Chapter 31. Encounter with an Elf-lord

Now the wind brought another sound to young Faramir's ears, mingling with the clippety-clippety-clip he'd noticed bare moments ago – a tingle-jingle, as of small bells ringing. At almost the same moment the teen's ears registered this new sound, Ferdibrand erupted from his hiding place across the Road and leapt down the slope to the Road itself, then ran eastward along the holloway, waving his arms and shouting.

Dumbfounded, both teens froze in place – and then Robin Bolger slid past them, scattering dirt and leaves in his haste to reach the Road, whereupon he raced to catch up to Ferdibrand and then joined the older hobbit in his frantic efforts to warn the approaching horse and rider. From the onrushing sound of them, they were rapidly approaching the bend in the Road ahead and would soon come into sight.

Released from thrall, Farry turned his head towards Pip-lad. His first sight of the other teen led him to hastily shoulder his bow, then instinctively move to the young Gamgee's side to offer a supporting arm. 'Pip?' he whispered. 'Are you ill? What's—'

Pip-lad's face was as pale as that of the injured guardsman, and he was trembling violently. Through chattering teeth, the young Gamgee forced out, '...and then Frodo said – he said – it didn't sound like the h-horse of a B-Black R-Rider...'

Farry returned his gaze to the Road just in time to see a white horse rounding the bend ahead, mane and tail streaming in the wind, while the Rider's golden hair flowed behind him in the wind of their passing. 'An Elf-horse!' he gasped in sudden recognition; for surely this steed came from the same breed as the fine horses that Elrohir and Elladan rode, strong, swift, and highly intelligent. The rider he saw was neither Elrohir nor Elladan, whom he knew from his visits to the King's Lake – but his reeling thoughts stuttered and broke off as horror washed over him at the impending peril to the Rider – as well as to the Hobbits who were in imminent danger of being ridden down. 

Legolas? Faramir's lips formed the name, but no sound emerged. Time and their surroundings took on a dreamlike quality. How curious... the teen thought, strangely detached, and then, I wonder if I'm about to swoon?

'Stop! Stop!' and 'It's a trap!' cam the shouts of the frantic Hobbits in the Road, who'd redoubled their efforts as the Elf-horse and Rider came into sight. Strangely, however, their voices resembled only the faintest of echoes in the young Took's ears.

To Farry's shuddering relief, the horse – which, as in a nightmare, had seemed about to trample his uncle and cousin underfoot – halted just short of the wildly gesticulating figures, so close that as it stopped and reared high in the air, its hoofs beat the very air above the Hobbits' heads. Robin ducked away, folding his arms over his head to shield his crown, but Ferdi stood as one enspelled, staring up at the magnificent beast and past its uplifted head and forelegs to take in the glorious Rider.

For some reason, Faramir's legs would no longer hold him, and he sank to his knees, bearing Pip-lad with him. Kneeling together, the two teens continued to stare at the sight before them: "glorious" was the first term that came to the young Took's mind, and with his next breath, he whispered, 'Glorfindel!'

How could I have thought he was Legolas? The question resounded in some part of Faramir's mind that stood apart from the whirl of impressions. In contrast to the Wood Elf's relaxed stance as Farry remembered him, with the familiar bearing of an archer, this Rider stood tall and... regal was the word that came to Farry's mind, a description eminently fitting for an Elf-lord, he supposed. Lord, Elf-lord, lordly, echoed in his muddled brain; lordly, but of course a lord would be lordly... He released his tight hold on Pip-lad and clenched his hands into fists, willing away the nonsense that was making his head spin. Or perhaps his spinning head was itself the cause of his absurdity. At this point, anything seemed possible.

'Glor—' began Pip, an unconscious echo of Faramir's outcry, perhaps, or maybe he was remembering Frodo's tale... but then for some reason, the Gamgee teen seemed to choke and he fell silent.

As suddenly as he'd reared up, the Elf-horse came down to stand foursquare with its head high, ears pricked forward, and eyes that seemed to gaze in all directions at once. Though Farry had not seen the Elf-lord dismount, the Rider now stood beside the beast, addressing the Hobbits he'd nearly ridden down, speaking quickly and urgently in a clear ringing voice. 

