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The Road South
The sun had dipped below the horizon when they finally
stopped, that first night out from Rivendell. There were a few moments
of uncertainty, as Strider (and no matter that apparently his name was
actually Aragon, and that he was an heir to something mysterious, he was
still Strider to the hobbits) indicated a sheltered spot at which to
camp, not far from the well marked road. The tree-sheltered location
seemed ideal, and they had caught sight, several times during the day,
of a stream not far off, but it was immediately clear once they had
halted that they had not yet sorted out their various roles in this
company.
Sam gave an inward sigh, as he plopped his pack down near a poplar, the
last of its leaves golden and hanging tenaciously to its limbs. He
didn’t mind being the chief cook and pot scrubber when it was just the
four of them camping out. He had sampled Merry’s cooking, and was not of
a mind to try that experience again. Frodo normally joined in the
process with him, as they had become quite used to each other’s company
in the kitchen of Bag End. Pippin, of course, tended to bound about,
rather in the manner of a good-natured puppy watching its dinner being
prepared, and was always ready to fetch water, or wood, or anything that
might be required.
But this evening, Sam’s mind was firmly fixed regarding the
impracticality of letting Frodo help. He had already given him a stern
look, as Aragon led the party to the clearing, and reminded him in a low
voice that this was his first day on the road, after quite a nasty
injury, and he fully expected Frodo to sit under the nearest tree, drink
some tea as soon as it was ready, and not think of doing anything else.
Frodo had meekly nodded, because Sam had quite accurately, of course,
gauged his stamina, and getting off of his feet and relaxing with a hot
mug of tea sounded immensely tempting.
Sam straightened up, picking up a couple of his largest pots, and
glanced about at his companions. Gandalf was leaning back against a
large boulder on the edge of the clearing, having already produced his
long-stemmed pipe, and was obviously in a relaxing frame of mind. Sam
never considered him, at any rate. There was a significant amount of
impudence involved in asking a wizard, who could transform one into a
toad at a whim, to go fetch some water, like a good lad. He had never
been quite sure as to the extent of Gandalf’s powers, but had no desire
to further investigate the matter. He could have sworn that he saw a
distinct twinkle in those piercing blue eyes hidden beneath both the hat
and the great bushy brows, but he mentally shrugged, and turned to the
rest of the party instead.
Merry and Pippin, of course, eager to do anything to bring dinner about
more expeditiously, had quickly dropped their packs and were waiting for
his instructions. Strider, too, had always been helpful during their
previous journey, even if he rarely stuck around very long to actually
eat with the hobbits. But it was the other three members of the group
that Sam eyed, somewhat askance.
Both the elf and the dwarf had positioned themselves on the farthest
sides of the clearing, and were both looking as if eating was something
that did not concern them, although Sam had no doubts but that they
would not decline any food offered to them. And perhaps most irritating
of all, Boromir was lounging against a tree directly in front of him,
and unmistakably expecting him to do something with the pots that Sam
had spent all day lugging about on his back. Sam squared his shoulders,
his pride pricking him more than a bit at that sight. Out of the corner
of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Pippin giving Merry a delighted nudge
in the ribs and might have reconsidered, but it was too late. His mouth
had already opened.
“Mr. Gimli, seein’ as you’ve the ax, a bit of firewood would come in
right handy,” announced Sam in a tone that was far more assured than his
actual sentiments at the moment. “Mr. Legolas, I’d be thinkin’ the dried
foods should be saved for when we’d be needin’ it more, so any game
you’d might be able t’bring in would come in that handy, likewise. I’d
not be a bit surprised if there’d not be a coney or two out in the
brush, or trout in that stream we passed. ‘Tis no sense lettin’ good
food be gettin’ away from us, if it can be helped. An’ Mr. Boromir,” he
added, ignoring the rather stunned look the man was giving both him and
the pots he was holding out, “I know we passed a stream not all that far
back, and we’ll be needin’ water, if you’d be so kind.”
“An excellent plan, Sam,” Aragon spoke up before there was a chance for
any to object. “Give me a hand, here, would you, Merry and Pippin? Let’s
set up camp and give Sam a chance to look to Bill. And Frodo, don’t you
think of doing anything but resting for the moment.”
The first three members of the expedition previously addressed, somewhat
bemused, gave each other surreptitious glances, and silently set forth
on the errands they had been assigned. But as soon as they were out of
sight, both Merry and Pippin broke into gales of silent laughter, and
even Aragon cracked a wide grin. “Well done, Sam,” Frodo beamed at him,
from under the tree where he had settled.
