Chapter 13: In Which Luna Rescues a Hobbit

The next morning, Luna woke before any of the Hobbits. This was not unusual. The only thing that could get her to sleep these days was having Boromir near her. And while she had felt safe every night in the wilds with Glorfindel, she had still not found a restful night. And with her Elf-friend gone, her chances were even slimmer. Besides, it gave her a moment to inspect the campsite. The Man, Strider, was nowhere to be found. Luna supposed he was not far. Perhaps looking for breakfast or scouting their campsite for dangers. Three Hobbits were curled up on the ground, their cots having been carried by a small pony that accompanied them. She sat up, stretched, and noticed that she wasn't the only one awake.

"Hello," a soft voice said. Frodo was awake and up, petting Asfaloth near the patch of grass where the horse and the Hobbits' pony, Bill, had been grazing. The little Hobbit was standing on his toes to reach the large horse's muzzle.

"You should be resting, Master Hobbit," Luna said, reaching for her boots that she had kicked off in the night.

"I've rested long enough for today's travels," he insisted. "Sam told me you assisted Strider in helping with my wound last night. For that, I am grateful, kind stranger."

"Anything for Bilbo's nephew," Luna said, giving the Hobbit a small bow of her head.

Frodo smiled gently. "Yes, Sam told me you met Bilbo in Rivendell. How far are we from the gate to the city?"

"Three days walk. Four, maybe, on Hobbit legs."

"Sam also said you encountered the Black Riders."

"The Nazgul, you mean? Yes, my companion, an Elf, chased them off around midday yesterday. With any luck, we should travel swiftly and reach the city before they can track us down again."

"You must be blessed indeed to find yourself in the company of Elves," said a voice to her right. The portly Hobbit, Sam, was sitting up from his resting spot, rubbing his eyes.

"Sam is eager to see the Elven city."

"We met a party of 'em," Sam said, moving onto his large, hairy feet. "They were traveling to the ocean. Setting sail for the Undying Lands, they said. Living amongst them as you have, miss, must be a wonder."

"What is Rivendell like?" Frodo asked.

"It is beautiful. The most beautiful city I have ever seen, where nature runs free yet tamed by their gentle hands."

"Spoken truly," said Strider, coming from the west treeline. "Wake your friends," he said to Frodo and Sam. "We must be quick. I have found no trace of the Wraiths on our tails. But that doesn't mean they cannot catch up."

"Frodo, you must ride atop Asfaloth," Luna said, placing the horse's saddle pad on his back and reaching for the saddle. "With your injuries, we can't risk you slowing us down."

Frodo made to protest, but Strider held up a hand. "The young maiden is right, Master Hobbit. Bill will need to carry your provisions. The Black Breath will consume you the more energy you exert. Already, I can see your eyes beginning to fall."

Within minutes Merry and Pippin were awake and trekking through the woods, complaining of their empty stomachs. The Hobbits wanted to cook a warm breakfast, but Strider had refused them. He was adamant that Frodo reach Lord Elrond as soon as possible.

"Back at the campsite," Luna said to Strider a few hours into their walk. "You called his aliment 'Black Breath". I have never heard of such a thing."

"From Dol Amroth you hail?" Strider asked. Luna nodded. "No, you would not have heard of it there. Come to think, I know not where you would have heard it from. Perhaps soldiers speaking of their deepest fears? From Minas Morgul the blades of the Nazgul are forged. The Nazgul carry the aura of death wherever they go. It consumes the very air around them. And the wound Frodo sustained from them when we camped on Weathertop, where the Nazgul attacked us in the night, will eventually consume him if we do not reach Rivendell in time."

"And what would happen to him if we don't?"

"The Black Breath will claim his life. Pull his soul into the Shadow World. He would turn into a Wraith, capable only of simple bidding from the Nazgul."

"Then we must move faster," Luna insisted. "For I know not how to save him and I'll be damned if I never learn."


