Return to Valinor

Weakly Carantaliel stirred from her swoon. Stretched out across the flet, her arms were painfully extended over her head, the bonds cutting ruthlessly into her slender wrists.

From that angle the she-elf could not see the gash in her forearm at all, but it throbbed hotly and she realized the thorns of Eregalda were filled with her venom.

As the captive lay there trying to marshal her strength, the Entwife shifted again and the air above her was filled with the dry, angry sound of branches clattering against one another.

A rush of whispering leaves answered Eregalda’s sere rage, and Carantaliel struggled to sit up to see what was happening to provoke her primeval warden.

The apple tree from Elvenwood stood miraculously before them and the Elven princess found hope once again. Eregalda was not the only Entwife in Valinor! The knowledge that the apple tree had been more than she appeared and was watching over them all this time brought her nearly as much joy as seeing Frodo himself.

As the sylvan tirade raged overhead, Carantaliel frantically resumed worrying at her bonds, which proved difficult, as Eregalda was prone to punctuate her invective with angry swings of her thorny limbs.

Just as the she-elf gave up on the ropes, she heard a too familiar wry voice speak, “What would your father say if he saw you now, my girl?”

“Iaurada!” she exclaimed, elation and relief to see Elrond emerge onto the flet. “What is happening? Where is Frodo? Is he…”

“Hold off on your questions until we can get you to safety.” He sliced through her bonds with a swift stroke of Hadhafang. “Aldananeth urged us to get you away as soon as may be.”

“And if you continue to prattle on Elrond Halfelven, we’re going to get caught in the middle,” Gandalf called up testily. “Hand down the girl to me before this fight turns ugly!”

Carantaliel squelched her questions for the moment as her grandfather guided her to the rope ladder. As she mounted the corded rung, her forearm grazed against the floor of the flet. Gasping, a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her and she clung to the ladder as her head spun.

“What’s wrong, child?” asked Elrond anxiously.

“It can wait, my lord,” Carantaliel lamely tried to reassure him. “Just give me a moment to catch my
breath…” But then her arm spasmed and she lost hold of the ladder.

To her relief, Gandalf kept her from falling. He caught her around the waist then held on to her as he shinnied down the ladder. The wizard may be ancient, but his aged looks belied his strength and agility.

Gratefully she clung to him until they reached the ground and he swept her away from the tense circle of Entwives.

Elrond leaped to the ground right behind them and the trio hurried back into the forest.

When Gandalf felt they were a safe distance away, he stopped and set Carantaliel gently on her feet. “We have a moment to stop and catch our breath,” he said. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“Better now that you’ve come,” she answered. “But where is Frodo? Is he all right?”

“He’s fine,” the wizard assured her. “He is with Figwit. They are going after Tellonnion…”

“No! He can’t! Tellonnion will kill him…”

Elrond replied soberly, “I think you might be surprised at what Frodo is capable of doing, Cara.”

Extending a hand towards her he added, “Now I know you are hurt. Let me see…”

“It’s just my arm. I caught it on a thorn,” she explained. “But I think it was full of poison.”

Immediately Elrond was examining her wounded forearm. After several moments he grunted quietly, “There is a bit of thorn here, but I need more light. Can you make it, Cara, if we wait?”

Straightening up proudly she answered, “I can make it. We are going to look for Frodo, aren’t we?”

“That seems the best course,” agreed Gandalf, warily looking back the way they had come. The struggle between the Entwives was growing more violent behind them and the wizard urged them, “We should move on quickly. Leave Eregalda to Aldananeth and the others!”


Clutching the phial of Galadriel in one hand and a substantial rock in the other, Frodo waited tensely for Tellonnion to make his move in the dark.

It was becoming increasingly harder to lie still, as the halfling felt the hairs standing on the back of his neck. He knew Tellonnion intended to kill him, and he was exposed with seemingly no help at hand.

That, of course, was part of the ruse, but Figwit had to get far enough away for their stalker to believe him gone. The hobbit’s friend may not be able to come to his aid as fast as he might hope.

Frodo was on his own for the present then. Yet, what did he want the outcome to be? During those anxious minutes, Frodo could not help but think about what might happen.

Could he actually kill Tellonnion, given the chance? He wanted to, he had to admit. He did not want Carantaliel or his children to live in the shadow of the elflord’s threat for all the ages to come.

Still, Frodo had seen much death and injury in Middle-earth. It sickened him and he thought never to see it again once in the Blessed Realm. It would wound him deeply to be the cause of another’s death. How would he reconcile his actions with his conscience then?

Of course there was the very real possibility that Tellonnion would kill him first. Again, that would leave Carantaliel and his family at the elflord’s mercy, of which Frodo imagined there would be none.

“That settles it,” Frodo told himself sternly. “Tellonnion may kill me, but not before I kill him first. Cara and the children will not have to fear him ever again.”

Lost in these conflicting thoughts, a voice growled, “You are a fool, halfling, if you think I will show you mercy in your hour of need. You are a pathetic excuse for a hero.”

Steeling his nerve, Frodo answered, “And you are mistaken if you think I would ask mercy of you, Tellonnion. But neither should you be foolish enough to ask it of me.”

The elflord laughed heartily, “You! You think you can best me, little one? I’d like to see you try…”

“That does it!” the halfling told himself angrily and got to his feet. “I’m not as weak as you might suppose,” his voice rang out in the darkness

Tellonnion may have been surprised that Frodo was not as incapacitated as he pretended, but it did not seem to faze him. Circling the hobbit in a predatory way, he waited for his moment to pounce.

Frodo turned with him, keeping Tellonnion in front of him and waiting for the right moment to tip his hand. His stalker took his time, taunting Frodo with his tense patience and hoping the hobbit would let down his guard.

