Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Finrod Felagund

‘’Glorfindel?’’ Aragorn cried, half-confused.

The Elf laughed merrily. ‘’Nay, I am not him, though I think he would be greatly flattered if he heard you mistook me for him!’’

‘’Then who are you?’’ Aragorn knew of no other Elf with such blonde hair that radiated such power outside of Galadriel, who was far-away and not male besides.

‘’Your train of thought is in the right direction,’’ the Elf told him. ‘’In these lands I am known as Finrod Felagund, I do believe; though if you recognise the name you will know it has been some time since I was last in Middle-Earth.’’

Aragorn didn’t quite know how to respond to that - in his defence, it was not usual for someone who his great ancestors had fought alongside with (however briefly) to return from the dead.

Sam, though, had more than enough ability to speak for both himself and the Dúnadan. ‘’Felagund!’’ he cried out. ‘’But that’s from one of Master Bilbo’s tales, one of the old ones! Bless me, you’re an Elf-Lord!’’

Finrod bowed to him. ‘’I am lord of little more than rocks at the bottom of the sea now, master Perian, and even before it sunk Nargothrond had already been destroyed. What few of my people yet reside on these shores have no need for my rule anymore.’’

‘’That may be so, milord, though I reckon that from how I’ve heard it your loss was greatly felt anyway,’’ Sam said. ‘’But look! Master Frodo has been stabbed with a cursed blade, and there is nothing we can do to help him!’’

‘’A cursed blade, you say?’’ Finrod’s eyes swung to Aragorn.

Who had found his voice and clarity of mind again. ‘’A Morgul-blade,’’ he clarified. ‘’There is a shard of it in his shoulder. I do not possess the healing ability to remove it; I can only keep away its effects for a time.’’

‘’Let me see.’’ Finrod dismounted off his horse and moved towards Frodo in a motion that was so quick and fluid it almost looked to be a singular thing. The three other Hobbits moved away to give him a little space, though they still kept as close to their friend as they could.

Finrod placed his hand on Frodo’s shoulder and closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. ‘’A fell thing indeed!’’ he said. ‘’This is Gorthaur’s work; I would know. Healing this is beyond my ability, for it is not my craft.’’ He paused for a moment, then added. ‘’I can stem the effects of the blade, but there is something else within him that helps the curse along.’’

‘’He carries Sauron’s Ring,’’ Aragorn said after a moment of thought. ‘’Perhaps that is what you sense?’’

‘’Yes, that is it!’’ Finrod agreed. ‘’I sense Gorthaur’s work in this too, but also that of my little cousin - poor Celebrimbor. This too is beyond my power to destroy; I think not even Fëanor himself could have unmade this object, at least not without great effort.’’

He tightened his grip on Frodo’s shoulder; the Hobbit let out a pained groan in response. Sam moved forward, but Finrod was already rising again. ‘’I have lessened the pain,’’ he announced, ‘’and I will sing to him as we ride.’’ He looked at Aragorn again. ‘’You are pursued; I have felt the presence of these so-called Ringwraiths as I came your way. Where did you hope to go?’’

‘’Imladris,’’ Aragorn answered. ‘’Elrond will know how to heal him.’’

For a moment, Finrod’s eyes softened. ‘’Indeed he will,’’ he agreed quietly. ‘’But we must get Frodo there first, and we have little time to lose.’’ His eyes found those of the Hobbits, who were looking over Frodo again.

‘’I would ride with him to Imladris,’’ Finrod offered, ‘’but I do not want to leave you alone. These Ringwraiths are said to be powerful foes, even for the likes of Elves.’’

‘’We can handle the Black Riders,’’ Merry told him. ‘’You go on with cousin Frodo; if he doesn’t survive, we all have a very big problem.’’

‘’A big problem indeed,’’ Finrod agreed, before turning back to Aragorn.

‘’I can handle them,’’ Aragorn said. ‘’They are weak to fire, and I do not fear them.’’

