October 18
“Ai na vedui Dúnadan! Mae govannen!”
As Aragorn ran down the slope and left the hobbits concealed in the bushes growing above the Road, the four hobbits found themselves each reacting very differently to the figure dismounting from the white horse.
Merry was amazed by the beauty and clarity of the stranger’s voice; every word sounded as if it were the opening note of a song. Even from a distance, he perceived that the Elf’s face was beautiful, his golden hair shimmering as if lit from within. However, his first glimpse of an Elf was tempered by the grim realization that this person was alone. Where were the search parties? If Strider was right, and the wraiths were just biding their time before they attacked again, in full force, it would surely take more than one lone Elf to make a difference.
Pippin, too, was a bit disappointed, as he had been hoping the rider was Gandalf -- but he sighed with relief when Strider greeted the Elf as an old friend.
Sam just gazed, awestruck, at the noble figure below them on the Road. Every movement, every small gesture seemed graceful and flowing. Gildor and his folk, back in the Shire, had been jovial, and beautiful, and somewhat ethereal; but this person… Sam somehow knew, in his heart, that this was someone of great majesty and power. He can help us, he thought.
Frodo’s nighttime vision had grown too weak, after so many days of increasing dimness, to discern either Aragorn or the Road on which he now stood -- but below him was a being of Light. The radiance wavered -- now fainter, now brighter -- it almost hurt his eyes after so many days and nights of shadowed sight. He hoped he still had the strength to greet him properly.
“Come sir,” Sam pulled on Frodo’s arm. “Strider wants us to join them down there.”
Pippin raced down the slope and Merry followed, leading Bill. Sam came more slowly, helping Frodo to descend.
Aragorn waited until they had all assembled before he made introductions. “This is Glorfindel, who dwells in the house of Elrond,” he said.
“Meriadoc Brandybuck,” said Merry quietly, bowing low.
“Peregrin Took,” Pippin said. “Have you seen Gandalf?”
“He had not reached Rivendell when I departed nine days ago, Peregrin,” Glorfindel replied, “but it is possible that he will be there to greet us when we arrive. Elrond learned of your plight, and that which pursues you, and sent out those whom he felt might be able to stand against the Nine, if it came to that.”
“Samwise Gamgee sir,” Sam spoke up. “We’re right glad to see you.”
“I greet you all,” the Elf said gravely. The small figures before him looked exhausted and anxious, but determined. He smiled at each hobbit, then knelt in front of the pale, dark-haired one. He could sense a battle raging within this small frame.
“Frodo Baggins, at your service and your family’s,” Frodo said faintly. He felt suddenly too weak to stand, and was dimly aware of Sam crying out, and someone catching him as he began to sink to the ground. He was so cold, and the pain in his shoulder was suddenly fiercer than ever.
“Frodo,” Glorfindel said softly, taking the hobbit into his arms, “I was sent from Rivendell to look for you.” He looked into the hobbit’s face and frowned. “Aragorn, he is quite ill.”
Aragorn very briefly told Glorfindel what had happened when they were attacked, and he brought out the knife hilt from Weathertop for the Elf to see.
“A Morgul blade,” Glorfindel said grimly. “It is a thousand years since the Witch-king has been seen in the North. When I heard that the Nine were abroad, and searching for you…”
Glorfindel sat down in the middle of the Road, Frodo resting weakly against his chest. “Show me,” he said softly. The Ranger crouched down next to him, and gently unbuttoned the top of Frodo’s coat, vest, and shirt. The Elf touched gentle fingers to Frodo’s left shoulder and closed his eyes, frowning. A vortex of darkness spun in slow, unrelenting circles beneath his fingers. As he concentrated, he felt the intensity of the Shadow weaken slightly -- but only temporarily, he feared. He felt a shudder go through the injured hobbit, then Frodo relaxed and began to breathe easier.
“Oh,” Frodo whispered, “thank you.”
“What do you feel, Frodo?” Merry asked curiously.
“It’s warmer,” Frodo murmured, “and the pain grows less. I…” He looked at his friends. “I can see all of you more clearly. Estel…” He reached out his right hand for the Ranger, who clasped it.
“Estel, is it?” Glorfindel asked, surprised to hear the old name.
“You will hear me called many names by these hobbits,” Aragorn smiled, “but Frodo calls me Estel.”
“You have always had ‘many names’,” the Elf grinned. “I look forward to learning more of them.”
“Thank you, sir,” Frodo said. “I think I can stand now.”
“Rest for a moment longer,” Glorfindel said softly, continuing to cradle Frodo in his arms, rocking him gently. Nearly a fortnight had this hobbit been fighting that which seemed determined to enshadow him from within. “Such strength you have, little one,” he murmured, then looked down at Frodo in surprise. “Why do you laugh?”
“Estel calls me ‘little one’,” Frodo explained. “He always has.”
