Story-Telling Wanderer by JazTheBard

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Frodo fell from the inn table where he had been dancing, which would have been rather embarrassing had anyone seen him land. But it was just his luck that the ring he carried fell onto his finger just before he hit the ground, and so he became invisible.

People looked on in shock, but he paid them no attention, for he saw a storm of shadows fall upon the world, and the Black Riders, and a great and fiery Eye.

Frodo scurried away from the commotion and found a corner in which to take off the ring and reappear. He tried to regulate his breathing, having been badly shaken by the visions he had seen wearing it.

Just as he readied himself to rejoin his friends, a bandaged hand landed upon his shoulder. He turned in fright and saw its owner, a dark-haired elf in a torn and ragged cloak, who said, "That stunt may have attracted the wrong sort of attention. I know you're looking for Gandalf, but he isn't here. Gather your companions and follow me."

The elf began to walk away. "How do I know we can trust you?" asked Frodo.

The elf paused. "You don't. But I know that ring for what it is, and I know a safe place to hide you from the wraiths that hunt it. I know Mithrandir, and I can protect you in his stead. Your choice."

Frodo made his decision. He found Sam, Merry, and Pippin, and said, "I found someone who knows Gandalf, and he will help get us to safety."

The other hobbits seemed satisfied by this explanation for now. Sam in particular was rather starstruck at meeting an elf, but ready to defend Frodo if it turned out he had bad intentions.

The elf said, "Here's the plan: you must make it very clear you are staying here, and then we shall sneak out the back and continue on the road. The wraiths will delay here while we make for Rivendell."

The hobbits nodded. It seemed like a sensible enough strategy. As Merry and Pippin knew especially, misdirection was crucial.

 

"Say, Frodo," said Pippin as they began the journey along the road. "Do you know this elf fellow at all?"

"No, he came up to me at the inn," Frodo replied.

Pippin looked worried at that, so Merry tried to comfort him. "Don't fret, Pip," he said. "You never hear of elves doing evil deeds or working with the Shadow. He's probably just mysterious."

The elf in question coughed hard. If he'd been drinking something, he surely would've spit it out.

When he recovered from his choking fit, he said, "When we make camp tonight, I shall tell you tales of the Elder Days, then! Some elves were far from benevolent long ago."

"That is not reassuring," said Sam.

The elf shrugged. "If you have not heard the old stories, you lack context for that bauble you carry." A thought must have struck him then, for he said, "I nearly forgot! You shall need some way of defending yourselves if anything happens. Luckily, I have some knives you can use." He handed them out.

Frodo wasn't entirely sure what to make of the gesture, but he supposed that having a weapon would be useful.

 

 

True to his word, the elf prepared to recount an old tale the next time they settled in for the night.

"Once upon a time," he said, his voice taking on the cadence of storytelling, "in the Undying Lands far to the west, there lived a prince, the eldest and favorite of his father the king, for he was beautiful and extraordinarily skilled in all things. And the prince had seven sons, each lovely and greatly talented at their chosen pursuits, and the youngest two were twins, which were at the time unheard of.

"But all was not well. For you see, the prince's mother had died in childbirth, and the king remarried. He and his new queen had two sons and two daughters, and the sons had children of their own. But the prince saw this as a forsaking of his mother, and hated his half-siblings, especially his next-oldest brother, though they loved him.

"The prince was the greatest smith of all the elves, save perhaps two. One was his father-in-law, who trained under him who the dwarves call Mahal, and the other was Celebrimbor Ringmaker, though he had not yet been born. The prince created three great treasures that captured the light of before the sun and moon.

"But he was proud. The Shadow crept into the prince's heart and told him that his brother intended to usurp his place, so the prince threatened him at swordpoint. For this violence was he banished for a time. When he returned to be reconciled with his brother, the Enemy of All attacked his home, killing the king and stealing the treasures, and destroying all light but the stars.

"So the prince swore a great and terrible Oath of revenge, promising himself to darkness everlasting should he fail to reclaim his treasures. His seven sons, too, made this Oath, and their souls became bound to it.

