It was as Glorfindel feared...the Riders were lying in wait for us at the Ford. Frodo and the other hobbits were able to cross the River before the Riders attacked. When the first of the Riders hit the water though, the River rose up into a flood and overwhelmed them. Amazing!! Arwen wasn't even there to chant her invocation. The rest of us crossed after the water subsided, and we traveled a couple of miles further on before making camp. For the first night since we left Tom's, we are able to rest without fear of pursuit.
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At that moment there came a roaring and a rushing: a noise of loud waters rolling many stones. Dimly Frodo saw the river below him rise, and down along its course there came a plumed cavalry of waves. White flames seemed to Frodo to flicker on their crests and he half fancied that he saw amid the water white riders upon white horses with frothing manes. The three Riders that were still in the midst of the Ford were overwhelmed: they disappeared, buried suddenly under angry foam. Those that were behind drew back in dismay.
With his last failing senses Frodo heard cries, and it seemed to him that he saw, beyond the Riders that hesitated on the shore, a shining figure of white light; and behind it ran small shadowy forms waving flames, that flared red in the grey mist that was falling over the world.
The black horses were filled with madness, and leaping forward in terror they bore their riders into the rushing flood. Their piercing cries were drowned in the roaring of the river as it carried them away. Then Frodo felt himself falling, and the roaring and confusion seemed to rise and engulf him together with his enemies. He heard and saw no more.
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"It's impossible to have Frodo without Sam, or Sam without Frodo. They're like two halves of one heart..."
"If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may pass into the West..."
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