Alone Facing Darkness

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~Chapter Five: Flight to the Ford~

“Harry! Harry!” Hermione said urgently, shaking him awake.

Harry turned his head to face her groggily. “What happened?”

She ignored his question. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…What about Frodo?”

Hermione tensed slightly, compressing her lips. “You might want to see for yourself. He’s not well at all, and there’s not much we can do for him. At least that’s what Strider says.”

Harry had already sprung up and was making his way around the ruins toward the spot where Frodo lay, surrounded by the other five travelers. His breath caught at the sight of the Hobbit. The effect of the knife was more terrible than he could have imagined. Frodo lay there, moaning in pain, his face drained of color, his words becoming less coherent every time he spoke. What was worse, it seemed as though his eyes were less able to see them at each passing moment.

“Help him, Strider,” Sam was pleading desperately.

The knife that had done its work on the Hobbit lay on the ground next to Strider. The very tip seemed to be broken off. It shone dully, coldly, as the Ranger picked it up. “He’s been stabbed by a Morgul blade,” he said grimly. As he said those words, the blade vanished, turning into a wisp of smoke. He dropped the hilt as if he had been burned. “This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine.” He picked Frodo up and started down the hill with everyone else following.

“It’s six days to Rivendell!” Sam said, distressed. “He’ll never make it!”

Strider held on more tightly to his burden. “Hold on, Frodo.”

The Hobbit was murmuring something inaudible. Then, quite suddenly, he cried out, “Gandalf!”

“Harry!” Ron called. “You all right, mate?”

Harry turned to face his friend. “Yeah…just a bit tired. I’m sorry I got us mixed up in all this,” he added as Hermione caught up to them.

“Well, there’s one good thing about this – no schoolwork!”

Hermione looked at Ron reproachfully. “Ron, even if I did see that as a upside to our situation, look at where we are now. We’re tired, we’re cold, hungry – and even here, we’re still being hunted.”

“Not us,” Harry said, indicating the Hobbit Strider was carrying. “It’s him they want.”

“I know, but by extension…we’re traveling with him, so those Nazgul are after us too.”

“Those things are scary,” Ron said. “Like dementors, but not quite. I don’t know what came over me back there, I meant to stay there and defend Frodo, but it was like…Well, I really don’t know, I just ran for it. And then I couldn’t move, I was just really…” here Ron hesitated, as though unwilling to admit it. “I was afraid.”

“That’s what it was like for me too,” said Hermione. “And I was surprised by the fact that all of us ran, especially seeing as we are all in Gryffindor. But you’re right, they are both alike and unlike the dementors. They look like them, but don’t glide like they do, they move more like men. And while dementors make us relive our worst memories, these Nazgul use fear as their weapon. Still,” she said, “We’re usually able to stand our ground against dementors…”

“It’s the Black Breath,” Strider called back. “That is what we call it; the Ringwraiths use it just like you described. The usually brave run from them without knowing why because of it.” He continued on through the forest without another word.

Harry turned toward his friends. “I tried using the Patronus Charm against them. I did manage to conjure the Patronus itself, but the one who stabbed Frodo just brushed it aside as if it were no more than my first attempt at a Patronus…the pathetic silver mist I tried to protect myself and Sirius with was completely useless. But this was a full-fledged stag Patronus, which usually works.”

Ron and Hermione didn’t seem to know what to make of this. “Do you suppose our power is weaker here?”

“But Harry was able to perform the Summoning Charm on Strider’s sword back there…”

“Yes Ron, but that was only a Summoning Charm. What if the more complicated spells we know, or all the hexes we hope to use…what if they’re useless here?”

“Then we’d better learn how to use weapons of this time, like a sword or a bow or something,” Harry said.

“I suppose…” Hermione was cut off by a cry from Pippin.

“Trolls!” He and Merry had moved slightly ahead of the group when they spotted a clearing in the forest, where Strider had said they would stop and rest. Now they were scurrying back, looking frightened.

Strider shifted Frodo slightly, raising his torch so that it lit the clearing a little better. “Are you sure?”

“Yes…three big ones, they look very angry too,” Merry said.