Her days with this party were slow. The much smaller legs of the Hobbits made moving through the forest somewhat of a tedious walk, but Luna quickly found that she didn't mind. Of course they moved with as much haste as the little Hobbits could muster, but she found her days full of joy with them by her side. Merry was a stout Hobbit who shared her love of geography. Sam was a jolly fellow and a gardener. While he knew much more about shrubberies and flowers than healing plants, he gave her a few recommendations of fertilizer for her mother's garden back home. Pippin was clumsy and complained often about the amount of walking he'd been through, but he was still somehow the happiest and most optimistic of the bunch, perhaps because he was the youngest.

Frodo, however. There was something about Frodo she couldn't put her finger on. He was of a friendly sort, no doubt, and he rode atop Asfaloth keeping his injuries from spreading further from excursion. Luna felt an unease around him, as if there was something he was hiding from her. She had both a very strong desire to help him reach Rivendell so that Lord Elrond could attend to his injuries, but at the same time, she wished to turn him around and send him back where he came from. Not because she didn't like him, but there was just…something that kept her from ease whenever her attention wavered in his direction.

Strider was an enigma to her. He hardly spoke and instead was their pace-setter. He seemed to know the woods of the Trollshaws like the back of his hand. There was something familiar about him. Perhaps in the shape of his face, though Luna was certain she had never met him before. He was brisk and curt; and yet, Luna found that she could help but trust this stranger completely as he led her expertly through the forest. Within a few days, the trees grew more and more familiar as they neared the Bruinen and the borders of Rivendell.

"See that?" said Strider well into the second day. The party had been walking uphill for some time and their trail had led them to the edge of the trees, overlooking the open lands that surrounded the forest. "The Old Road," he said pointing. Indeed, the well traveled trail was winding its way through the hills. Luna had yet to set foot on the main roads in her journeys.

"Shouldn't we move out of its sight?" she asked.

"The trees still cover us," Strider said confidently. "And this way we might see something before it sees us."

"No signs of Black Riders," Pippin sighed. "And no signs of Gandalf either."

"Mithrandir?" Luna asked. Of course she had heard of the Wizard. Faramir knew him well. But in Minas Tirith, they called him by a different name. "Why would Mithrandir find himself way out here in the wilds?"

"Gandalf is an old friend," Frodo said. "He was supposed to meet us in Bree, but something happened. Strider told us he set off for Rivendell ahead of our schedule."

"Glorfindel mentioned he saw tracks of a friend to your party already headed for Rivendell, just off the Last Bridge. If this was Mithrandir, he would have reached the Elven realm by now."

"I hope you are right, Miss Luna," Merry said.

"I worry about the upcoming terrain," Strider said. "The ways off the road will not be so easily climbed by Asfaloth and especially Bill. And the Hobbits will not easily make it."

"I can take you the way Glorfindel brought me. There was no terrain so difficult that the Halflings couldn't manage it."

He bowed his head. "I thank you, kind lady. I know these woods well, but not well enough to guide my party. Elrond sending you to us is a blessing indeed."

Luna took over the lead after that, guiding Strider and the Hobbits through the thick of nature, but by nightfall, their situation grew more complicated.

"It grows so cold," Sam said, drawing his coat tighter around his body.

"This weather is not what I have seen in my time spent in this climate," Luna said to Strider.

"They near us," he said wearily. "The Nazgul."

Luna's stomach churned. "What are we to do?"

Strider glanced back at Frodo, whose eyes were closed atop Asfaloth. More than once today, he had nearly fallen off the horse. "You have told me of the path Glorfindel led you through. I can get Sam, Merry, and Pippin safely to Rivendell's walls."

"And what of Frodo?"

"You can take him. Asfaloth will ride fastest with your small frame. Get Frodo to Rivendell as hastily as possible. Get him to Lord Elrond."

"I was told to bring the whole party to Rivendell."

