Glorfindel in Imladris
Chapter 4
The Ford of Bruinen
Glorfindel allowed only one more brief halt to their long march that day, and far into the greying evening they stumbled on. The hobbits were exhausted, for they had covered almost twenty miles, and their legs were heavy and their feet worn so that they were tender.
Aragorn had encouraged them with such bold words and confidence as he could muster, but for now they were unable to think of valour or Adventure, and sat down gratefully to rub their tired feet when Glorfindel reluctantly permitted them to stop.
Frodo sat on Asfaloth's back lost in a dark dream. The pain of his wound had grown throughout the day, but he did not complain. The sight of his friends suffering as they had walked beside him held his tongue. Now he saw nothing but greyish ghostly shapes, and the sunlight that fell weakly as it set behind them seemed to scorch his skin with cruel heat; he welcomed the coming of night, and the blinding shadows that make the world seem less empty and bleak.
Too soon they began again, for many more miles lay still between them and the Ford. Glorfindel's liquor sustained them, but their feet were still sore and worn, and even walking on the green grass the hobbits were limping doggedly. Glorfindel marveled at their fortitude and stubbornness. As uncomfortable and weary as they were, they were determined to see their friend to safety. The younger hobbit, Peregrin walked next to his friend Merry and loosened his small sword in its sheath. Merry helped him when he stumbled and glanced frequently at Frodo, leaving unvoiced his fear and concern. Sam walked close to Asfaloth, having become confident that the towering horse would not step on him. He was clearly of a mind to stay with Frodo, and said softly to Merry and Pippin that any Black Rider that dared to come close to his master would have to ride over Sam Gamgee!
Aragorn and Glorfindel herded them firmly, and the hearts of the hobbits seemed to lift as they came out of the tunnel of pine and red stone and saw the Ford in the distance, gleaming invitingly. A path to sanctuary stretching clearly before them lent new strength and hope, but Glorfindel was dismayed.
They were too late. In the trees between them and the shallow water of the Ford of Bruinen shadows dark as the Abyss lay in wait. Glorfindel could sense them clearly. Behind them in the tunnel like growing thunder came the galloping hoofbeats of their pursuit; they were closing the trap at last. There was only one member of their company that could hope to save Frodo now.
"Fly! Fly! The Enemy is upon us!"
Asfaloth leaped forward and the hobbits followed quickly, forgetting about their pain and weariness. Glorfindel and Aragorn followed at the rear, and in Glorfindel's hand his long sword gleamed in damasked gold. They could not hope but the slow the charge of the wraiths to give Frodo a chance to flee.
They were halfway across the distance to the ford when the first wraith rode out of the tunnel behind. Glorfindel stared at him with hatred as the wraith king sat swaying in his saddle. 'This is the life beyond death for which you hungered, sorcerer,' thought Glorfindel with disgust, 'Does it please you now?' Aloud, the Elf cried to Frodo to ride on to the ford, but Frodo did not obey. Four more wraiths had joined the first.
Holding the reins of Asfaloth in his right hand, Frodo had checked the horse to a walk, and turning, he looked at the wraiths. It was as if he saw and heard nothing, not his friends or the Ford or the land about them, only the fell shadows that called to him to wait in commanding voices. Glorfindel saw the fear and hatred awake in him, and Frodo dropped the bridle and drew his small sword with a red flash. "Ride on! Ride on!" Glorfindel urged Frodo, though the hobbit seemed not to hear. In a loud clear voice, the elf said to his horse
The white horse sprang away, and Frodo's head snapped back as he clutched at the flowing mane. His eyes were ghostly pale, and his wound had re-opened so that his cloak and shirt were stained darkly. At that moment, the wraiths charged after him, and their shrieking voices became audible to all the companions, chilling cries that were answered by those who waited in ambush. Those four rode then out of their hiding, two at Asfaloth who raced eastward like a white gleam on the wind, and two sped to the Ford to cut off their escape.
Sam, Merry, and Pippin threw themselves to the ground as the ringwraiths rushed past Glorfindel and Aragorn, who could do nothing but dive out of the way or be crushed beneath the hooves of their maddened horses. Glorfindel at once followed at a run the hobbits could not hope to match, but they too hurried after, their hearts hammering with fear as they watched the white horse speed away, Frodo clinging to his mane.
"Child of Nahar, bear him well!" prayed Glorfindel, and then he turned his mind away from Frodo and Asfaloth with an effort, for now he was needed to protect these others and clean his side of the river. He trusted that Elrond had prepared a welcome for the uninvited guests.