"The prince desired to give chase to the great Enemy, and exact vengeance, but his quarry had fled over the sea. The sea-elves refused to lend their boats to his cause, and their arguments became so heated that to this day, no one knows who struck the first blow. But someone did, and amid the lightlessness and panic was committed the gravest crime among the Eldar: kinslaying, the murder of elf by elf. The prince's sons joined their father, and his people fought the sea-elves alongside them.

"The prince's brothers came, and upon seeing their eldest sibling beset, they too entered the fray. When the fighting ceased, a great Doom was laid upon the kinslayers for their crime, but most ignored it. The youngest son of the king heeded the warning and returned home, but his children did not. They all became barred from the Undying Lands as punishment for what they had done.

"The prince, who was now a king, took his people across the sea in the ships they had killed for, and promised to send them back for the second brother and his people. But the prince was still under the influence of the Shadow, and feared treason, so he set the boats aflame that his brother could not follow. In that burning, only the prince's eldest son, the fairest and most distinguished, dared to stand up to his father. But it was in vain. Across the sea, the brother wept at this betrayal, but he and his people resolved to cross a great bridge of ice, for they too had lost a king.

"The prince and his sons went to the Enemy's stronghold to fulfill their Oath. But they were ambushed by the Enemy's servants, who dealt the prince a mortal wound. When he died, his spirit caused his body to be engulfed in flames, and so ended one who is called the greatest of the elves."

"That was an awfully sad story," said Merry.

"It is not over yet," said the elf. "I shall tell you more on the morrow, but now you must sleep."

Frodo slept, and dreamed of great glowing trees.

 

 

The next morning, the hobbits awoke well-rested. Pippin immediately demanded a continuation of the story, to which the elf laughed.

"Let us eat breakfast first, Mister Took! 'Tis not a tale to be heard on an empty stomach, and it is long."

Pippin pouted, but ate.

When they started walking again, the elf picked up where he had left off. "The prince's eldest son, now king, went to bargain with the Enemy. But he was outnumbered and captured, and hung by his hand from a great cliff for all to see. His brothers could not rescue him, and the second son refused to be called King when the true king still lived.

"But the half-brother, who had been betrayed, led his people across a great field of ice, where many of them perished. And indeed, his own youngest son was killed in a battle with the Enemy's creatures. But his eldest, the most valiant of all princes, set out to rescue the captured king.

"He snuck into the land of the Enemy and found his cousin on the cliff-face. Despairing that he could not be saved, the valiant one begged Manwë, foremost of the Valar, to help him slay the captive quickly and release him from torment. But instead, the King of Eagles came. The valiant prince cut off the hand of his cousin to free him, and brought him home. Rightfully was he called valorous for this act of heroism.

"The prince's eldest son was less proud than his father, and yielded the crown to the first king's second son. He and his brothers moved eastwards to protect those lands from the Shadow, but grief and the terrible Oath clouded their hearts.

"I shall tell you of the prince's seven sons. The eldest was noblest, a leader and a fearsome fighter, with a gift for languages and diplomacy. The second son was a musician who, it was said, could turn lead to gold with his voice. The third was friend to animals, and spoke to them as easily as to elves and Men, and he was renowned for his beauty and strength. The fourth son delighted in numbers; never yet has his skill in trade and mathematics been surpassed. He was allies with dwarves and Men, and while he was not friendly, he was fair and just, so they trusted him.

"The fifth was a successor to his father, a great smith who crafted wonders, and most wondrous of all his creations was his son, who was as kind as he was talented. The sixth and seventh sons were twins, which had never existed before their birth. They were hunters, and loved also the green and growing things of the world. The Ents and Entwives were friends of theirs.

"The king, one day, challenged the Enemy to a duel. The Enemy was afeared, but dared not refuse, for he would be called cowardly. So they met. The king wounded the Enemy seven times, but the Enemy's warhammer struck a mortal blow. Even as he lay dying, the Enemy’s foot crushing down on his neck, the king struck out with his blade and injured the Enemy in the leg. He died, and his eldest became a valiant king.