“Nicely done, indeed,” Gandalf added, with a distinct harumph, as Sam
felt his face burning and knew, to his dismay, that he was becoming
quite scarlet. “I think the titles are quite unnecessary, if you ask me,
but really, quite nicely done.”
“Well, I don’t know but what my gaffer’d think I’d lost all sense if he
heard me take on so,” Sam mumbled, ducking his head down as he fussed
with Bill’s rope, “but it just didn’t seem right that they should all be
settin’ about waiting for me to fix them dinner.”
Aragon strode over to him and gave him a kindly clasp on the shoulder
before leaning over picking up some flat stones that lay near to an ash
tree at the edge of the clearing. “In my opinion, Sam, you have set us
off on the proper foot, for we are all equal in this undertaking.”
Glancing up, he motioned to Merry and Pippin. “Merry, come help me build
a fire pit, and let us prop together a spit for when Gimli brings back
the wood. There were unmistakable signs of deer in these woods. Let us
see if Legolas can find them, for what Sam says is quite true. Our store
of supplies will last much longer if we only use them when all else
becomes scarce. Pippin, you might want to search for some herbs, and
there could still be berries in the bushes towards the stream.”
Gimli was the first to return, with an armful of wood, and in no time
the spit had been built, and the fire started, and when Boromir
reappeared with the pots full of water, it was the matter of minutes
before the water was merrily boiling over the fire. Legolas, after not
too long an absence, returned with not a coney or fish, but rather a
small deer slung over his shoulder, and in the end, the company sat down
to a savory venison stew, and steaming hot mugs of tea.
Conversation around the fire that night was merry and optimistic, and
when Frodo at last found comfort in Sam’s arms late that evening, he
felt full and contented and inexplicably happy.
&&&&&
From that first night on, the days quickly fell into a comfortable
pattern of leisurely travel through the stone-strewn valleys, as well as
the small thickets and groves of the land that lay south of Rivendell.
The evenings were congenial, and there was plenty of variety in the
manner of provisions to be found along the wayside. Sam had, by general
consensus, fallen into the role of chief cook, but there wasn’t a member
of the company who did not do his part in assisting him. Even Frodo, who
was clearly beginning to get the color back into his cheeks, as well as
regaining his strength, was finding tasks about the campsite each night
that needed doing. He and Sam had become so used to reading each other’s
needs and thoughts that Sam never needed to ask, but found Frodo doing
just what needed to be done. They would give each other an occasional
private smile, but saved their whispered conversations for the nights,
when most about them had fallen asleep.
So it was that the attack that tenth afternoon out from Rivendell took
them all by surprise. The proceeding morning had been uneventful. They
had arisen with the light, but had allowed the time for a substantial
breakfast before striking camp and setting forth. Pippin and Merry had
taken to walking alongside of Boromir, their interest piqued by his
tales of Gondor, the mighty kingdom to the south. Gandalf had led the
company, as usual, and Aragorn and Legolas had walked behind him,
trading news of the north. Gimli had followed silently behind, keeping,
as usual, his own counsel, and Frodo had fallen back with Sam and Bill,
to take up the rear.
It was Sam who first noticed the uncanny behavior of the birds. They
were quite ordinary swallows, but rather than either resting in trees
during the warmth of the afternoon, or at least flying in their normal
orderly array, they swirled about in a haphazard, confused mass, moving
in patterns of unmistakable alarm. He pointed it out to Frodo, who
quickly frowned in agreement. “You’re right, Sam,” he murmured with some
concern. “That isn’t right at all. We’d best let Gandalf know.”
Spurring Bill on to a more rapid pace, not a difficult task at all,
since Bill seemed to have picked up their uneasiness, Sam and Frodo
quickly caught up with the leader. “Those birds,” Frodo mentioned,
giving Gandalf a hasty tug on the sleeve to capture his attention. “What
do you think, Gandalf? Is there something amiss, or is it just my
imagination?”
Gandalf only needed the briefest of looks before his expression turned
to one of dismay, however. “Elessar!” he cried out at once, spinning
around to face him. “Warg!”
Sam and Frodo turned to the ranger in bewilderment, but his reaction was
anything but reassuring. His face turning ashen, the man murmured, “So
far north!” nearly to himself, and then quickly turned to face the other
members of the party. “Boromir, Legolas, Gimli!” he barked out. “Warg!
