Frodo felt a sudden chill running through him
and clutching at his heart; there was a deadly cold, like the
memory of an old wound, in his shoulder. He crouched down,
as if to hide.
‘The Great River’, The Fellowship of the Ring
Entering the cave was like being plunged from day into night. As his eyes tried to adjust to the near darkness, Merry heard Frodo laugh.
“No wonder Erestor advised us to carry tinderboxes,” Frodo said, stepping away from his side. Merry could just make out Frodo’s dim form moving about, then from the ground came a bright spark, then another. A tiny pile of dry tinder suddenly burst into flame, and Frodo was on his knees, bending over it. Now Merry could see, in the flickering light, a half-dozen prepared torches set into niches in the cave wall. Two of the niches were empty.
Merry lifted one of the torches, knelt next to Frodo, and thrust it into the small fire. It only took a moment for the head of the torch, smeared liberally with pine pitch, to burst into flame.
“How did you see all this?” Merry asked curiously. “I was completely blinded when we entered.” But then his attention was caught, as was Frodo’s, by the breathtaking sight all around them. They got to their feet and gazed about in wonder. The walls of the cave glittered like stars; even the ground was sparkling. The ceiling soared high above them, out of sight.
“Listen,” Frodo whispered. “Hear that?”
From somewhere deep inside the cave, or perhaps within the very walls, could be heard a faint, steady rush of water -- an underground river. And far, far ahead, they made out the faint murmur of voices.
“There are two torches missing,” Merry said.
Frodo nodded. “Gimli must be so excited. Isn’t this amazing?”
“It really is,” Merry smiled. “Remember what else Erestor said? ‘The cavern is rather pretty; you might enjoy seeing it.’” He laughed. The light of the torch reflected off glittering crystalline shapes and formations. “Elves tend to say so much less than they mean. This place would be the wonder of the Shire, and hobbits would flock from every Farthing to see it.”
“And a lot more Dwarves would visit us,” Frodo chuckled. He walked forward, exclaiming about this or that, and Merry followed behind with the torch, intrigued by how much Frodo could see in the semi-darkness. After about ten minutes of exploration, they had penetrated quite deeply into the passage. Rounding a corner, the voices ahead of them grew suddenly more distinct, and another torch flickered in the distance.
“Sam!” Frodo called out. And ‘Saaaaam…Saaaaam…Saaaaam’ echoed back to them.
“Mr. Frodo!” came a familiar voice, and the light grew closer until the figures of Sam and Legolas could be seen. Legolas held the torch, and Sam was at his side. Frodo thought that Legolas looked relieved to see them.
“We heard your voices, sir,” Sam said as they approached. “Mr. Legolas thinks there’s a waterfall underground somewhere that we can’t see. Isn’t this glorious? It’s like stars everywhere. Have you ever seen the like?”
“Never,” Frodo laughed. “Where did you leave Gimli? I wonder if Bilbo’s ever been--” He took one more step, then stopped so suddenly, Merry ran into him.
“Are you all right?” Merry asked.
“So cold,” Frodo whispered, drawing his cloak more tightly around himself. “I feel strange.” He looked around, wondering at the sudden fear that clutched him.
“I think we've gone far enough for one day,” Merry frowned. “Bilbo will have my head for sure if you catch a chill.”
~*~
Baggins was directly beneath the enspelled stone.
Now! The wraith cried out a sharp word of Command, and the gem on his ring blazed as a pulse of Power traveled through it and slammed against the invisible force protecting the valley. Almost instantly the pulse was repelled, and he was thrust backwards as the barrier was reinforced. The Elf lords were not sleeping or idle, that was certain; the response had been nearly instantaneous. Even as he stumbled to his knees, he knew that the valley had been shaken, all its guardians alerted; but the only thing of significance was the dagger of stone, which he felt shudder under the strain. As the hill itself trembled violently, the stalactite cracked, then wrenched free of its hold. He shouted in triumph as it plummeted downwards.
~*~
Elrond left his private study and stood quietly upon the balcony, the sound of the Bruinen soothing to his ears. He had been mildly surprised when word was brought to him of his foster-son’s arrival, but did not question it. Aragorn carried within him a portion of that foresight inherited from the line of Eärendil, and his instincts had been proven sound over many years of testing. If he sensed that he needed to return to the valley early, and alone, the reason would make itself known in due time.
He was contemplating the scant news Aragorn had been able to glean when he felt it, like a physical blow: a sudden, fierce pressure against the outer borders of the valley. In his mind, he heard a shrill cry, and for a moment his chest was caught as if in a vise of airless chill. He gripped the railing tightly, struggling to remain upright. It had been nearly 2,000 years since Imladris had last been assaulted by the Dark Lord's forces, but to Elrond Half-elven, the events of his lifetime were as fresh as if they had happened yesterday. Such was one of his people’s greatest gifts... and curses.
Without hesitation, he sang notes of defiance and Power, calling together craft and energies strengthened over millennia, but seldom called upon. The gently-woven net of peace and healing which gave the valley its reputation shuddered for a moment, and then rebounded against the force that strained it. The ground shook beneath him, just for a moment, and then settled. One second… two… and he knew that the attack had been repelled, the barrier secure. He steadied himself, breathing deeply.
At least one of the Nazgûl still lingered, then, and had not fled South as they had assumed. How many? Why not attack from all sides? Where is Frodo? And my daughter? Surely Gandalf felt that as well? Is this why Aragorn felt the need to return? – so many questions...