"The valiant one and the prince's eldest son planned a great alliance to defeat the Enemy once and for all. They desired to protect their people and avenge their fallen kin, and the eldest son's Oath spurred him into action. But the Doom laid upon the kinslayers saw them betrayed and defeated, and the valiant king was killed. The eldest son was destroyed by grief."

The elf looked even more grieved and worn than usual. "I will stop there," he said after a pause. "The third part of this tale is sadder still."

They walked in silence for a time.

"What will you do, once we're in Rivendell?" asked Merry, curious as ever about their guide.

"I will not be joining you. I doubt if I should even be allowed in."

Pippin once again became suspicious. "You said the enchantments would suffer no evil thing to enter the valley, but all others are welcome."

The elf waved his hands. "Ah, I mean neither you nor the people of the Rivendell any harm. But long ago -- before the Second Age was halfway through -- though it was not my intention, I did offense to Master Elrond, the lord of the valley. Because of that, his enchantments may well bar me. And I am not well-liked; I would expect little welcome if I could enter."

"It must be lonely, then! Do you spend all your time traveling?" asked Frodo.

"Most of it, yes. I have grown used to it."

"Have you any family?" said Sam. Family was always a safe bet, hobbits all had families and quite a few opinions on them.

The elf hummed as if thinking. "I did once. My mother is across the sea, though, and aside from a few scattered cousins, the rest are gone. I had two sons for a time as well, but only one yet lives, and he does not wish to be associated with me."

"I'm sorry for your loss," said Frodo. "All of them."

"Oh, it was long ago. Worry not for me, I have had ample time to come to terms with it." said the elf, with a smile that failed to reach his eyes. "The son I mentioned abides in Rivendell, and I do not wish to impose my company on him."

 

 

"Now, during the time of the valiant king, an elven princess of another realm stole one of the prince's treasures from the Enemy. I'm sure you've heard the tale of Beren and Lúthien, and their heroism."

The hobbits nodded. Bilbo had told them all the story.

"Now, the prince's sons had sworn a binding Oath to reclaim those treasures from any who knowingly refused to return them to their rightful owners. They sent a message to the kingdom after Lúthien was gone, demanding it back. When the half-elven king refused, they attacked him as they had short-sightedly promised to do long ago.

"Once again did they and their followers commit the crime of kinslaying. They killed the half-elven king and his queen, but the third, fourth, and fifth sons were killed in return. The dead king had three children: a daughter, who escaped with the treasure, and twin sons, who did not. For they were abandoned in the forest by servants of the prince's third son."

"How terrible!" Sam exclaimed. "Did anyone find them?"

"The eldest son of the prince, who most of all deeply regretted his deeds, searched for the young ones for days, but found no sign. They may yet live, but no one knows.

"Then did the eldest son attempt to forswear his Oath, for he did not wish to cause further harm. But a vow to the One is unbreakable, and it tormented him. When the sons found that the half-elven princess still had the treasure, they demanded it of her, and she refused.

"So they attacked her and her people, with whom many of the elves and Men fleeing the Shadow did live. And for a third time did elf murder elf. The youngest sons, the twins, were slain, and the half-elven princess threw herself into the sea with the treasure, thinking her children had been killed.

"The prince's last sons, the eldest two, had fallen so far as to be unrecognizable. They took the princess's twin sons captive -- as recompense for their brothers, yes, but first and foremost as hostages. For Ulmo, Vala of the waters, had saved the princess by turning her into a bird, and they hoped still to reclaim the treasure."

"What happened to the children?" asked Merry, worried. "Were they killed?"

"No," said the elf. "Against all odds, the prince's sons let them live, even when they knew their treasure would not be returned and the children had no more use as hostages.

"But the princess flew to her husband, who had been sailing, and told him of the attack. They resolved to seek out the Valar for aid against the Shadow. By the power of the prince's treasure, they succeeded, and the princess's husband was set in the sky with the treasure, and he is now the Evening Star."