Keep the hobbits to the center!” And before the hobbits, thrust hastily
along with Bill in the middle of the quickly-formed circle, had any time
to question him, the beasts were upon them.
All Sam caught was a glimpse of matted brown fur, and the air was filled
with the sound of savage snarls and the dull thud of metal being driven
into flesh, coupled with frenzied yowls. Desperately, though, he ripped
through the pack that was on Bill’s back, muttering in a disjointed way
to the animal that he could feel trembling under his touch. “There’s a
good lad, Bill, you stay brave now, me dear,” he tried to reassure the
pony, whose ears were flattened against his head, and whose dark eyes,
widened in fear with the whites clearly showing, sought Sam’s. But there
were more desperate needs at the moment, and foremost of them was to
recover the hobbits’ weapons, which had been thoughtlessly packed away.
The growling and snarling seemed to horribly grow in volume, and he
caught only a quick glimpse of Pippin, back pressed against Bill and
face contorted with shock and fear, when his hand finally contacted
metal. With a muttered curse at his own slowness, he found the hilt, and
ripped the weapon from the pack. It was Sting, and a small corner of his
mind noted, with a strange sort of relief under the circumstances, that
the blade was not glowing blue. “Frodo!” he yelled, taking a quick look
up and about.
“Right here, Sam,” came an oddly composed voice right at his side, and
he turned to meet Frodo’s eyes. “Good work, my dear,” Frodo said, a grim
smile appearing on his face, as he saw what Sam held wordlessly out to
him. “Look out for the others, won’t you?” And with no other word, he
was gone from Sam’s sight.
With an unconscious growl, Sam returned to the pack and soon found two
more of the short swords that they had brought with them. Instantly, he
looked up again and this time found a determined Merry waiting
impatiently next to him, with a protective arm around an obviously still
terrified Pippin. “Good work, Sam, we’ll take these,” he grunted, his
jaw tightening as he grasped one sword authoritatively in his right
hand, and offered the other to Pippin. Pippin sought Merry’s eyes for
just a fleeting instant, and then visibly collecting himself, gave Merry
a nod. Then the two of them were gone.
There were no more swords to be found. Had he packed one? Sam tried to
remember, but in the confusion and noise, it was no use. With a piercing
yowl, a great beast with blood-matted fur broke through the ranks of the
defenders only to drop, still twitching, at his feet. Bill gave a huff
of fear, and Sam searched no more. Grabbing the heavy iron pan that was
tied at the top of his pack, he whirled around, brandishing it aloft.
“Aye, have a taste o’this, if ye like!” he yelled, the other hand still
holding Bill’s rope fast, but giving the nearest beast a hearty clout.
However, by this point, the attackers had had enough. It was only now
that Sam caught a good look at them. Somewhat like wolves they were, but
with the coloring of a badger, and with the same thick shoulders and
neck. Seven of the beasts lay dead before the company, and only half a
dozen still circled them, growling and displaying their fangs. Legolas,
though, had been standing somewhat to the side, and drawing his bow
faster than Sam ever imagined could be done, let fly an arrow. It landed
squarely in the center of the forehead of the beast that was at the
front of the pack, sending it into horrible convulsions. The rest of the
beasts gave their leader a surly look, and turned. As fast as they had
come, they were gone. Without a change of expression, Legolas let a
second arrow fly, and the great beast was suddenly still.
&&&&&
It was a subdued company that evening, around the campfire. They
prepared their evening meal nearly wordlessly, at least several miles
away from where they had left the carcasses of the warg. It wasn’t until
Boromir had turned to Gandalf with a worried frown, and muttered, “I’ve
never known warg to travel this far north,” that the strained silence
was broken.
“Not a good sign,” the old wizard agreed, shaking his head in an uneasy
manner and setting down his plate. “Warg are normally much farther to
the south. Perhaps it is merely a sign of an especially cold winter to
come, but it may also be an indication…” and here he fell silent,
staring into the flames of the campfire.
“These warg,” Legolas prompted Boromir quietly, cupping his elegant
hands around a warm mug of tea. “I am unfamiliar with the creature. Can
you tell us more, Boromir?”
