The Flight to the Ford

The Flight to the Ford is the desperate climax of the hobbits' flight from the Shire, the moment when the pursuit by the nine Ringwraiths reaches its most violent and supernatural pitch. Wounded at Weathertop by the Witch-king's Morgul-blade, Frodo Baggins has been fading for days, and the entire journey from the Ford of Bruinen to Rivendell has become a race against both the Black Riders and his own failing strength. The event resolves the first great chase of the War of the Ring, delivers Frodo into the hands of Elrond, and reveals for the first time the full, terrifying power of the Nazgûl arrayed against the Ring-bearer — and the equally formidable power that rises to protect him.

The Pursuit Begins

The flight begins in the cutting through the pine woods, where Glorfindel, the elf-lord who has come from Rivendell to guide the hobbits, suddenly hears the sound of following feet and a rushing noise like wind pouring through the branches. He springs forward with a loud cry, calling 'Fly! Fly! The enemy is upon us!' The white horse leaps forward, and the hobbits run down the slope, with Glorfindel and Strider — the name Aragorn still uses among them — following as rearguard. They are only halfway across the flat ground when the sound of galloping horses erupts, and out of the gate in the trees rides a Black Rider, reining in and swaying in his saddle. Another follows, then another, then two more, until five of the nine Ringwraiths are visible, sitting upon their great steeds like threatening statues upon a hill, dark and solid, while the woods and land about them seem to recede into a mist.

Glorfindel cries to Frodo to ride forward, but Frodo does not obey at once. A strange reluctance seizes him; he checks the horse to a walk and turns to look back. In that moment he knows in his heart that the Riders are silently commanding him to wait. Then fear and hatred awake in him at once, and his hand leaves the bridle and grips the hilt of his sword, drawing it with a red flash. Glorfindel cries again, 'Ride on! Ride on!' and then calls to the horse in the elf-tongue: 'noro lim, noro lim, Asfaloth!' — 'run swift, run swift, Asfaloth!' At once the white horse springs away and speeds like the wind along the last lap of the Road.

The Ambush and the Race

The black horses leap down the hill in pursuit, and from the Riders comes a terrible cry, the same cry that had filled the woods with horror in the Eastfarthing far away. It is answered: out from the trees and rocks on the left, four other Riders come flying, two riding towards Frodo and two galloping madly towards the Ford to cut off his escape. They seem to run like the wind and to grow swiftly larger and darker as their courses converge with his. Frodo looks back over his shoulder and can no longer see his friends; the Riders behind are falling back, for even their great steeds are no match in speed for the white elf-horse of Glorfindel. But when he looks forward again, hope fades: there seems no chance of reaching the Ford before he is cut off by the others that had lain in ambush.

The four Riders have cast aside their hoods and black cloaks, and are robed in white and grey. Swords are naked in their pale hands, helms are on their heads, their cold eyes glitter, and they call to him with fell voices. Fear now fills all Frodo's mind; he thinks no longer of his sword, no cry comes from him, and he shuts his eyes and clings to the horse's mane. The wind whistles in his ears and the bells upon the harness ring wild and shrill. A breath of deadly cold pierces him like a spear as, with a last spurt like a flash of white fire, the elf-horse, speeding as if on wings, passes right before the face of the foremost Rider.

The Stand at the Ford

Frodo reaches the Ford of Bruinen, the shallow crossing of the Loudwater that marks the eastern boundary of Rivendell's domain. With a last effort he lifts his sword and cries, 'By Elbereth and Lúthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me!' The leader of the Riders, now half across the Ford, stands up menacing in his stirrups and raises his hand. Frodo is stricken dumb; he feels his tongue cleave to his mouth and his heart labouring. His sword breaks and falls out of his shaking hand, and the elf-horse rears and snorts as the foremost of the black horses almost sets foot upon the shore.

At that moment there comes a roaring and a rushing: a noise of loud waters rolling many stones. Dimly Frodo sees the river below him rise, and down along its course there comes a plumed cavalry of waves. White flames seem to flicker on their crests, and he half fancies that he sees amid the water white riders upon white horses with frothing manes. The three Riders still in the midst of the Ford are overwhelmed, disappearing, buried suddenly under angry foam; those behind draw back in dismay. With his last failing senses Frodo hears cries, and it seems to him that he sees, beyond the Riders that hesitate on the shore, a shining figure of white light, and behind it small shadowy forms waving flames that flare red in the grey mist falling over the world.

The Flood and the Deliverance

The black horses are filled with madness, and leaping forward in terror they bear their riders into the rushing flood. Their piercing cries are drowned in the roaring of the river as it carries them away. Then Frodo feels himself falling, and the roaring and confusion seem to rise and engulf him together with his enemies. He hears and sees no more. The flood — the work of Elrond, who has commanded the river to rise against the enemy — destroys the Ringwraiths' horses and sweeps the Riders themselves away, breaking their physical forms and forcing them to retreat in a diminished state. Frodo is carried unconscious to the far shore, where he is found and brought to Rivendell to be healed.

The Flight to the Ford is thus the first great defeat of the Nazgûl in the War of the Ring, and the moment when the protective power of the Elven realm of Rivendell is made manifest. It is also the culmination of Frodo's transformation from a hobbit of the Shire into a figure of mythic significance: wounded, defiant, and finally delivered by forces beyond his understanding. The breaking of his sword at the Ford foreshadows the breaking of his strength, and the shining figure of white light he glimpses — the form of Elrond, who has unleashed the flood — marks the entry of the great powers of the Elder Days into the hobbits' story. The event sets the stage for Frodo's recovery, the revelation of the Ring's true nature, and the Council of Elrond, where the fate of the Ring and of Middle-earth will be decided.