"Really?" said Sam. "That's incredible!"

Frodo nodded. "Uncle Bilbo told me some of that story."

The elf smiled. "You will likely hear more of it in Rivendell," he said, "for that mariner who sails the skies is Master Elrond's father."

"You mean to say he was one of the kidnapped twins?" said Pippin incredulously. "From Bilbo's stories, he always seemed to be -- oh, I don't know, but not the sort to get kidnapped, I suppose."

"He has been through much," said the elf softly. "Perhaps do not bring this up to him; memories of the First Age are painful to elves. Now, where was I?

"The Valar and their army of elves from the Undying Lands defeated the Enemy and took the prince's two remaining stolen treasures, saying that his sons no longer had a right to them after their crimes. So the two brothers stole them.

"But the treasures were hallowed to endure no evil touch, and the sons were burned when they laid claim to them. The second son ran to the shore and threw his treasure to the waters, then walked into the sea, singing songs of lamentation for his family and his people."

"And the eldest son?" asked Frodo, caught up in the tale.

"Ah, the eldest! He who had fallen the farthest of all his kin, for he had once been great and beloved, and was now as low as the Enemy who had once captured him. The earth was breaking, and a chasm of fire opened before him. Still clutching the treasure in his hand, the eldest son threw himself in, and ended in fire like his father before him. And so ends the tale of the elven-prince and his seven sons.

"But the second son was one of the greatest musicians of all the elves, and it is said that if you walk by the shore, you may still hear his song of mourning. In fact, I myself have heard his voice there in the wind and the waves, and ‘twas from him I learned this tale.”

They all sat in silence for a moment.

"Goodness," said Pippin. "That really is a sad story. But you said it'd give us context, and it didn't."

The elf laughed. "Well, the part that truly gives context for that ring Mister Baggins carries is the last part, which I shall tell you in a few days, I think."

 

 

"I was wondering," began Frodo, "why is it you don't name most of the people in your story? You do know their names, I can tell, but you don't speak them."

"I suppose I do not wish to," said the elf. "Many of their names are considered to be cursed, and there are those yet living who remember meeting them in person. For some, the pain is still too near. It works better as a name-less tale, I think, with most detail lost to the ages."

"I'm not disagreeing," said Frodo. "Not in the slightest! But they're all kings and princes in the tale, and it gets a bit confusing."

The elf laughed. “That is true! But their identities as kings and princes and relatives were important to them, so it would feel wrong not to call them so. The final chapter of the story has names in it, though, for it happened much more recently.”

Sam piped up. “Are you really old enough to remember these things?”

“I certainly am! Though I wasn’t in the thick of the action for every event of the First Age, or indeed the time before it, I have heard first-hand accounts of what I did not witness. And, as I said, I heard that part of the tale from the echo of the prince’s second son.”

“It still seems strange to me that you will not go to Rivendell with us,” said Merry for the umpteenth time. “Bilbo always said they had great tellers of tales there, who told the old stories like you do.”

“As I have said, Mister Brandybuck, I would be most unwelcome. But you shall be as safe there as it is possible to be with that trinket your companion holds.”

"Do you have a name?" asked Pippin, to gasps from the other hobbits.

"You can't just ask people if they have names or not!" exclaimed Sam, scandalized.

"He's got a point," said Merry. "We've been traveling together for a week, and we don't know his name."

"My name, like those of the story, is far too old to be of any use. I do not usually need one, in truth. Some Rangers leave their names behind, too, when they enter the Wild, though they are younger than I."

The elf noticed Pippin playing with his knife as they walked. "Now, do be careful with that blade!" he said. "It is very sharp, and I do not want you hurting yourself."

There was now no doubt in Frodo's mind that the elf had once raised children, for such an admonishment spoke to years of repetition.

"Is that what happened to your hand?" said Pippin.