Shooting a quick look at Gandalf, whose attention was still apparently
on the flames, the man answered. “They are creatures of evil, animals
that glory in killing for no reason. These unnatural demons have been
set upon us by the White Wizard. Such beasts were never seen until the
past ten years or so, issuing from the land to the north of Rohan. And
‘tis said that creatures far more loathsome and evil than these are
abroad, creatures that appear to be mockeries of men, but hideous and
abhorrent to behold. Orcs are, alas, familiar to the land of Gondor, but
these beings are more repugnant still.”
“No need of discussing these evils tonight,” Gandalf’s voice was stern
yet somehow reassuring. “We may indeed face those creatures another day,
but not this night. We have need of rest now rather than discussion.
Tomorrow, however, we must examine our options. The route to the south
may not be as straight-forward as we had hoped.”
There was very little conversation after that, and before long, the
campfire was extinguished and they had found their places for the night.
Legolas had offered to keep watch, as he needed little sleep, and Aragon
had chosen first watch along with him. They could be seen, in the light
of the quarter moon, sitting on a higher rock and talking quietly to
each other. Gandalf had disappeared, no-one was quite sure where, and
Gimli and Boromir were both soon asleep under the shelter of the scrub
trees that circled the clearing, judging by the duet of their snores.
Merry and Pippin had been unnaturally quiet at first, as they lay close
together under their blankets, but before too long, Sam could hear
Merry’s soft voice and Pippin’s occasional reply. He and Frodo lay close
enough, only partially screened by the bushes, to stay within sight of
the others, but far enough away to give themselves a bit of privacy.
Bill had settled near them, and Sam was glad to see that the pony
appeared to be recovered from his earlier ordeal. He wasn’t quite as
sure about himself.
“Sometimes,” he heard Frodo suddenly say softly, as he lay next to Sam
with Sam’s arms around him, “it almost seems as if we are on a hiking
jaunt about the Shire, and I nearly wish it were only you and I, or at
least we four hobbits. And then, it becomes clear that we left the Shire
long ago, and there is good reason to have our current companions with
us.”
Sam turned his head to discover Frodo looking steadily at him. “We can’t
take back any of this, can we, Frodo,” he murmured, and it was not a
question.
Frodo gave him a rueful smile, though, and reaching a hand out from
under the blankets, drew it lovingly down the side of his face. “I’m
afraid not, Sam, my love. It’s now a matter of seeing it through, I’m
afraid. But you are with me, and that matters so much more to me than
anything else.” Pulling Sam gently closer to him, he found his mouth and
kissed him longingly.
“Ah, my Frodo,” Sam sighed then, tightening his embrace just a bit.
“You’ve the right of it, dearie. You are with me, too, and we’ll just
have t’take the rest of it as it comes.”
&&&&&
“You looked so fierce, Merry, today,” Pippin had said suddenly, watching
Merry’s familiar profile next to him. Merry gave a soft laugh at his
words, and turned to him with a warm smile.
“Pretty good job of acting, then, I’d say,” he murmured, giving Pippin a
quick kiss on the forehead. “I was terrified, Pip, who wouldn’t be? But
these Big Folk; sometimes I think they consider us children, only
because they’re taller than we. I just wanted them to see that we could
hold our own, if it came down to it. Bit of foolish pride, I expect, but
it turned out well enough.”
“I don’t think Strider feels that way,” Pippin gave a reluctant smile
back to Merry.
“No, not Strider,” Merry agreed quickly. “And not Gandalf, either. I
expect they are more familiar with us hobbits than the rest.”
“And not Gimli,” Pippin prompted him.
“No, not Gimli. He’s not all that much taller, after all, and then his
father knew Bilbo, so, not Gimli.”
“The elf?” Pippin continued, his smile beginning to become decidedly
mischievous.
“Oh, definitely the elf,” Merry confirmed, with a broad grin. “But then,
how old is he again? I suspect he thinks we’re all childish. Excepting
Gandalf, of course. I can’t imagine anyone feeling that way about him.”
“And the other man, Boromir?” Pippin gave a short giggle.
“The worst offender of the lot,” Merry gave the verdict with relish. “It
was quite satisfactory, I must admit, to get a few blows in on that one
beast that was pestering him so. And that blow across the backside?
Quite nicely done, Pip. That distracted the creature just long enough.”
“Well, it did seem like the safest end on which to attack it,” Pippin
felt compelled to point out. “None of the fangs back there, you know.”
“Indeed, you have a definite point. We will make a fearsome warrior of
you yet, Master Peregrin Took,” Merry lovingly teased him, and
culminated his remarks by rolling Pippin over just enough to give him a
quick nuzzle right under the ear.
