Silveria joins the battle for the lonely mountain and shows that not all dragons are evil and that even tho a dark lord creates them, it doesn't mean they'll serve him. She reunites with some she never thought would be friends and flys to the silver...
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Back at Isengard, giant caverns have been opened up, and a forge is seen at the base, where hundreds of Orcs are working. Sounds of metal clinking rise into the air. High above, Gandalf is still imprisoned on the pinnacle of the tower. A tiny white moth struggles against the breeze and reaches the top of the building. It flutters to Gandalf, who captures it in his fingers. It appears to sit still in his hand and listen to his words as though spoken in moth language.
"Gwaihir. Go, Gwaihir." He whispers the final command. The moth flies away. Down in the Caverns of Isengard, the forging of weapons and armor is well underway. Hundreds of helmets and swords are piling up. Saruman observes all the activities with pride. Deep in the pits, Orcs tend strange moving formations in the mud—groans issue from within the mounds. Something appears to be struggling to get out. A giant creature emerges, killing the Orc who has been helping it to be born.
The creature is massive, towering above the smaller Orcs, with huge teeth, and covered in slime. Saruman gazes at his creation in rapt admiration.
➳
Back in the forest, you have stopped, and the others have reached you. Strider lays Frodo to rest beneath a gathering of colossal stone trolls. You're standing like a roof over them, your wings folded out and shielding them from any unwanted eyes. Your head is turned outwards, looking for any danger. "Look, Mister Frodo! It's Mister Bilbo's trolls!" Sam says, trying to lift his master's mood. Frodo only answers in a weak wail. Sam feels Frodo's forehead. "Mister Frodo?" He asks but no answer.
He turns to Strider, his words making your heart sink. "He's going cold!" Pippin then asks, his voice nearly breaking. "Is he going to die?" You shake your head with a hum. "No, He's passing into the shadow world. He will soon become a wraith like them." Frodo gasps. The Nazgûl cry is heard from a distance. Frodo cries out as if in answer to them. "They're close," Merry says, earning a growl from you. Strider goes over to Sam. "Sam, do you know Athelas plant?" He asks. Your eyes widen as you realize the heir's intention.
"Athelas?" Sam ask. "Kingsfoil," you help. Sam nods. "Kingsfoil — aye, it's a weed." "It may help to slow the poison. Hurry!" The two of them search for the plant in the nearby undergrowth. Strider finds a small patch and proceeds to collect it. A sword appears at his throat. "What's this? A ranger caught off his guard?" A voice says it's soft and familiar. Frodo, lying on the ground, sees a white light. He turns towards it and sees a beautiful Elf-lady approaching a white horse. She dismounts and walks to him but stops as she sees your form. Yoru eyes turn and find hers, blinking. She gasps softly.
"Who are you?" You ask, and your head is lowered as it's in her level. "I'm Arwen of Rivendell. I've come to help" with a hum, you raise your head again, moving your wing away si she can bend down next to Frodo. "Frodo... Im Arwen. Telin le thaed" (I am Arwen. I have come to help you.) she whispers to him. "Who is she?" Merry ask. Arwen kneels, exclaiming, "Frodo!" You say nothing, only a sound of worries escapes your throat. Sam is the one to answer Merry's question. "She's an Elf."
Strider appears and chews a portion of the Athelas and applies it to Frodo's wound. "He's fading!" Arwen exclaims. Frodo gasps cause of the pain. Your nose blows hot breath onto his hair, making it fall forward. "Stay strong, Frodo, for us, for yourself." You whisper in his ear. "He's not going to last. We must get him to my father. I've been looking for you for two days." Arwen says and gets up. "Where are you taking him?" Merry asks, but none answer him.
Strider lifts Frodo in his arms and walks over to Arwen's horse. "There are five wraiths behind you. Where the other four are, I do not know." She elf says as she also walks over to her horse. Strider mounts Frodo onto Arwen's horse. "Dartho Guin perian. Rych le ad tolthathon." (Stay with the Hobbits. I will send horses back for you.) strider orders, but Arwen denies. "Hon, mabathon. Rochon ellint im." (I'm the faster rider. I'll take him.) "Andelu i ven." (The road is too dangerous.)
You watch them, your wings now folded against your sides as you stand behind the hobbits. "What are they saying?" Pippin asks. "They're talking about who's gonna take Frodo." You whisper; your voice is stern. "Frodo fîr. Ae athradon i hir, tur gwaith nin beriatha hon." (Frodo's dying. If I can get across the river, the power of my people will protect him.) Arwen says. "I do not fear them." She ads. "Be iest lîn." (As you wish.) strider says. Their hands clasp tenderly. Arwen mounts her horse, with Frodo seated in front of her.
"Arwen, ride hard. Don't look back!" Strider says. "Noro lim, Asfaloth, noro lim!" (Ride fast, Asfaloth, ride fast!) Arwen says to her horse, who gallops away. Sam goes forth to strider and exclaims. "What are you doing?! Those wraiths are still out there!" Strider doesn't answer; he stares after Arwen.
➳
Arwen rides on as the Nazgûl gives chase. The night gives way today as they pursue her, from forest to open plain, sometimes closing, sometimes falling behind. One of the Wraiths closes on Frodo, reaching out to snatch the Ring from him. Arwen spurs Asfaloth on to an even greater effort. "Noro lim, Asfaloth!" (Ride faster, Asfaloth!) Arwen calls to her horse. Arwen reaches a river and splashes across a ford. She pauses and looks back. The Nazgûl have stopped at the edge of the water. Their mounts rear up, screaming, terrified of entering the river.
"Give up the halfling, she-Elf!" One of them hiss. "If you want him, come and claim him!" Arwen says and draws her sword in challenge. The Nazgûl draw their swords and urge their reluctant horses across the ford. Arwen begins to chant to the river.
"Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer, Rimmo nin Bruinen, dan in Ulair! Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer, Rimmo nin Bruinen, dan in Ulair!"
(Waters of the Misty Mountains, listen to the great word, flow waters of Loudwater, against the Ringwraiths!)
The water level rises. A great flood comes around the bend, with crests shaped like white horses. The Nazgûl are cast from their mounts and washed away down the river as Arwen watches. Frodo starts to slip from the horse. Arwen lays him on the ground. "No! Frodo... No! Frodo, don't give in! Not now!" She cries and embraces Frodo.
"What grace is given me, let it pass to him, let him be spared — save him."