The elf looked sadly at his bandaged hand. "No, I'm afraid I touched something hot and burned myself." He shook himself out of it. “My parents taught me enough knife safety not to injure myself so, and it appears I have neglected to teach you.”

 

 

Two nights later, they came to Weathertop.

“Amon Sûl,” said the elf. “We shall stop here, and I will finish the tale for you.”

The hobbits settled in to listen.

"After the deaths of the prince's sons, the land was so destroyed that it sank beneath the sea. Little is left -- only the scraps of land and islands west of the Blue Mountains. Upon Tol Himling lies the ruin of the eldest son's fortress.

"But the son of the fifth brother lived yet, for he had long ago left his family behind and repudiated their deeds. He was a smith like his father and grandfather before him, and surpassed them both, but he was kinder and less proud, and his name was Celebrimbor.

"Unlike his forefathers, who rarely deigned to work with others, Celebrimbor delighted in collaboration, and led the elven-smiths in Eregion in the Second Age. He also made friends with the dwarves, and created the famed Doors of Durin with the craftsman Narvi.

"One day, a spirit came to his city, claiming to be sent by the Valar to bring gifts to the elves and to teach them. Celebrimbor trusted freely, for it was paranoia and mistrust that killed his father and grandfather. The visitor instructed the city's guild of jewelsmiths in the making of magic rings, and worked closely with Celebrimbor himself. Together they made marvels!

"But something made Celebrimbor wary, and he fashioned three rings on his own while the visitor spirit was away and sent them off. And when the visitor returned, he knew it had been the right choice, for the spirit was in fact Þauron, who had made his own ring to control all the others."

"Don't you mean Sauron?" said Pippin.

"What? Oh, yes," said the elf, startled. "Anyhow, Celebrimbor was a brave and caring elf. He threw Sauron out of the city as soon as he knew the truth, and evacuated his people, though a few chose to stay behind with him. They stood before the barred gates in defiance of Sauron, who returned with an army to exact vengeance for the slight against him. Sauron killed them all.

"And the ring you have there is Sauron's ring, that he made to control all the people of Middle-Earth. I told you there would be context."

"How can you tell that's what it is?" said Frodo.

"I may not be a smith myself, but like many of my kindred of elves, I have basic training. There is much evil bound up in that ring; enough that the metal can barely contain it. An alloy would work better than the pure gold it is, and it looks to have been made in a rush. I've met Celebrimbor, and it looks almost like a copy of his work, but less elegant."

Pippin giggled. "Are you insulting the crafting skill of Sauron?"

"I am stating what I see," said the elf with a twinkle in his eyes. "It is hardly my fault he is bad at ring-making."

And at that moment, as they all shared a laugh, came the shrieking sound of the Ringwraiths.

"Nazgûl," the elf hissed. "This damned hill is not easily defended. Do not put on that ring, Mister Baggins, whatever happens, but all of you must run if anything happens to me."

"How can we hope to outrun them?" asked Pippin, afraid.

"They are weaker in daylight, as are many creatures of the Shadow, and you hobbits are skilled at sneaking unseen. Once dawn breaks, you shall be safe enough to continue near the road."

The hobbits fearfully drew their knives, which were practically shortswords given their relative size, and hid as best they could.

The fight was a blur. Frodo spent most of it battling the urge to put on the ring, and Merry focused on protecting Pippin, but Sam managed to disarm one of the wraiths and send its sword flying.

The elf, meanwhile, did his best to remove blades from their owners, preferably to a place where he could stomp on them and break the swords.

So fiercely did the group fight, with both Frodo and Pippin going for the wraiths' legs with their knives, that the black riders retreated. But before they left, one of them struck Frodo with its blade.

Frodo cried out. He felt himself pulled, for a moment, into that strange and shadowy realm he saw when he wore the ring. When he returned to himself, the elf was holding him as if he weighed nothing.

"We must hurry," said the elf. "The healers at Rivendell shall be able to mend him, if we make it there quickly enough. Come!"

The hobbits rushed for their things and joined the elf, who was moving as quickly as he could without outpacing them. As they went along, the elf sang snatches of music, seemingly at random.