Pippin sighed in delight, but reluctantly admonished Merry. “Ah, Merry,
my dear, don’t you even consider that. Our companions are far too on
edge tonight to make our way from camp unnoticed. But I plan on keeping
a very sharp eye open tomorrow, and being quite demanding about an early
lunch if I spot a likely place.”
“Aha, an excellent plan, you wily Took,” Merry had to agree. “So I
suppose sleep would be the thing for now, then.” And in a very short
time, it was.
&&&&&
“Our choices are these,” Gandalf stated peremptorily the next morning,
as the company finished a hasty breakfast. “There is the road through
Rohan, which leads to Gondor. However, Gondor is not where we are bound,
and in addition, since it is the more straightforward, though longer,
route to the River Anduin, I suspect that our enemies will look for us
to travel that way.” Sam noticed Boromir stirring uneasily at this
judgment, but he said not a word.
“In addition, there is the mountain pass of Caradhras,” Gandalf
continued on. “It is steep and treacherous at any time of the year, but
doubly so now, as we are nearly in winter. The advantage this route has,
of course, is that our enemies will not look for us to go this way.”
He fell silent then, but Sam noticed that both Aragon and Gimli still
watched him rather pointedly. “There is another way,” Gimli at last
said, in his harsh voice.
“Yes,” Gandalf sighed reluctantly. “The mines of Moria. But I have my
doubts, indeed, I do. Tell me, Gimli,” he added abruptly, “when was the
last you heard from your kinsmen there?”
“Not for the last several years,” the dwarf had to admit grimly. “I have
my doubts, as well.”
“What do you say, then, Frodo? You are the Ringbearer, after all,”
Boromir asked unexpectedly, turning to the startled hobbit.
“That I may be,” Frodo warily responded. “But I have no knowledge of the
lands outside the Shire. It would be folly for me to make this decision.
You have traveled these roads more often as of late, Gandalf,” he
continued. “It would seem best to me to follow your judgment on the
matter.”
“I agree,” Legolas added surprisingly. “Which route should we take,
Gandalf?”
The wizard stood up at that verdict, pushing himself heavily up by his
staff. “We will take the mountain pass, then. If all goes well, it is
our shortest path across the Misty Mountains. We can cross the great
River far to the north, which will be to our advantage. But I must warn
you, that it is not necessarily the weather which will impede our way.
There are older forces on this Middle Earth than you know of, and not
all care for mortals, or even the elder folk. However, it does seem to
be the way of lesser evil.”
&&&&&
“Well, that was certainly a rousing recommendation,” Merry muttered to
Frodo, as the hobbits fell to the back of the company, along with Bill.
“And what about the not being fond of mortals bit? Makes these warg look
not so bad, all of a sudden.”
“You’ve got a point, Merry, no mistake,” Sam agreed, nodding. “Nasty
beasts, to be sure, but an arrow or a sword sends them on their way,
sure enough.”
“As does a frying pan, Sam,” Pippin chimed in with a grin. “You
certainly looked fierce with that swung over your head.”
Frodo gave him an amused side glance. “I missed that, Sam. Were you
attacking the beasts with the kitchenware?”
“Couldn’t find another sword,” Sam admitted, somewhat embarrassed.
“Doesn’t have much of a range, but I guessed it would do in a pinch.”
Merry laughed then, and added, “More than just do, Sam, it was bloody
effective. I saw what was left of the warg you walloped with it. Took
the fight right out of him, you did.”
Sam, faintly rosy, said nothing more, but Frodo laughed fondly and gave
him a hug. “Brave and resourceful under attack, and a master of all
sorts of weapons,” he smiled warmly at him. “And keeping Bill in check
as well. Yes, that I did see, my dear. You are becoming a formidable
warrior, indeed, Sam. Ted Sandyman will think twice before giving you
sauce, when we get back.”
&&&&&
It was not snow, precisely, that bothered the hobbits. It was more the
deep, seemingly bottomless banks of it that were the difficulty,
especially given that what path there was hung close to the mountain’s
edge, and that a false step into what appeared to be a sturdy bank of
snow could prove to be a step absolutely off of the side of the
mountain.
The road up Caradhras had begun harmlessly enough, with banks of snow
beginning to appear in the shaded areas under trees and brush by the
side of the road, and with a brisk chilly wind that reddened all the
hobbits’ noses, not to mention those of the men, and caused them all to
find a scarf to wind about their necks, and to fasten their jackets and
cloaks more securely, and to tuck their hands, whenever possible, more
tightly into their pockets.