Harry could have sworn he saw Strider smiling slightly – but for what? If there were trolls up ahead it was no laughing matter.

“I don’t hear them.”

“Should we take a look, Strider?” Ron asked.

“I do not want to send you three to face them alone…” The Ranger’s words were serious, but his voice held a hint of laughter. Why?

“We took on a troll in first year and won,” Ron said. “Simple, really, though a bit stupid on our part.”

“Well, then, have a look,” Strider said.

So Harry, Ron, and Hermione softly made their way to the edge of the clearing. They pulled out their wands as they leapt into the trolls’ line of sight. Harry was about to cast a Stunning Spell when Hermione caught his arm and laughed.

“Oh, Ron, Harry, look at them, they’re not even alive!” To prove her point, she walked right up to the foot of the nearest troll and kicked it. “And look, there’s a bird’s nest behind that one’s ear,” she said, pointing. “I don’t think any bird would build its nest there if the troll were alive. I wonder how they got like this,” she said. Just then Strider and the Hobbits entered the clearing.

“Perhaps Sam can explain,” the Ranger said.

Sam looked up, surprised. “Well, it’s like this,” he said, turning to the wizards. “A long while back Mr. Frodo’s uncle Bilbo Baggins went on an adventure with the Wizard Gandalf and some Dwarves. One night it was raining, and they had lost all their supplies, so they were cold and wet and hungry. Then they spotted a light coming from this very clearing. Mr. Bilbo was sent to find out what was going on. Turned out that there were three trolls, roasting mutton, complaining that they’d eaten the same thing for who knows how many days. Well, Mr. Bilbo tried to pick one’s pocket and got caught doing it, and the trolls wouldn’t let him go. So one by one each of the dwarves came to investigate, but every time the one that came got picked up and stuffed into a sack.

“The trolls then argued about how best to cook them. They’d have decided on one way or another when a voice sounding like one of theirs spoke up to disagree, then they began to argue again. Eventually the sun came up and turned them into the stone we see here…but not before Gandalf came and showed that he’d been the one keeping their disagreement going.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione laughed appreciatively at this, but their merriment soon died down as they saw Frodo. A sheen of perspiration covered his pallid face, his breathing shallow and quick. His eyes – what was wrong with his eyes? They looked just – wrong.

“Keep him warm,” Strider was saying. “Hermione! Ron! Go look for some kindling; we need small fire.”

Sam had made his way over to Frodo. “Look, Mr. Frodo. It’s Bilbo’s trolls!”

His friend did not seem to hear him. “Mr. Frodo?” Sam placed his hand upon Frodo’s brow. He turned to Strider, saying urgently, “He’s going cold!”

“Is he going to die?” Pippin queried.

Strider, who had been peering into the surrounding woods with his torch held aloft, said grimly, “He’s passing into the shadow world. He will soon become a wraith like them.”

Just then several far-off Ringwraith screams pierced the night. Frighteningly, as Frodo inhaled, his breath sounded like one of their cries.

“They’re close,” Merry said, looking around the clearing.

Frodo seemed to hear this at least, for his expression became more panicked. As Hermione and Ron returned carrying pieces of dry wood, Strider beckoned to Sam. “Sam! Do you know the athelas plant?”

The gardener seemed unfamiliar with this particular name. “Athelas?”

“Kingsfoil?”

“Kingsfoil, aye, it’s a weed.”

“It may help to slow the poisoning. Hurry!” With that, he and Sam hurried off into the woods.

Harry watched as Hermione started the fire before going to Frodo. He was troubled by what he saw, especially in the Hobbit’s eyes. The pupils somehow seemed more constricted, the irises an unnaturally bright blue. The overall effect made Frodo seem to be fading from this world, seeing less of it than anyone else did – which in fact he was.

And as Harry touched Frodo’s hand, a wisp of memory floated across his mind so that he was seeing this very moment from Frodo’s point of view. He saw the forest clearing as a shadowy place, felt as though he were drifting somewhere between reality and a sort of otherworld. And pain. Not just the physical pain that arose from the stabbing, but a constant feeling of being watched by the Eye.

