There was no sound, save for the rustling of the trees overhead.  The orcs across the River had fallen silent.  The River itself slurped and bubbled on its way past the wary travelers, further obscuring any enemy movements.  Aragorn remained seated, but slipped his sword from its sheath and made ready for swift action.  Gimli's hand moved to the hilt of his axe, and Boromir's blade glinted dully in his grip.  The hobbits hunkered down, peering all around them.  All gave nervous glances to the far-away eastern bank from whence the orc-cries and arrows had come.  Several minutes passed, and nothing out of place was witnessed.

            "It is too quiet," Boromir murmured almost inaudibly.

            "Hsst!" Legolas warned under his breath.  Dark as it was, the Elf's hair seemed to shine under the starlight.  His motions were soundless, but Frodo could dimly see him stepping further up onto the bank and turning toward the silent forest.

            Aragorn touched Frodo's arm, indicating that he should be ready to flee by boat or by land if necessary.  Frodo swallowed and tapped Sam, who was startled and barely managed to avoid making an outcry.

            After more long minutes had wafted past, Aragorn made a low hissing sound to collect Legolas' attention.  "What see you, Legolas?" he whispered.

            Legolas had not moved in all that time, but now he turned his head slightly to reply.  "I see and hear nothing, but my heart quails within me as it has not often done before," he said softly.

            Frodo cast a fearful look past the Elf.  "I feel it also," he breathed.

            "What shall we do, then?  Sit here all night and wait for some unknown terror to consume us whole?" Boromir asked in a low tone.

            Before any of the rest could form an answer, Legolas lifted his bow and released an Elven arrow into the heart of the darkness beyond the bank.  "Black Riders!" he cried.  "The Nazgûl are upon us!"

            Even as he spoke, a terrible shriek arose from the forest beyond.  All at once the hooves of the black horses smote the earth, unseen as yet by those in the boats, but the sound was instantly recognized by Frodo.  Aragorn was already shoving off from the bank, holding his sword captive in one hand and wielding the paddle with the other.

            "Come, Legolas, get yourself into the boat so that we may be off!" Gimli called out.

            To Frodo's horror, he saw Legolas' silhouette still standing high on the bank.  "I will remain to slow them if necessary," the Elf replied plainly, without a trace of fear in his voice.  "Go, all of you, and get yourselves and the Ring to safety!"

            By then the boats manned by Aragorn and Boromir were trailing away from the bank.  "Gimli, Legolas, come!" Aragorn cried.  "We must go quickly to avoid the threats from the two banks!"

            The Nazgûl swept through the trees with a chorus of howls, echoing the fading orc-shouts from the opposite bank.  Frodo felt a thrill of horror streak through his veins, for he remembered well the screams of the creatures as they had pursued him and the Ring he bore.  He had nearly died at the point of one of their blades.  Now, somehow, the Black Riders had recovered from the floodwaters at Rivendell, and had found their quarry once again.

            "Legolas, run!" Frodo cried, knowing well that the Riders would soon reach the unwavering Elf.  How he could discern such, he did not know, for it was still very dark.  He knew, too, that Legolas meant to stay where he was and provide a rearguard to cover their escape.

            Gimli shouted something that Frodo could not decipher, but Legolas' reply carried over the River's water without trouble.  "Go, my friend.  I tarry for your sake as well, and if you are safe, then I shall escape."

            The Dwarf cursed loudly, but Aragorn's voice sprang forth and cut off his denial.  "Away from the shore, Master Dwarf, else the Riders will destroy the both of you!"

            "You would not leave Legolas to die!" Frodo gasped.

            "No, Frodo, I would not.  I mean to get Gimli away as Legolas asked, so that he may flee when the rest of us are saved."  Aragorn laid a hand on the hobbit's shoulder.  "Elves are good swimmers, Master Hobbit.  I have no doubt that Legolas means to dive into the River and reach the safety of Gimli's boat when he deems that no one will be within the reach of the Nazgûl when he does so."

            Gimli's keen ears had heard Aragorn's words.  Cursing mightily, he finally shoved the boat away from the shore.  "Cursed and blessed Elf!" he cried.  "Come and reach haven, then, before I regret my seeming cowardice!"

            "I am but a moment after you!" Legolas called faintly, and then his voice was lost to the shrieking and pounding of the black-cloaked Riders.

            It seemed to Frodo that a storm cloud burst forth from the line of trees beyond the bushes at the edge of the bank.  The horses' bridles jangled harshly in the night air, and their riders keened fiercely in unison.  Legolas was at the edge of the water when the Riders charged him, and those in the boats saw with dismay that the Elf could not dive fast enough to escape.  Frodo and the others let out a loud cry as Legolas whirled to meet the attack and then disappeared under the hooves of the black horses upon which the Nazgûl were mounted.  The animals did not pause even for a moment, but skidded to a halt at the edge of the bank, neighing and kicking at the lapping water in a frenzy.

            "Curse you, foul creatures!" Gimli shouted, adding several pungent words in his own language.  From the sounds of the splashing, Frodo guessed that the Dwarf was paddling furiously back towards the bank.

            He heard his own voice joining Aragorn's in a half-commanding, half-beseeching duet.  "Come back, Gimli!  Do not hasten to your death!"

            There came a wild cry then, a voice that rose above the snorting of the horses and the shouting of the Company.  "Kelo, namárië!  Kelo!"