But still, it was tolerable enough the first night as they made camp,
and sat closely about the cheerful fire, gratefully drank their hot tea,
and thawed their hands about bowls of, once again, warm venison stew.
Privacy was not a concern, but instead, all blankets and cloaks were
placed closely by the fire, and all of the company were grateful for its
heat. The hobbits had huddled close together, and in addition, used Bill
for warmth. Sam privately thought that the pony was just as grateful for
them, as well. Merry bravely took the outside position, with Sam next to
Bill, and the other two between. It did take awhile for their shivering
to subside, but it wasn’t all that long before a delicious sense of
drowsy contentment began to take hold of all four, and Merry and Pippin
soon dropped off into deep slumber, Merry’s back curled spoon-fashion
into Pippin’s light embrace. Sam and Frodo, though, watched the rest of
the company through sleepy eyes, thankful for a chance at a bit of quiet
conversation.
“I’d be thinkin’ those two would be better off a bit closer together,”
Sam mused, watching the two men bed down resolutely apart. “ ‘Tis a
shame to waste body heat.”
Frodo gave a light chuckle. “Perhaps you have not noticed, Sam, but they
are not particularly friendly. Something to do with whoever actually
runs Gondor, and some claim Strider has, apparently, on it. I’m afraid I
missed all the details; it almost seemed as though I was listening to
Aunt Esme and Great-Aunt Delphinium going on about which Brandybuck was
actually the descendent of Bullroarer Took, or some such nonsense.”
Sam chuckled, and snuggled a little closer to Frodo. Despite the added
impediments of the cold and the steep rocky terrain the last few days,
he had been grateful to see Frodo keeping up with no apparent
difficulties, and acting far more his normal self than he had since his
injury. “Ah, there’s folks as take a good deal of store in that sort of
thing, m’dear,” he murmured, wrapping a protective arm about Frodo,
under the cloak.
“I expect so,” Frodo chuckled, scooting himself closer in to the warm
curve that Sam had made of himself. “I’m afraid I’ve just never had a
fondness for positions and titles and proper bloodlines and such
twaddle.”
“Right glad I’ve been, t’discover that,” Sam replied, with mock
solemnity, giving Frodo’s ear the least of nips.
Frodo turned his face though, at that provocation, and kissed Sam
warmly. “I would have been the greatest fool who ever walked, to have
let you go on account of that, Samwise Gamgee,” he whispered tenderly,
as their lips parted. “And quite fortunately for me, I am not that.”
&&&&&
The banks of snow were more pronounced the next day, and before noon,
the road, or what beaten path had been visible, lay buried under
sparkling white drifts, undisturbed by the footprints of any creature.
But the sun was still out, and although there was a bitter nip to the
wind, when it occasionally blew past, making their way up the mountain
trail did not seem like an impossible task. The taller folk walked at
the front, stamping down the snow, and the hobbits followed. Gimli kept
to the rear, ready to lend a hand, should one of the hobbits lose his
footing, and Bill followed placidly behind, only giving an occasional
shiver when a dollop of snow landed on his back from a passing tree.
Legolas had gone ahead, since he seemed quite light on his feet, and
nimble in the snow. Sam, who was traveling to the rear of the hobbits,
along with Gimli and Bill, couldn’t help pointing out to Frodo and the
dwarf that the elf didn’t seem to leave footprints, but rather appeared
to walk on the surface of the snow. “Oh, aye, likely enough,” the dwarf
shrugged. “But Mirkwood is to the north, and they’d be plenty used to
snow. Leave it to the elves to figure out a way of getting about with as
little work as possible.”
Frodo, trudging through the beaten down snow next to Sam, couldn’t help
but give Gimli an amused smile at that comment. “But I thought you live
to the north of the Misty Mountains, as well,” he commented. “At least,
that’s what Bilbo had told me, once.”
“Well, yes, that we do,” Gimli gave a rumble that the hobbits quickly
realized was a chuckle. “But you’d not find our folk out and about much
during the snows. No, we have fine warm caverns, with decent tunnels to
get you where you’d need to go. No need to be out in the snow, really.
Just a matter of putting up proper stores when the weather is good.
Thinking ahead, you know.”