For their part, Ferdi and Robin stood bent over, almost under the horse's nose, gasping for air.

Though the wind brought only the sound of their voices to the watching teens, Farry heard the Rider's questioning tone and the sharpness of Ferdi's reply. With an effort, the older Took straightened, turned and pointed towards the trap the New Travellers had so recently discovered.

Still watching in wonder, Faramir saw Glorfindel's eyes narrow, and then the Elf-lord strode forward, his gaze fixed on – it must be the deadly strand of spider-silk, still stretched across the Road, though when the young Took turned his eyes in that direction, it eluded his gaze. Perhaps he might be able to see that slender, treacherous line again if he were to stare long enough at the place where he'd seen it earlier... but then Pip-lad's gasping breaths wrenched Farry's attention away from his musings as the other teen swayed and began to sag further to the ground.

Sudden realisation – he's about to swoon! – had the young Took grabbing at his friend; he sat himself down and pulled on Pip-lad's arms to force the other teen to follow suit, his head momentarily clearing in light of Pip's difficulty. 'Put your head between your knees!' he ordered. 'Breathe more slowly... take slow, deep breaths, that's it... in... out... in...' Hadn't he heard the healers speak those exact words to his da, many times in years past when the older Pippin's breath came short and threatened to cease altogether? For the moment, Farry forgot his own dizziness in the face of Pip-lad's obvious distress.

Then Faramir heard his friend murmuring. '...Elf-trap! 'Tis an Elf-trap! But what sort of monsters would seek to murder Elves...!'

Understanding burst upon the son of the Thain like a fist in his stomach, causing Farry to release his hold on the young Gamgee. He staggered to his feet as if he meant to flee but then spun away and fell to his knees once more, retching, sickened. What might have happened if Calendil had not fallen afoul of the trap earlier as he'd carried his rare message towards Rivendell? If the New Travellers had not used up their supply of food... If they had lingered another day in the troll-glade... 

Ferdi's, We are well past the turning for messages passing between Minas Tirith or New Annúminas and the Angle; fewer and farther between are the messages going to or from Rivendell... rang in the young Took's memory. And then the world darkened around Faramir, and he lost his grip on Pip-lad and felt as if he were falling, though the fog that had risen to dim his vision closed in on him completely before he felt himself hit the ground.

He came to himself with the curious sensation that he'd become a faunt once more, safely cradled in his mum's or da's sheltering arms. 'He is coming around,' someone said, but it was not a voice that Farry knew. It was not a Hobbit who spoke, he deemed, but neither did the speaker sound like a Man – though Haldoron, speaking with authority as the Steward to Elessar's Northern Kingdom, might have been a reasonable guess. 

As far as Elves went – and they can go very far indeed, all the way o'er the Sea and to the other side, Farry thought nonsensically. He weakly shook the thought away and tried again. As far as Elves went, he was familiar with the voice of Legolas, who sometimes visited the Shire, as well as with the sons of Elrond, from his family's visits to the Lake. The voice he'd just heard had not sounded to him like the Wood Elf. In fact, the speaker's intonation reminded him rather more of Elladan or Elrohir – if it weren't impertinent of him to be trying to distinguish between Elven-voices in the first place. Elven-voices in general, according to Faramir's limited experience, were as fair as the speakers' countenances, subtly infusing even the most mundane of conversations with tones of music and grace – to the wondering ears of a closely-listening young Hobbit, at least.

But this speaker sounded somehow more lordly – lord, Elf-lord, lordly, his mind whispered again – than the sons of Elrond, as if his very voice carried more weight of years and held more inherent power than those worthies.

'All will be well,' the voice in question said now, presumably to Farry, for no one else spoke in reply.

The son of the Thain forced open his heavy eyelids to behold the fair face of the golden-haired Elf-lord he'd seen standing in the Road. The wise, ancient, unnerving eyes met the teen's wavering gaze with a look of grave anxiety. As if in a dream, Farry heard the Fair One say, 'Is it well with you, my young friend?'

'Glor – Glorfindel?' the young Took managed. 