"What are you singing?" asked Sam, out of breath.

The elf stopped his music to say, "It is a song of healing. It will slow the bleeding, and hopefully keep him from slipping into the shadow-place."

But they all were weary, and Pippin most of all for he was the youngest. He stumbled and fell.

The elf turned in surprise, but his expression softened when he saw Pippin. "I am sorry," he said. "I did not think of how tired you must be. I can carry you for now, as you sleep, and then your companions may take turns if they wish. I cannot carry you all at once, I'm afraid."

Pippin disliked being treated as a child, but exhaustion won out, and he agreed to be carried for a time.

As the elf scooped him up, Pippin caught a stray thought that was not his own. I never thought to be glad of my past, but at least I have experience in carrying small, terrified folk and keeping them moving along. It must have come from the elf, but Pippin had little time to contemplate it, as he fell asleep quickly in the elf's arms.

 

 

A week passed, and Frodo's condition slowly worsened. Sam, Merry, and Pippin took turns resting while being carried by the tireless, singing elf, and they stopped little.

When they reached the Trollshaws, the elf paused. "We will stop here for the night," he said. "You shall have to get some sleep. I believe that a piece of the blade has lodged itself in the wound, and it shall not heal unless that piece be removed, so I must perform surgery."

The hobbits went a bit green at that, but set up camp nonetheless.

"This will not be pleasant to look on," said the elf. "And it will drain me of much power. Perhaps you three should not see."

Taking the hint, Merry and Pippin moved away and turned around. Sam, however, insisted on helping.

He did not enjoy the task, but when the shard was removed, Frodo seemed to be breathing better. Sam decided it was worth it.

The next morning, they continued, but more rested and in better spirits than before.

 

 

The group was about halfway through the forest when the elf motioned for them to stop and be quiet. He carefully lay Frodo down and shook Sam awake, whispering, "I hear someone coming."

And sure enough, a rugged-looking Ranger and his horse came by not far from where they had stopped.

The elf gave a small sigh of relief. "A Dúnadan," he whispered. "He is safe enough." Then, raising his voice, he said, "Hail and well met, traveler!"

The Ranger looked surprised, as if he hadn't been expecting to see anyone. "Well met," he said cautiously. "Do you need help?"

"I do not myself, but this hobbit is very ill, and his companions worry," said the elf, pointing to Frodo. "I was leading them to the haven of Imladris for healing."

Sam appreciated that the elf didn't tell this Ranger everything outright. Most elves these days were trustworthy enough, but you heard such awful things about Men, and Rangers especially.

"I was raised in Imladris, and would be glad to take the ill hobbit ahead, but I do not recognize you from there," said the Ranger.

The elf deflected. "I do not live there, but I was shown the way for if I ever needed it."

"Strange!" said the Ranger. "But this is a strange coincidence, too, for Gandalf -- Mithrandir, as you may know him -- sent me to pick up some hobbits from Bree, and said it was important."

Sam broke in. "That's us!" he cried. "We were meant to get a message from Gandalf there."

"Then you are being pursued."

"By the Black Riders," said Merry.

"I cannot move fast enough," said the elf, "but you may be more able to get them there safely."

"So it is agreed, then. I am called Strider, by the way," said the Ranger, helping a surprised Merry into the horse's saddle. "What is your name?"

"Lost to time, I'm afraid," said the elf, helping Pippin up.

Merry saw suspicion on Strider's face, but the Ranger said nothing about it, only, "Will you carry the other two, and come with us?"

The elf didn't seem to have been expecting that. "Yes, I suppose. I'll carry Mister Gamgee and Mister Baggins," he said, scooping them up.

As they moved on, at a markedly quicker pace, the elf returned to singing his healing songs, and a strange look passed over Strider's features at hearing them.

 

 

A week later, they once again heard the shrieking of the Ringwraiths and the thundering of their horses from far off.

"We near the edge of the valley," said Strider, picking up the pace. "We will be safer once within, and safer still after crossing the river."