When he reached the hollow near the ford Glorfindel hastily kindled a fire, and as he laid torches into he blaze, Aragorn arrived with the winded hobbits, their faces flushed with running. He thrust the torches into their hands, and led them forward at once.
The sight of the confrontation at the Ford was awesome. Ahead they could see all nine of the wraiths mounted and waiting at the river's edge, hesitating to cross the pure running water. Beyond them and on higher ground, so that they could see his pale face clearly, Frodo sat on Asfaloth, his sword held high and words of defiance on his lips, though only Glorfindel could hear his small voice. The measure of his courage impressed the Elf-lord, and Glorfindel felt his wrath grow as the fell Riders laughed at Frodo and mocked him. Intent upon their helpless prey, the wraiths took no notice them.
The wraith king stood in his stirrups, and uttering a black oath he raised his hand and Frodo's sword broke in a shower of sparks, and he faded and fell forward on Asfaloth's neck. The white horse could not flee without dislodging his rider, and he snorted with defiance and fury as the steed of the wraith king and two others stepped into the rushing water, coming forward to claim their master's prize.
The flood came swiftly, and Glorfindel felt and heard the Power of Elrond protecting his land. His ears heard the sounding of horns of shell, like a voice from the depths of the Outer Ocean. The fury of the water was further enhanced by another Power; energetic and passionate that shaped the foam into shining white riders on white horse. Great boulders and rocks were driven along like leaves in the stream. The waters raised in anger over the three which were amidmost, their horses stalled in fear. They were borne down beneath a crushing wave, and disappeared.
The five that had tarried on the bank drew back in dismay and Glorfindel and Aragorn rush at them. The hobbits also came forward, heedless of their own safety, and they thrust their torches at the horses of the riders.
Glorfindel's wrath was great. His face and body shone with radiant light and his sword blazed brighter than the burning brands. He leaped forward and drove at the wraiths, a song of war on his lips that had not been heard in Middle-earth since before Beleriand had been swallowed by the seas.
Maddened by the fire and daunted by the fury of Glorfindel, the horses plunged with their riders into the raging river, and they were engulfed in the torrent and crushed by boulders and drowned.
Glorfindel sprang across the Ford, running to the crumpled body that lay beneath Asfaloth. The white horse had stood firmly, protecting him after he had fallen unconscious and was washed from the saddle. Lying facedown on the bank, Frodo moved not at all as his friends cried out to him, struggling to follow the swift elf across the relenting water.
Carefully, Glorfindel raised Frodo and turned him over. He looked into the white face and saw the light of his spirit seemed no longer to be shining, just flickering dimly like a candle sputtering in its tallow. His flesh was cold and his heartbeat so faint that it seemed stilled, and upon Glorfindel a great feeling of crushing defeat fell and he held the small body in his arms and wept.
"He can't die, Mr. Glorfindel, sir! He just can't!" Sam was insisting, as Glorfindel gently passed Frodo to Aragorn's arms.
"No, Sam, he can not die," and the Elf's eyes met Aragorn's for a hard moment, and Aragorn understood and bore Frodo away toward Rivendell, the hobbits trailing him with their weary pony.
Glorfindel circled Asfaloth's neck with his arms, and pressed his face into his friend's coat. The horse was wet with sweat and river water. The flood had risen enough to soak rider and horse before it had subsided. The drumming beat of the great heart within Asfaloth' breast filled Glorfindel's ears, and he stood thus until his darkness ebbed so that the daylight returned.
He looked down at the place where Frodo had lain. An ancient dagger lay there, shattered. Glorfindel knelt and picked up the shards, and beneath he found a ring of gold, pressed into the damp earth.
Glorfindel stared at the thing, and his weariness settled on him like a cloud. "Abandon your bearer, will you?" he said softly to the ring. "Think you have found a better choice? I think not." Glorfindel plucked from his head a long strand of his shining hair, and carefully threaded it through the band and tied it, looping it around Asfaloth's saddle-horn.
Glorfindel spoke then to Asfaloth, and his voice was full of bitterness and self-reproach, "There! Let it be said that Glorfindel failed in his charge, and by a hair bore the Ring to Imladris!"
He turned and walked beside his white horse then, on the path that led to Rivendell. To Glorfindel's eyes, already the sunlight seemed to be filtered through a veil of smoke.