One Geek to Rule Them All

Flight to the Ford

In the afternoon they went on down the woods. They were probably following the very track that Gandalf, Bilbo, and the dwarves had used many years before. After a few miles they came out on the top of a high bank above the Road. At this point the Road had left the Haarwell far behind the river down in its narrow valley, and now clung close to the feet of the hills, rolling and winding lastward among woods and heather-covered slopes towards the Ford and the Mountains. Not far down the bank Aragorn pointed out a stone in the grass. On it roughly cut and now much weathered could still be seen dwarf-runes and secret marks.

"There!" said Merry. "That must be the stone that marked the place where the trolls' gold was hidden. How much is left of Bilbo's share, I wonder, Frodo?"

Frodo looked at the stone, and wished that Bilbo had brought home no treasure more perilous, nor less easy to part with. "None at all," he said. "Bilbo gave it all away. He told me he did not feel it was really his, as it came from robbers."

The Road lay quiet under the long shadows of early evening. There was no sign of any other travelers to be seen. As there was now no other possible course for them to take, they climbed down the bank, and turning left went off as fast as they could. Soon a shoulder of the hills cut off the light of the fast westering sun. A cold wind flowed down to meet them from the mountains ahead.

They were beginning to look out for a place off the Road, where they could camp for the night, when they heard a sound that brought sudden fear back into their hearts: the noise of hoofs behind them. They looked back, but they could not see far because of the many windings and rollings of the Road. As quickly as they could they scrambled off the beaten way and up into the deep heather and bilberry brushwood on the slopes above, until they came to a small patch of thick-growing hazels. As they peered out from among the bushes, they could see the Road, faint and grey in the failing light, some thirty feet below them. The sound of hoofs drew nearer. They were going fast, with a light clippety-clippety-clip. Then faintly, as if it was blown away from them by the breeze, they seemed to catch a dim ringing, as of small bells tinkling.

"That does not sound like a Black Rider's horse!" said Frodo, listening intently. The other hobbits agreed hopefully that it did not, but they all remained full of suspicion. They had been in fear of pursuit for so long that any sound from behind seemed ominous and unfriendly. But Aragorn and Devin were now leaning forward, stooped to the ground and listening carefully, with a hand to their ears, and looks of joy on their faces.

"It's an elf," said Devin knowingly in a low voice. She recognized this sequence of events. This had to be the part where they met Glorfindel, which meant they were almost to Rivendell.

"Indeed, I believe it is," agreed Aragorn, and the hobbits and Kitty's moods lightened considerably.

The light faded, and the leaves on the bushes rustled softly. Clearer and nearer now the bells jingled, and clippety-clippety-clip came the quick trotting feet. Suddenly into view below came a white horse, gleaming in the shadows, running swiftly. In the dusk its headstall flickered and flashed, as if it were studded with gems like living stars. The rider's cloak streamed behind her, and her hood was thrown back; her raven hair flowed shimmering in the wind of her speed. To Frodo it appeared that a white light was shining through the form and raiment of the rider, as if through a thin veil.

Kitty noticed Devin's brow was furrowed slightly and there was a troubled look on her face. Kitty didn't really remember too much of what was supposed to happen before Rivendell, but obviously some part of the story had changed again.

But Aragorn held no such reservations. He sprang from hiding and dashed down towards the Road, leaping with a cry through the heather, but even before he had moved or called, the beautiful rider had reined her horse and halted, looking up towards the thicket where they stood. When she saw Aragorn, she dismounted and ran to meet him calling out: Ai na vedui Dúnadan! Mae govannen! Her speech and clear ringing voice left no doubt in their hearts: the rider was of the Elven-folk. No others that dwelt in the wide world had voices so fair to hear. But there seemed to be a note of haste or fear in her call, and they saw that she was now speaking quickly and urgently to Aragorn.