A smile bloomed on the face that hovered above him, softening the eyes looking into his that had, but a moment ago, been piercing, intense, perhaps fierce, or so Farry thought in confusion. He must have been mistaken, for they now reflected kindness and even, surprisingly, a small degree of humour. It is as Da describes the eyes of the Elves he's known, Farry thought. Eyes that are young and merry, yet old... older than Time... ageless... And weariness, even, shows through sometimes when one least expects it; all those things shine from the eyes of an Elf at the same time. It can be most disconcerting.

But for some odd reason, Farry did not feel disconcerted in the least. An overlarge warm palm rested upon his forehead while the Elf's other hand softly combed through his curls with gentle fingers, and the gaze that met the teen's conveyed a sense of well-being that seemed to wash away his earlier horror and confusion. He wasn't sure what he felt, actually. Something terrible had almost happened, but he couldn't quite remember...

'Glorfindel?' he ventured again.

The Elf-lord nodded. 'That is what people call me, when they call me to dinner,' he said, one side of his mouth quirking.

'You don't talk like an Elf,' Farry said groggily.

'Truly?' Glorfindel said, his smile brightening, and then he looked to the side. 'That's high praise indeed, I should think, coming from the son of the Thain.'

'My lord...' From his uncle's tone, Farry could swear that Ferdi was disconcerted, though he'd no idea why that might be.

Those gentle fingers were exploring the Tookish teen's head, and he winced. 'That hurts!'

'Of course it does,' the Elf-lord responded, his voice soothing. 'You bumped your head when you collapsed, but I have done what I can to ease your ills, and if you will consent to keep quite still until your uncle tells you that you may get up again, I think that all will be well with you.'

'Pip...?' Farry whispered. When no answer came, the stirrings of alarm broke through the fog in his head, and he tried to sit up.

'Steady, lad,' Ferdi said in his ear, having leaned in to grab at Faramir as the lad tried to rise from the Elf-lord's lap. 'Pip-lad's not as well as he might be, considering how long ago his last meal was; but he's better off than you, for at least he didn't hit his head as you did.'

Head spinning, Faramir closed his eyes and relaxed into his uncle's restraining hold, no longer resisting as Ferdi eased him back down onto Glorfindel's lap. Like a faunt, or a babe in arms, he thought disjointedly, feeling heat rise in his cheeks at the comparison, until a scrap of memory came to mind, bringing comfort with it. But then, I'm in good company... for just the other day, Pip-lad was telling us how Glorfindel took Frodo gently in his arms when my cousin was weak and wounded...

Farry frowned. Weak... and wounded, the thought echoed round and round in his brain. Pip-lad... and Cal... He blinked and tried to look for the others, but his eyes did not seem to be working as they should.

The fog he'd experienced earlier had now returned, filling his head and obscuring his sight once more, and his thoughts were increasingly muddled, dimming his concern for Pippin Gamgee and Calendil. A weightless feeling took him as if he might be floating; he felt himself rising from Glorfindel's lap, and soon after, hard ground made itself known against his back. Then someone lifted his head and eased something soft under it. A rolled-up cloak? That makes some sort of sense. What other sort of pillow might have been improvised from what the New Travellers had carried with them...? But really, it was too much trouble to solve such a puzzle.

Idly, the teen listened to the voices still speaking around him. They seemed far away now, and of little interest to him.

'...or you might stay here and watch over them, while Master Bolger guides me to where you left the Messenger's horse,' the Elf-lord said, as if continuing an earlier discussion that Faramir had not attended. 'You said yourself that might be the best of a bad lot of options.' Farry recognised his uncle's phrasing, though it sounded more ethereal than hobbity coming from an Elf-lord's lips. 'You can make sure the young ones keep drinking, at the least, since you've plenty of water despite the lack of food to offer them. And of course, once Master Bolger and I have returned with your Ranger-guide, we can remedy that lack as soon as we reach the outpost where your arrival is undoubtedly expected.'

'They would not be looking out for our arrival until later in the day,' Ferdi said. 'We would not be in such difficulty, had all gone as planned.'

'We'd've been there by now, had there been no trap set for unwary riders,' Robin countered, 'considering how long we've been waiting for Haldoron.'

'And we might still have food for young Hobbits, had we been a little more sparing in our portions along the way,' Ferdi said. 'But that is neither here nor there, considering that old saw about best-laid plans...'