Suddenly Frodo heard a rustle of leaves behind him, but he was not fooled by Tellonnion’s trick of tossing a rock into the bushes. A hobbit’s senses are quite keen and he heard the missile whiz over his head before landing in the foliage.

He pretended to turn to the noise, but as the elflord raised his sword to cut him down, Frodo threw the rock in his own hand as hard as he could at Tellonnion.

The heavy stone caught Tellonnion in the temple and Frodo’s attacker staggered back with a grunt of pain. In that span of moments, the halfling lit the phial again so that it glowed brightly and then slowly drew his sword Tarfinion

Through the gush of blood Tellonnion saw what was once his own sword gleaming brilliantly in Frodo’s hand and he muttered angrily, “Where did you get that, halfling? That’s my sword!”

“Not anymore,” Frodo answered evenly. “Tarfinion answers only to me now. Beware his bite, Tellonnion. It is sharp… and fatal.”

Advancing on Frodo once again, the elflord breathed menacingly, “We will see about that…”


The deepening forest that had been as silent as the tomb before now filled Carantaliel’s ears with the terrifying clamor of violent clashes both before and behind her. At the sound of a particularly loud crash in their wake, the she-elf slowed slightly to look back in the direction of the Entwives. Her grandfather urged her along beside him, putting a steadying arm around her waist as she stumbled at the deafening noise.

“We can do nothing to help Aldananeth and the others, Cara,” Elrond murmured grimly as they ran. “Keep your thoughts fixed on Frodo. He has great courage, but does not have the same resources as Tellonnion. He will need our help to defeat him…”

Nodding briefly, Carantaliel did not answer aloud so she could save her breath for running. Still, she breathed in deep gulps and was glad of Elrond’s arm around her. Her head was light and reeling and she faltered with every other step. The only thing that kept her on her feet was knowing that the sound of the clanging swords ahead could only be Frodo defending himself against Tellonnion.

Clasping the white pendant around her neck, Carantaliel breathed her thousandth prayer to Varda to keep her halfling husband safe. Bravely, the she-elf trudged on…

Her struggling gait did not go unnoticed by Gandalf, as much as Carantaliel put on a brave face for him and her grandfather. Lack of proper food and water, not to mention the probable poison spreading through her arm, would conspire eventually to force the lovely she-elf to succumb to the weakness of her body, Elven though she may be. She would need healing attention sooner rather than later and they needed to find a faster way to take her to safety.

Vainly the wizard searched the forest ahead of him – or so he thought. To his great surprise he spotted a swift peregrine perched in a nearby tree. Slowing his pace, the other two did likewise, but Gandalf urged them ahead of him, promising to catch up to them directly.

Satisfied that Elrond would continue without question, the Istari stopped and called to the golden hawk. The graceful bird flew to him directly and settled on the wizard’s outstretched forearm.

“And what are you doing out here, my handsome lad, when the rest of your brothers have deserted this desolate place?” he asked the peregrine.

“The Mother Tree has asked me to wait upon you, my lord,” the peregrine responded. “Should you need me, I am to bear any message to anyone you wish.”

“You could not have arrived at a better time, I must say,” spoke Gandalf. “I could use a message bearer just at this very moment. Will you seek out Thorondil the Eagle for me at Elvenwood and bid him come as fast as he may? I sense we will be in great need of his speed quite soon.”

“It will be done,” agreed the bird who flapped off promptly to fulfill his mission.

With a heavy sigh, Gandalf watched the peregrine disappear towards Elvenwood for a long moment. Once he was gone, the wizard then resumed his own flight towards Frodo and the fight.


Tellonnion was taken back by the ferocity of his hobbit opponent’s fighting. What Frodo lacked in finesse he was making up for in his desperate single-minded determination. The runt had even gotten a few hits on him! This infuriated the tainted elflord who opened himself up to mistakes because of his growing lack of control.

It took every ounce of Frodo’s strength to parry each of Tellonnion’s strokes. The hobbit was much stronger than he had ever been in his life, but Tarfinion was still heavy and the elflord was much more physically powerful than he was. Frodo would have to try to stay one step ahead of his attacker if he wanted to survive the battle between them.

The phial of light hampered Frodo as well. To keep the small clearing lit so he could see the elf’s sword coming at him required the hobbit to hold out the crystal bottle in one hand while swinging his sword with the other. Consequently it was difficult for him to keep his balance, and after one particularly heavy blow from Tellonnion, Frodo tripped backwards over a rock and fell to the ground.

Seeing his weakling foe’s defeat before him, Tellonnion advanced threateningly on Frodo to let fall the death stroke. The halfling shrank back as he feebly attempted to raise Tarfinion to defend himself, but the sword dipped heavily as Frodo saw Tellonnion’s blade descending upon him

Closing his eyes, the prone hobbit’s last thought was for Carantaliel and his unborn children, despairing that he had no way to keep them safe from this madman. He knew his death was at hand.

Yet, the death stroke never came.

Whizzing past his face, Frodo heard an arrow twang from a bow. Suddenly there was a cry of pain from Tellonnion and then the hobbit found himself dragged to his feet.

Figwit clamped Frodo’s hand tighter around the hilt of Tarfinion and said, “Hold tight, mellon nin. You’re going to need this.”

The relief at seeing his friend was palpable, but all the halfling said was, “You certainly took your time coming back…”

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself,” answered Figwit with a dry twitch of his mouth.

Frodo wanted to laugh, but checked his mirth upon seeing the rage in Tellonnion’s eyes. Figwit’s arrow had pierced his hand to render it useless. However, the elflord could switch the sword to the other hand and use it to nearly the same effect.

The hobbit was not yet entirely out of danger.


-end of Chapter Twenty-five-

Iaurada! – Old Father! (Grandfather)