"Then I shall leave you," said the elf. "I will not cross the realm's border."

"Why not? All are welcome in the home of Elrond."

"Not me."

Strider paused. He said, softly, "I know your name. I have known for a while."

The elf froze. "Then you know why I cannot accompany you."

"The Black Riders approach. You must."

The elf laughed mirthlessly, but followed. "Was this your plan all along? It matters not. Drag me before Elrond, young Dúnadan, if you must."

"I doubt I shall have to drag you anywhere. I think you will go to him yourself -- at least, if what he told me of you is true."

The elf shuddered and changed the subject, saying, "Let us enter the valley, then, for here is the border, if it will admit me."

The hobbits were all very confused by this cryptic conversation, but they could not fail to notice the elf's fear as he crossed into the valley, or his mingled expression of relief and foreboding when the enchantment stopped him not.

"Why are you afraid?" asked Pippin. "Is this not a safe place?"

"It is not that, young hobbit. You shall be protected here. But my fate now lies in the hands of one with little love for me, and though I doubt not his wisdom in judgement, I fear to see him."

Merry wondered aloud, "Is it that son of yours you mentioned? The one you said lives here?"

Strider turned to the elf, a question written on his face, and the elf flinched. "Yes, but I spoke unwisely. We are estranged, he does not consider himself my child. Please, do not mention that I called him so in front of anyone."

"Sorry," said Merry.

"Do not worry, you couldn't have known."

They rushed down the side of the valley, towards the river, as the Ringwraiths drew nearer.

Out of breath, Strider spoke again to the elf. "I think you shall find a warmer welcome than you expect."

"I wasn't expecting to be able to enter at all, though it does not bode well for my survival. To be kept out permanently is one thing, to be allowed in for further action is quite another." The elf paused to readjust his grip on Sam and Frodo before crossing the river. "Don't tell him I called him my son. He will be unhappy enough that I am here at all, even if it does grant him the opportunity to -- damn!"

The wraiths were right behind them, and beginning to ride into the water. Strider made it to the other side with Merry and Pippin, then reached out his arms to take Sam and Frodo and placed them on dry land.

The elf clambered out after them. "Go," he said. "I will hold them off."

A singing started, coming from the direction of the valley's buildings, and the waters began running quicker.

Strider shook his head. "He means to raise the river against them, you will be swept away."

The water churned white and raised to the riverbank as the singing grew louder.

At that, the elf's eyes flashed. "Good! All the more reason for me to remain. It will save time and spare him the guilt. Tell him I died fighting the wraiths, if he will believe such a thing of me, that I could ever do right."

The singing seemed to be coming nearer still, and the previously gently running river became strong rapids.

Sam, who did not understand exactly what they were talking about but knew what would make the elf reconsider, said, "And if one of them makes it across the river anyhow?"

The elf froze, startled. He seemed to be at war with himself. He moved towards where the hobbits waited and opened his mouth to speak, and figure, apparently the one singing the river into spate, came running onto the scene.

But it was too late.

The river burst its banks with a great roar of water, sweeping away the Black Riders and their horses, and the elf stood motionless at the sight of the singer. Strider cried out, "Grandfather, no!" but was too far to reach him

The singing figure sprinted to the edge of the water with a cry of a word none of the hobbits recognized, and bodily pulled the elf to safety just in time.

The singer ceased his music, and the river calmed. The wraiths were nowhere to be seen. Frodo had passed out some time ago, but the other hobbits seemed relieved indeed to no longer be chased, and Strider seemed content.

"What's all this about?" said Merry, who recognized Master Elrond from Bilbo's descriptions.

Pippin followed up to that with "And does it have anything to do with what you were talking about on the way?"

Strider laughed. "I'll explain it all to you inside. I think we should leave them to their reunion, for it has waited for many thousands of years, and Mister Baggins needs to go to the healers."

Sam looked back to see the pair in a tearful embrace and thought, Well, there's a happy ending to this adventure at last!

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