'Every plan has its shortcomings,' Glorfindel said, 'but as we agreed earlier, all plans we might make now must fall short for lack of information. The Messenger is too badly injured to receive the care he needs at the outpost, I deem; yet if I carry him to Imladris, I must leave you here with the young sons of Mayor and Thain, waiting and foodless, though I might stop long enough at the outpost to send a party of guardsmen to you. That might be the best solution, for it would take less time for aid to reach you in that case.'

'But—,' Ferdi said.

The Elf-lord nodded. 'But what of Haldoron,' he affirmed, 'and what if the Man has met with some calamity and is in need of urgent help? Alternatively, I could carry the young Hobbits to the King's outpost where they can receive food and care – but again, what then of the Messenger? And what of Haldoron? If he has fallen afoul of the trap-setters, two Hobbits could hardly carry him to safety!'

Do not ask any Elves for counsel, for they'll never tell you exactly what to do but will instead describe every course of action you might conceivably take! ...or so Farry's father had been fond of saying when retelling the part of the story where he and Frodo and Sam had met the Wandering Company at the beginning of their journeys.

Evidently Farry's uncle had also listened well to the Thain's stories. 'I'll watch with the young ones until your return, and then we'll make all speed to the next outpost, hopefully with the help of Haldoron and the Messenger's horse,' Ferdi said evenly. 'I'll be watching for the trap-setters into the bargain... I believe you and Robbie ought to be safe enough as you're heading westward along the Road, for Calendil would likely have been swept from the saddle at an earlier point than this if there were other such traps waiting along the way. The Messenger came from behind us, after all, and was riding eastwards when he was struck down.'

'I wish I'd had the foresight to carry waybread with me,' Glorfindel said. 'But then, I was only to meet you and escort you to the next outpost of Kingsmen, and then on to Imladris. According to Elessar's plans, you ought to have had ample supplies for your journeying...'

'Elessar had a better acquaintance with Hobbit tweens than with teens, I fear,' Ferdi said. 'But the fault is not his. I ought to have paid better attention to how quickly the lads were consuming the supplies we carried. What with the rolling country hereabouts, and considering the changing needs of teens when they're experiencing a sudden spurt of growth, we ought to have carried much more than we brought with us from that last outpost.'

'The next outpost is less than five miles from here,' Glorfindel said. 'I could carry the young ones there and come back again for the Messenger...'

Farry opened his eyes at this – after all, he was one of the "young ones" – and saw Ferdi shake his head. 'Haldoron is long overdue,' Farry's uncle replied. 'With his long legs, he ought to have been able to be there and back by now, even if the horse were to pull up lame such that he had to lead it rather than ride. Frankly, I'm worried that he might have run into the trap-makers, or some other mishap has occurred.' The older Hobbit took a deep breath and let it out again. 'Even before you came, I was turning over in my mind what the best course of action might be... I didn't want to leave the lads and the injured Messenger unprotected, and yet, what would Robbie do if I followed after Haldoron – and then failed to return! Nor did I want to send Robbie, with that same worry gnawing at the back of my mind.'

'Have no fear,' the Elf-lord responded, smiling, his eyes seeming to look into some past time or memory. 'For now that I am here, you are able to send one Elf and one Hobbit together, rather than a solitary Hobbit alone. And we will all be looking out for traps, your nephew and I and my gallant Agolhim included.' As he spoke, he caressed the Elf-steed's face, then turned to lift Robin to the horse's back. Then, when Ferdi's Bolger nephew indicated that he had found his balance, considering that the horse bore neither saddle nor bridle, Glorfindel mounted lightly behind him.

'May you journey safely, and soon return,' Ferdi said, lifting his hand in blessing rather than farewell.

For some reason, Faramir's eyelids had grown much too heavy, and so he gave up the struggle to keep his eyes open. 

'We'll do our best,' Robin replied.

'You took the words right out of my mouth.' That was the Elf-lord speaking, or so Farry thought. Or had he fallen asleep, and was he only dreaming that Glorfindel would say such a commonplace thing?

'I must be dreaming,' he murmured to himself.

But his Uncle Ferdi made a hushing noise, and so he said no more but simply listened to the light tappety-tap of the Elf-horse's hoofs transition to the clippety-clip of a gallop as the sound receded into the distance, even as the world faded away.

***