‘’You have already survived one encounter with them,’’ Finrod agreed. Then he peered at Aragorn’s face more closely. ‘’This could just be me, but you look familiar.’’

Aragorn smiled slightly. ‘’I am a far descendant of Elros,’’ he offered after a moment.

Finrod’s brow furrowed, and then he laughed. ‘’Truly you are! I see it now. Well, in that case I need not fear for you, I think. If I draw their attention, you shall be perfectly capable of handling anyone that pursues you instead.’’

Then Finrod looked up at the sky. ‘’We should leave as soon as possible,’’ he said. ‘’Would someone help me secure Frodo?’’

With Aragorn’s aid, the immobile Hobbit was moved to sit in front of Finrod on his horse. ‘’Take care of him, Master Elf,’’ Sam said as Aragorn stepped back. ‘’And see to it that he gets his care!’’

‘’I shall protect him with my life, Master Perian,’’ Finrod replied, and then he bowed to all of them. ‘’May Oromë guide your feet!’’ he cried, and then he rode away.

‘’Namarië!’’ Aragorn called after him, but though Finrod surely heard the cry by virtue of his Elven hearing, he did not respond to it.

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Finrod did not stop to rest; at best, he slowed down his horse for some time, until the cries of the Nazgûl came to his ears: from then on he neither slowed nor rested himself. In front of him, Frodo continued to slip away further and further, despite Finrod’s best efforts.

Against the Morgul-blade alone he would have had less of a problem, but the Ring was pulling the blade in, clearly wishing to use it to its own advantage. Finrod could only do so much against this fell craft; but the indignacity that once again Gorthaur was defeating him made his fury burn all the brighter.

The Nine found him after a while: their horses seemed to be as tireless as his own Elven steed, perhaps even more so when enhanced by Gorthaur’s dark arts. Yet still Finrod rode on, and the Nine could not reach him yet.

He came upon the river eventually: how long it had been, he could not tell, nor did he care too. Frodo was alive, and that was all that mattered. Once he was across the river, he would be within the reaches of Elrond’s domain; then he would be safe.

The water was shallow enough to ford easily, even for a steed as tired as his own. ‘’Just a little further,’’ Finrod whispered to her in Quenya. His voice was hoarse from singing, so perhaps he was not as encouraging as he intended to be, but his horse didn’t give out under him, so it worked somewhat.

Just as he came out of the river, the Nine appeared on the other side of the ford. Finrod turned his horse and finally got a good look at them. They were just as Gildor and Círdan had told him they were: cloaked in black, on black steeds with blades on their hips and the stench of undeath surrounding them like a mantle.

‘’Give us the Halfling,’’ one of the Nine snarled.

Finrod drew himself up. ‘’I have defied your master before,’’ he called back, ‘’I now do so again. Even if he came to claim his prize himself now, I would not yield before him, as I did not yield then!’’

‘’Foolish Elf!’’ the wraith spat. ‘’Your kind is dying. Soon all your lands shall fall under the Shadow, and your people shall become nothing more than slaves to our Lord.’’

Finrod felt it more than he heard it; the rush of power that was building further upriver. Then he noticed the enchantment in the air; perhaps not as strong as Melian’s Girdle, but recognisable still to an extent, and with the familiarity of Celebrimbor’s presence infused in it too.

The wraith who had spoken to him urged his horse into the river. A moment later, the others followed behind him.

But Finrod did not draw his sword. He simply smiled, and waited.

When the Nine noticed the flood that was coming down the river, they tried to turn and flee; but it was for naught, for at that moment Aragorn and the Periannath came storming out of the treeline, brandishing shining blade and burning flame. Trapped between a rock and a hard place, the Black Riders were washed away in the relentless waves, a display of power that Finrod hadn’t seen since the First Age.

‘’I ought to try that next time,’’ he muttered to himself as the waters became calm again.