“Has he?” Glorfindel looked up at the Ranger with a smile. “How interesting -- that is what I used to call him.”
“Is that right?” Pippin grinned at Aragorn, who looked as if he wanted to toss Glorfindel to the wraiths then and there.
“I watched him grow up,” the Elf continued. “Perhaps, as we travel, you would enjoy hearing about his childhood?”
“Yes!” chorused the hobbits.
“No,” Aragorn was quick to interrupt.
“What do you mean, ‘as we travel’?” asked Merry with a frown. “Can’t you take Frodo to Rivendell on that fast horse of yours? Please, he… he’s not doing too well.”
Glorfindel shook his head. “I dare not, Meriadoc. I fear that the Ford may already be held against us; it is the most logical place for the Nine to wait -- either that, or they have split up and may come at us from different directions. If that is so, Frodo will need all of us to stand with him, each in our own way. What we can do for him, together, we will do.”
It was the truth, as far as it went. Glorfindel exchanged a look with Aragorn, and knew that the Ranger understood. Frodo’s escape, even on such a one as Asfaloth, might come down to a matter of seconds. Whatever distraction each of them could bring to bear -- even if some or all of them fell at the hands of the Nazgûl -- might buy Frodo, perhaps at the cost of their own lives, those precious seconds.
“Why do you look like that?” Frodo asked suddenly.
Glorfindel looked down again at Frodo, puzzled. “Like what, Frodo?”
“You look…” Frodo relaxed into the warm comfort of the Elf’s arms. “…like a star…”
Glorfindel grew most attentive. “Tell me what you see.”
“Light,” Frodo murmured. “It’s as if it’s hidden and cloaked, but I can see it.”
“He sees you as you truly appear,” murmured Aragorn in Elvish. “How is that possible?”
“This one dwells in two worlds, as do I.” Glorfindel answered in the same tongue. “He begins to lose sight of this world and perceive that which is not visible to many.”
Frodo tried to understand the Elvish, but they were speaking quickly, and he was too tired.
Glorfindel pressed a hand gently to Frodo’s brow and closed his eyes for a moment. “He is resisting a fearsome darkness, Aragorn, but his strength is beginning to fail. We must hurry.” He helped Frodo to stand, then rose gracefully to his feet. “You will ride my horse,” he said, speaking once more in the Common Tongue.
“What, alone?” Sam cried. “Mr. Frodo isn’t too fond of those big horses, sir.”
“He rode Arthad, with me holding him,” Aragorn said to Glorfindel, “but that was many years ago.”
“Come,” Glorfindel said to Frodo, and all the hobbits, “meet Asfaloth.” He led them the short distance to where the magnificent white horse stood patiently. The Elf stroked the horse’s nose and spoke softly to him in Elvish. Without hesitation, Sam held up a hand and Asfaloth bent to nose it gently, but Merry and Pippin kept a respectful distance.
“To the best of his ability, he will not let you fall, Frodo,” Glorfindel said, shortening the stirrups, “and he will carry you smoothly.” He removed his warm cloak and wrapped it around the fragile hobbit, then lifted him onto the ornate saddle. “Just sit quietly, and get used to how it feels.”
“Glorfindel, we have traveled all day with little sleep,” Aragorn said. “We were just seeking a place off the Road to camp.”
The Elf shook his head. “We must not stop, Aragorn. Meriadoc is correct -- Frodo must reach Elrond’s care as soon as possible, and we must travel as far as we can this night before resting.” He smiled at the weary hobbits. “Perhaps your pony can shoulder a heavier burden so that you can walk lighter?”
While the hobbits were deciding what more Bill could carry, Aragorn took Glorfindel aside.
“Perhaps one of us should ride with Frodo,” the Ranger said quietly, “or even one of the other hobbits, to help steady him.”
Glorfindel shook his head. “We cannot know what will happen, Aragorn, or when. Should need arise, Asfaloth will carry Frodo more swiftly if he is alone.”
They set out along the darkened and empty Road, the hobbits trying to ignore their weariness and need for sleep. As they walked, Glorfindel told them of his long search for them, and about how he had chased three wraiths from the Last Bridge and left the beryl as a sign that it was now safe, should the travellers pass that way.
“You chased away three wraiths?” Merry asked. “How?”
“They withdrew when they sensed my approach,” Glorfindel said simply.
“You’ll be wantin’ this back, I expect, Mr. Glorfindel,” said Sam, reluctantly pulling the beryl out of his pocket. He sighed and held it up.
“If ‘mister’ is a title, Samwise, I do not require one.” Seeing how much the hobbit obviously valued the gem, Glorfindel reached down and closed the hobbit’s small hand around it. “Keep it,” he said softly.
“We’re glad you’re here, Glorfindel,” Pippin said suddenly.
“And I am very glad I found you, Peregrin.”
The young hobbit looked up at the Elf with a smile.
“You can call me Pippin, you know.”
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