used. And Elrond would tell him, tell him every detail. He kept no secrets of his healing skills, wanting to see as many of them remembered as possible. Except of course his duel with the Nazgul. That would remain his secret. He looked across the bed, meeting Gandalf's eyes. And Mithrandir's secret, for he too had done battle with the dark ones. He too had pulled one back from their dark clutches.
Elrond felt a shiver go down his spine as he felt another brush of evil in his mind. The power of Sauron was growing. It was now only a matter of time. And the hobbit he had just saved would play a part in the future. A large part.....
END