"The fate of the rest of the party will not matter if Frodo passes into the Shadow realm because his friends could not move through the woods fast enough. Take Asfaloth and Frodo."

"No," Frodo muttered. "I will not leave my friends. Especially if it is truly Black Riders you are sensing on our tails."

"The Wraiths do not want your friends, Frodo. They want you. If you leave the party, danger leaves with you." Strider turned back to Luna. "And they will pursue you. But Asfaloth will outrun them, I assure you. Ride swift and true, Luna of Dol Amroth."

No sooner had he finished his blessing, then a cry let out from behind their trail. "The enemy is upon us," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her to Asfaloth's side. "Mount and fly! Fly to Rivendell!"

Luna had not the time to think. She mounted the Elven steed and propped Frodo between her arms, making sure he was steady, before kicking off and, with the greatest of speeds, galloping through the woods and back towards the Old Road. If the Nazgul knew of Frodo's location, there was no point hiding in the trees. The road would bring them to their destination faster.

The cry sounded again and Luna glanced back. Five of the cloaked and hooded riders with the awful frightening horses were behind them. She and Frodo were a good distance ahead and they didn't seem to be able to catch up, but they were not stopping their pursuit.

"I hear them," Frodo muttered, his voice growing weaker.

"We near the Ford," Luna said. "Hold on, Frodo. When we reach the Ford, we will have cut them off."

They reached it in record time. Asfaloth clapped through the slow and shallow stream of water, bringing them to the other side of the Bruinen, into Rivendell's territory. Asfaloth triumphantly turned around, bringing Luna and Frodo face to face with the enemy. Luna's skin crawled as she stared into the nothingness that was the face of their hoods. The air around them had dropped in temperature. She saw the plants nearest the Riders had begun to wilt as the five of them stopped at the edge of the Ford atop their evil horses.

"Go back!" Frodo called at them, mustering what little strength he had left. "Go back to the Land of Mordor and follow me no more!"

The Riders started to laugh. Luna flinched at the harsh and evil sounds of mockery they made. "Come back! To Mordor we will take you. To Mordor we will take you both! The Ring! The Ring!"

"By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me!" Frodo cried.

The Ring, Luna's mind whispered. He has the Ring. Immediately, a thousand scenarios crossed her mind. Ride away and frisk the small Hobbit until she found it and throw him from the saddle; pull the knife in her boot and slit his throat. If he were dead, he wouldn't be able to fight back; take the Ring to Denathor as he had commanded; or, keep it for herself. Surely she could put it to better use than Denathor…

No. No! She shook the vile thoughts from her mind. She was not that kind of person. She didn't have that evil in her heart. However, if she handed Frodo over to the Nazgul, they would leave her alone. She could return to Rivendell safe behind its walls with Boromir, Denathor's orders be damned.

Enough! Her mind screamed. She resisted the urge to slap herself. To jump into the cool water of the Ford and hope it cleared her mind. Frodo was dying. She had to save him. She had to get him back to Bilbo.

As soon as she looked into the clear water, however, her mind silenced. The river's stream seemed to be rising. The Nazgul were making their way into the water, slowly. Frodo's eyes were beginning to droop. He was losing consciousness, his final strength used to bid waste to the Wraiths. Asfaloth trotted frother from the water as it continued to rise. From their left came a roaring and rushing of water. Waves she had not seen since the thunderstorms of Dol Amroth were coming down the river. With gusto, the water engulfed the Nazgul, overtaking the legs of their horses, pulling them beneath the surface and down the river, far far away from Rivendell's lands.

With one last breath, Frodo fell from Asfaloth and onto the hard ground as the waves continued to roar. "Frodo!" she cried, jumping to the ground and pulling his head onto her lap. "Frodo, no! We are nearly there, Frodo! You can't give up now!"

The Hobbit stirred, but not in recognition of her voice or comprehension of her words. He began to shiver and shake, the temperature of his body falling colder and colder. His cheeks were icy to the touch as Luna held him. She had never felt so helpless. She knew not how to save him.