Wrenching himself back into reality, he tried to comfort Frodo. “Hang on, Frodo. You’ll make it through.”

And for a moment, it seemed as though Frodo heard him, turning his head to face him. Then another spasm of pain rocked the Hobbit’s body, another inner struggle with the master of the Ring.

* * *

Darkness. Shadow. And voices, voices chanting softly in the uncouth Black Speech. That was what Frodo perceived most clearly. He felt himself slipping away from the world he knew, becoming closer to the shadowy realm the Nazgul inhabited. His friends became shadows in his vision.

There were times when the dark veil would lift and for an instant he would clearly see or hear. He saw Sam issuing words of comfort and heard Strider telling the others what was happening to him. He even managed to see and hear Harry. He had been startled by the understanding he saw in the boy’s eyes. Then the veil had fallen again.

The effect such a small wound had had on him surprised him greatly. But then, considering that the weapon had been forged by such a powerful enemy, perhaps it should have come as no surprise. In addition to his fading sight and strength, his left arm had gone numb and hung useless at his side. The fire next to him was but a pale light as he saw it.

Then, quite suddenly, it seemed as though a bright star rode into the clearing on the back of a white horse. The star dismounted gracefully. It was not a star after all; it was a beautiful Elf, dressed in a flowing white gown. The light shone off her long dark hair and sparkled in the jewel she wore as a necklace. Frodo stared at the apparition, dazzled by both the bright light and her loveliness. Her dark blue eyes looked deep into his, seeming to peer into the very depths of his soul.

“Frodo.” Her voice was deep but melodious, ethereal. “Im Arwen…Telin le thaed. Lasto beth nin, tolo dan nan galad.”

Frodo could no longer meet her penetrating gaze. He closed his eyes and turned away from her.

* * *

Harry had seen Ron’s jaw drop when the woman rode into the clearing. He had felt his do the same. Never had they seen someone so beautiful. They watched as she dismounted her horse gracefully, her dark curtain of hair seeming to float behind her, a curtain of shimmering black silk. Her movements, while graceful, were urgent as she bent over Frodo, concern written across her flawless features. She began to speak to Frodo in a strange but musical language. Harry saw the Hobbit’s head turn toward her, his gaze becoming slightly more focused.

“What is she saying?” Ron wondered aloud.

He and Harry were startled to hear Hermione murmur, “Frodo, I am Arwen. I’ve come to help you. Hear my voice, come back to the light.”

Harry looked at her incredulously. “How do you know that?”

Hermione smiled knowingly. “Ancient Runes. I always knew that subject would be useful someday.”

“So she’s speaking…”

“Sindarin, which most likely means that she’s an Elf. I can understand what she’s saying mostly, just not sure if I’d speak it. Ron,” she added, her tone reproachful, “you really ought to close your mouth.”

For Ron had still been gawking at the Elf – Arwen? – his mouth hanging open. He shut it quickly, looking very embarrassed.

Strider had returned with Arwen, the leaves of a plant held in his hand. He motioned for Harry, who was still seated on the ground next to Frodo, to move aside as he bent over the Hobbit, chewing on a few leaves of kingsfoil to release the healing fluids of the plant. Then Strider exposed the wound on Frodo’s shoulder and placed the crushed leaves on it.

“Frodo!” Arwen then switched into the Common Tongue – what Harry and his friends knew as English. “He’s fading. He’s not going to last,” she said as Strider picked Frodo up. “We must get him to my father.”

“Where are you taking him?” Merry asked. Arwen and Strider did not seem to hear him.

“I’ve been looking for you for two days. There are five wraiths behind you, where the other four are I do not know.” Strider gently seated Frodo on Arwen’s horse. The Hobbit let out a soft groan. It was clear that he was getting weaker.

She and Strider then began conversing in Elvish.

“What are they saying?” Merry asked no one in particular.

Hermione began translating softly. “Stay with the Hobbits and these children. I will send horses for you.

“I’m the faster rider. I will take him.

“The road is to dangerous.

“Frodo is dying.” Hermione’s voice caught slightly at these words, but she continued her translation. “If I can get across the river, the power of my people will protect him.”