He cast his thoughts and feelings toward the source of the attack -- to the east. He was buffeted by a wave of pain and fear emanating from the Cave of Crystal, although he could not identify the person in distress. The Ring of Air gave him an understanding of the natural forces of the valley, and to his horror, he realized that the greatest peril lay not in the shaking of the earth, but in its consequences; water flowing within the eastern hills was being forced into new channels as the rocks strained and twisted. A fissure in the cavern was widening, and a trickle of water was about to be unleashed as a torrent. Anyone trapped or injured would surely be drowned.
Elrond stood very still, the ring on his hand growing heavy and pulsing with purpose. To unleash a flood, as when he swept away the Black Riders, took concentration and great skill, and he had been slow to recover from the strain. But to suppress a flood... had he the ability, or the strength?
~*~
A tremendous, silent shock wave shook the cavern, and there was the sound of a sharp crack from directly above Frodo. Without taking the time to look up, Merry instinctively threw his arms around his cousin and pulled him roughly backwards. A second later, there was a tremendous crash as one of the stalactites hit the floor of the cave exactly where Frodo had been standing. The long, jagged rock shattered, its pieces flying in all directions. Even as the two hobbits dove to the ground, Merry heard Frodo cry out in pain.
“Mr. Frodo!” Sam started to run forward, followed by Legolas. But before they could go more than a few steps, there was an explosive roar as a portion of the ceiling gave way, releasing a torrent of rock.
Merry feared the entire cave was collapsing, and he threw himself on top of Frodo. The cacophony of crashing and tumbling went on and on, until finally, all was still. At last, all he could hear was his own pounding heartbeat and the occasional trickle of dirt. He felt Frodo’s whole body shudder convulsively before going completely limp for a moment. Terror-stricken, he crawled away from Frodo to find the torch, which lay nearby and was miraculously still blazing. He heard Frodo stir, then start coughing.
Merry knelt to see Frodo's face. His cousin was pale, but whether from shock or the dust, he couldn’t tell. Frodo sat up slowly, and Merry followed his cousin’s gaze; a sharp splinter of rock was embedded in Frodo’s left calf.
“That was close,” Frodo said, his voice shaking. “You saved my life.”
“What are cousins for?” Merry said lightly, trying to calm himself. “There must have been an earthquake. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“I don’t think so,” Frodo said. Was it an earthquake, he wondered, or something else? “Are you hurt?”
“No.” Merry brought the torch closer to Frodo’s leg.
“D... don’t touch it,” Frodo begged. “It’s in pretty deep, I can tell.” He looked up suddenly, and gasped. “Merry!”
The dust had begun to settle, and looming before them was a mountain of rock that completely blocked the passage. Sam and Legolas were nowhere to be seen.
“They’re trapped behind it!” Merry said, hoping fervently that their friends weren’t under that mountain of debris. “Frodo, get out of here; I’ll see if I can--”
“You have to go for help!” Frodo said, struggling to his feet. He swayed a moment, feeling faint. A cold wave pulsed through him, and he shivered.
“You’re coming with me,” Merry said firmly. “The whole ceiling might fall in.”
Frodo took a few steps, but hissed with pain.
“It’s too far,” he said. “I’ll slow you down.”
“Frodo--”
“It’s all right,” Frodo said, peering up at the roof of the cave. “It’s stopped. If anything starts shaking again, I’ll get out, I promise. Now go!” He hurled himself at the mountain of debris. “Sam, can you hear me?” he called out frantically. There was no response except for his own voice, echoing in the darkness. “Sam!”
Merry hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Frodo alone, but they couldn’t possibly dig out their trapped friends by themselves. They needed help, and fast. And even if he carried Frodo outside, his stubborn cousin would probably just come back in again, even if he had to crawl. Without another word, he propped the torch against the wall, gave Frodo’s shoulder a squeeze, and ran for the entrance.
“Sam!” Frodo yelled again. “Legolas!” There was no response. He began to pull at the rocks, trying to ignore the intensifying pain in his leg.
~*~
The wraith screamed in frustration, his whole being ablaze with rage. Baggins' life force still pulsed strongly; a shard had indeed pierced him, but had not flown true. Someone – or something – had pulled him from the dagger's path, and he had survived. There would be nothing to keep the Elf lords from removing this splinter, as they had done before. But if Baggins’ heart had been pierced… the wraith allowed himself a moment to savor what would surely have transpired. The Halfling would even now be adrift in shadow, empty and confused, fleeing the Elves and their suffocating light. How easy it would have been to find him, and guide his will into enslavement. The Dark Lord had commanded them not to touch His ring; He wanted Baggins brought to him alive, so that He could enjoy taking it. But not for the first time, the wraith wondered what he would do if the Master Ring was within his grasp.
I could take it.
But there was no time for such indulgent and foolish thoughts. Once again, he had failed. If only Baggins had been alone, and the descent of the enspelled rock more silent and swift... But over those things he had no control. They would be searching the perimeter of the valley even now, and he loathed to imagine what would become of him, if found. Someone might deem the risk worth taking to at last wield the Ring... and command him to reveal the Master’s plans. He had no wish to be burned once again by the light of that one who had met them at the River, and he could not risk letting the Maia question him. He must flee this place, and quickly. Already he had tarried too long.
But even as he turned from the cliff and sniffed the air for whatever beast was near enough to bear him south, his thoughts stayed with the Halfling. When Baggins put the Ring on his finger at the ancient hilltop, he entered the shadow world, however briefly. He saw my face... the only living being to do so in millennia. Even I do not remember my features; the waters of the living world do not reflect them. But he saw my face. Someday our paths will cross again, and he will remember me.
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