"Help!" she screamed as loud as she could. "Help, please!"

She screamed until two familiar figures were upon her. "Luna, let go of him. We will take him to our father," Elladan said.

A gentle pair of hands grabbed hers as Elladan pulled Frodo from her grasp. "Celabrin-heryn, you have journeyed far, yet again," Elrohir said, holding her hands tightly as she watched Elladan carry Frodo towards the gate. "And you have done well. The Halfling is not yet gone. Our father will tend to him."

"I want to help," Luna insisted, pulling her hands from his and making to follow Elladan. "I promised I would help heal him."

"You may keep that promise if you calm yourself. For now, you are too anxious. Too clouded with emotions."

"I'm fine," Luna said, walking after the other twin. "I don't care if you believe me or not, but I am fine and I am going to help Elrond. At the very least watch what he is to do."

Elrohir did not protest further. She jogged to keep up with the twins and without so much as a glance at her surroundings, she made her way through Rivendell's gates, through the twists and turns of its paths and trails, into Elrond's house. The Elf-lord was there already prepping for whatever procedure he was going to perform.

"The Black Breath persists," he said as Elladan lay Frodo on the bed across from where Elrond was preparing his tools. "Moments longer and he would not have survived. You have done well, Luna, Daughter of Callum."

In the time it took to carry him here, Frodo had gone from shivering and shaking to violently gasping, trying to catch air his lungs could not reach. His eyes were open and his irises had gone a stark white as if his injuries had blinded him.

"What do we do?"

"Here," Elrond said, handing her a small pair of forceps. "I will make an incision in the wound. You will reach inside and find the shrapnel of Morgul Blade that still pesters inside."

Luna nodded. While this was new to her, she supposed it wouldn't be much different than digging an arrow's tip from the meaty flesh of a soldier. Except, she did not have the shaft of an arrow to guide her to where this shard of blade would be inside the Hobbit.

"How will I find the shard?"

"Frodo is beyond feeling pain. Dig with the forceps. You will have to locate it."

Luna steadied herself with a deep breath as Elrond took a small, sharp knife to Frodo's wound. Elladan had already removed the Hobbit's coat and shirt and he and Elrohir were holding Frodo down, keeping him still from the thrashing. No blood poured from Frodo's wound as Elrond cut into it, widening the cut so Luna could reach inside. She didn't wait for instruction. She reached inside. The Hobbit's flesh did not feel like flesh. She thought of hunting and cutting into the guts of an animal. This felt more like cutting into dried, old meat. Meat that was long dead. She moved the forceps around, praying to find something that did not belong. And it didn't take her long. The metal prongs of the tiny forceps clinked against something solid inside. Luna clamped the prongs of her tool around the tiny thing and started to maneuver it from Frodo's wound. When it saw the light of day, the iron shard seemed to dissipate before her eyes, melting in the sunlight that crept through the curtain of the room.

Elrond had already moved on. He pulled a slave of weeds from a bowl by his side and was rubbing it into Frodo's wound. He was chanting in Sindarin, the words flowing from his mouth like a spell. Frodo's thrashing had ceased. His eyes were still open, but the white was fading from them as he stared into Elrond, who continued his ritual, cleansing Frodo of the ailment that persisted inside him.

"You have done well, young Amrothian," a voice said behind her, from the doorway.

It was an old man. A very old man with long, gray hair and beard of matching color and length. He stood at least a foot and a half taller than Luna and in one hand he held a long, wooden staff. Atop his head was a pointed gray hat, which helped him appear even taller than he actually was. His eyes were blue and twinkling with friendliness and something Luna assumed was kin to relief. And his eyes were old, like the Elves around them. But there was something else in those eyes that the Elves did not possess.

Luna realized she had seen this man before. No, not man. Wizard.

"Well met, Mithrandir," she said, bowing her head.