Frodo followed after the Elf with some difficulty. Narilvrin’s long strides took five of Frodo’s own, and thus, while the Elf was scarcely jogging, Frodo was hustling just to keep up. As they ran, Frodo could see Narilvrin’s hand move ever so slowly to her side. The Hobbit had nearly forgotten again that Narilvrin was hurt, probably more so every time she drew her bow or took a step. Yet she showed no sign of this, other than occasionally clutching her side and the scarce few times she had done so, it had been in attempted concealment.
Narilvrin’s eyes were darting everywhere, from the thick trunks of trees to their reaching bows. The Uruk-hai could be hidden anywhere. Every so often, a lone Uruk would appear, but these were easily dispatched by Narilvrin’s bow. If one should choose to show itself, an arrow would be all that greeted it. Whenever the Uruk-hai shot back, Narilvrin was quick to dodge each shot, wary that she blocked the Ringbearer as well.
The familiar sounds of the Hobbit’s feet behind her ceased and were replaced with a rustling of leaves. Narilvrin spun around quickly. Frodo had fallen, though luckily not because of injury, but merely his own weariness and the aid of a root. The Elf bounded back to the Hobbit as fast, as was possible. Pausing for even a moment would give their assailants time to gain space between them. Something caught the Elf’s attention. Twang. The sound of a bow of Isengard. In desperation, Narilvrin leapt the final distance between herself and the Ringbearer and scarcely made it in time to block Frodo from the arrow. Unfortunately, the means by which she stopped the arrow were in no way particularly elegant, nor comfortable. The black fletched arrow tore threw the flesh of her upper arm, which she had been forced to use as the only available way to shield the Hobbit.
Gritting her teeth, she landed next to Frodo, a hand planted firmly against the leaf strewn ground. She gave the Halfling a grin before hastily getting to her feet, using a tree to pull herself up. Clenching a fist, the Elf snapped the arrow in half, tossing the black shaft aside, having no time to do anything more. Were she to remove the arrow, the blood would flow freely and she did not have any strength to spare through blood loss. There was no time to dwell on injuries. Frodo had gasped, but Narilvrin had quickly pulled him to his feet and urged him to set off again. That shot was meant for me...thought Frodo, staring with wide eyes at the crimson stain standing out greatly on the dark blue jerkin and growing increasingly as they went.
At last, Narilvrin had been forced to grasp her arm as she ran, but not once did she slow, save to make sure that Frodo still followed. The Elf’s steps were not as graceful as was habitual, but she proceeded without complaint.
After what had seemed like ages, they reached the boats. Narilvrin had untied it as fast as was possible, though her fingers, draped with blood, had fumbled unsteadily.
“Frodo, come.” Said the Elf, beckoning for him to enter the boat. Uneasily, Frodo clamored into the Elven boat, trying as hard as was possible not to rock the boat too dangerously. Narilvrin hurriedly ripped a pouch from her waist along with her canteen of water. Handing them to Frodo, she gave him a grin.
“Lembas. You will need it on your journey.” Frodo took it reluctantly, but gratefully nevertheless.
“Hannon lle,” said Frodo in response. Narilvrin smiled broadly.
“I must admit...I was worried when Elrond appointed such a small being for such an immense task, but I know now that there was naught to worry about. Hobbits are indeed a wondrous folk. Namárië, Frodo, take care of yourself...I look forward to our next meeting.” And with that, Narilvrin pushed the boat into the Anduin. “I will be protecting you from the banks.” Yelled Narilvrin after him, lifting her bow.
“Namárië...” Said Frodo, slowly taking up the oar from the bottom of the boat. As he was about to enter the current of the Anduin, there was a clattering of pots and pans in the distance. Narilvrin turned suddenly, a spreading grin across her face despite the arrow wound upon her arm. Frodo turned too, just in time to see a familiar face racing through the trees and towards the bank. The Ringbearer plunged the oar into the bottom of the bank; digging deep into the riverbed and slowing the boat to get a clearer glimpse of who it was that raced towards him. A somewhat paunchy Hobbit, running as fast as he could and waving his arms as to attract Frodo’s attention.
“Eglant no pheriannath...” whispered the Elf.
Hannon lle = Thank you.
Namárië = Goodbye/farewell
Eglant no pheriannath. = Praised be Halflings...
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.