Arwen then spoke in the Common Tongue. “I do not fear them.”

They watched as Strider gently took hold of Arwen’s hand, saying something inaudible before helping her onto the horse. “Arwen,” he said softly.

She looked back at him.

“Ride hard. Don’t look back.”

The beautiful Elf gave a small nod before the horse began to trot out of the clearing into the surrounding woods. “Noro lim, Asfaloth. Noro lim.”

“What’re you doing?” Sam cried. “Those wraiths are still out there!”

Strider did not respond. From his vantage point, Harry saw the worry that showed across the Ranger’s features. Yes, it appeared that the Ranger loved the Elf. It showed in his movements as he helped her onto the horse, in the way he looked at her as if there was no one else in the world. Then Harry remembered what he had overheard about the tale of Beren and Luthien. Such a love, between a mortal and an Elf, could only end in tragedy.

Harry gave his head a little shake. Now where had those thoughts come from? It was most unlike him to think that way. He needed an explanation for this, and soon.

* * *

Arwen breathed a small sigh of relief as they cleared the forest and began galloping across open country as the sun began to rise. There was still no sign of the wraiths. She was somewhat amazed a Frodo’s strength; even an Elf would have succumbed to the knife’s effects hours earlier. Still, even without pursuit, Frodo needed to be brought as quickly as possible to Rivendell where her father, Lord Elrond, could heal him. Her father was one of the most skilled healers who had ever existed, if not the best. Even so, the magnitude of the Hobbit’s injury gave her cause for some doubt. Elrond had described just such an injury to her long ago, one where a shard of the Enemy’s blade was left imbedded in the wound making its way slowly but steadily to the heart.

She could hear the Hobbit’s breath growing more ragged as the hours wore on. He was now too weak to hold his head up, and it moved from side to side under her chin as her horse galloped along. His gaze was unfocused, seeing nothing.

They entered another stand of trees. Arwen urged her horse on a little more. The Ford of Bruinen was near, and Rivendell only a little further.

Then she heard it. An unearthly wail, a screech of anger. She saw the figures in the trees around her, dark shapes. They began to emerge behind her horse, following in pursuit.

“Noro lim, Asfaloth!” she cried. It was fortunate that they were close to the Ford, for if the wraiths had begun their pursuit any earlier, her horse would not have been able to run from the wraiths at the pace he was going now. The black horses the Nazgul rode would never be able to catch them, but still she rode at that breakneck speed. For if she paused for an instant, she and Frodo would be overwhelmed.

Glancing back, she quickly counted the wraiths. All nine were present. Against all of them, her skills with the sword would never be enough.

At long last, they reached the Ford. Her own white steed had reached the opposite bank before the wraiths had even begun to gather on the shore, hesitant to cross.

“Give up the Halfling, She-Elf.” The leader’s voice was cold, grating.

Arwen drew her sword and answered with the challenge, “If you want him, come and claim him!”

The Nine drew their own swords as one. As their leader’s horse began the crossing, Arwen closed her eyes and began to chant, calling upon the river to protect Frodo and her. “Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer, Rimmo nin Bruinen dan in Ulaer!”

Her eyes flew open as a low rumbling began upstream. Around the bend came a white wall of crashing water, the waves seeming to form into the shapes of galloping horses. The wraiths’ heads jerked around to look an instant before they were all swept away, horses tumbling, cloaks and swords becoming tangled in the rush of water.

But then, as the water settled down once again, she felt Frodo finally collapse. Had her efforts and those of his traveling companions been for nothing? “No!”

Arwen directed her horse further up the bank before dismounting. Gently she lowered the Hobbit to the ground. “No! Frodo, no! Don’t give in! Not now!” Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes as Frodo’s breathing went from shallow gasps to inaudible whispers, as the Hobbit went completely still. Weeping, she gathered him into her arms, pleading with the Valar, *What grace has given me, let it pass to him. Let him be spared.* Her tears darkened the fabric of his green cloak as she lifted him onto the horse’s back. Then, drying her eyes, she led the horse back to Rivendell.


Translation: 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!