Rather startled at the longest bit of conversation that he had heard
from the dwarf since the trip began, Frodo replied at once, “That
certainly sounds sensible to me. Being underground is so much cozier in
the winter; I wonder that anyone would want to live elsewhere.”
“Aye, that it is,” Gimli quickly concurred, his expression softening,
and Frodo realized with a start that the dwarf appeared to actually be
homesick. It must indeed be difficult, he realized, with sudden
commiseration, to be the only one of his folk on this journey, and to be
traveling so far from home.
“Why did you come on this quest, really?” he asked softly, watching
Gimli curiously. “It would seem that the dwarves are in the least danger
of all the free people.”
Gimli regarded him seriously for a moment. “One might say the same of
the hobbits,” he answered at last, “and yet there are four of you here.
Since it is a matter that must, in the end, concern all of the free
folk, it is well that each should be represented. And as for why it is
I, it is for my father that I go. He was sent by our council, but none
thought that the journey would take him farther than Rivendell. And
since it has, it is better that I continue on in his place.”
Frodo considered this before graciously and sincerely replying, “And it
is our honor, Gimli, son of Gloin, to have you with us.”
Gimli gave a short, nearly embarrassed nod, and they walked on in
silence for a few moments.
“And when there is time,” the dwarf abruptly offered, with a now
unmistakable smile, “there are tales I could tell you of your uncle
Bilbo Baggins that you may not have heard before. He was quite a legend
to us as younglings. And to think that I now journey toward the south,
in the direction of the kingdoms of men, at the side of his nephew. It
is a strange and marvelous world, indeed.”
&&&&&&
The hobbits had long ago given up on conversation, and each was merely
concentrating on placing one foot ahead of the other, when Aragon
happened to look back, and brought Gandalf, with a light touch to his
arm, to an abrupt halt. Boromir had been walking stolidly next to him,
and Legolas was ahead, unseen, but the others in the company were now
decidedly lagging behind them. Merry and Pippin were trudging, side by
side, several paces back, with their heads down. And Sam and Frodo were
even farther back, matching their pace to the slow steps of Bill. Even
Gimli, keeping resolutely to the rear, seemed weary.
“My apologies,” Gandalf shook his head with a wry smile to the rest of
the company, “I should be matching my pace to yours, and not the other
way around. Indeed, we should be making camp, while there is still
light. The next few days will be difficult, and we should take our rest
while we may.”
The hobbits gratefully came to a halt, but a quick look about did not
reassure them much as to the desirability of their current location as a
camping site. “Tell me, Gimli,” mentioned Merry hesitantly, “would there
be any brush about for a fire?”
Gimli, unconsciously thumbing the axe slung at his side, surveyed the
sheltered clearing with an expert eye, but soon shook his head. “There’s
some wood about,” he replied gruffly, “but it’s far too soaked by the
snow to be of much use for a campfire.”
Sam, who had been gratefully massaging his calves, as he stood next to
Bill, quickly looked over to Gandalf in dismay at that pronouncement
from Gimli. “No fire?” he murmured, disappointed. “I’d not be mindin’ a
cold meal, but we’d be needin’ some hot tea, leastways.”
In the meanwhile, Pippin had sat down quite heavily on the snowy path,
and was unconsciously rubbing one of his feet, tucked up next to him.
“What’s this about, now, Pip?” murmured Merry with concern, squatting
next to him, and Boromir walked over, with a frown as well and gazed
down at them with his arms akimbo.
“My toes,” mumbled Pippin reluctantly. “They feel, well, gone, somehow.”
“Let’s have a look at that, young hobbit,” the man said at once, with a
frown of apprehension, as he knelt down next to Pippin. Brushing the
snow off of the foot that Pippin, with a bit of embarrassment, extended
out toward him, Boromir frowned, and shook his head. “Frostbite,” he
muttered, and looked up to Merry with his brows knit sternly together.
“I’ve seen this often enough, when I’ve been on mountain patrol with my
men. We’ll be needing some warm water, or he may be in danger of losing
his toes.”
Merry’s eyes opened wide with alarm at this pronouncement, and he spun
around, but there was no need to inform Aragon or Gandalf, as they were
directly behind him. Aragon quickly knelt at Boromir’s side, and gently
taking Pippin’s foot from him, examined it as well, as Pippin meekly
sat, looking from one face to the other. After doing so, Aragon stood
wearily up, and faced Gandalf. “Boromir is quite right,” he said
quietly. “I’m afraid that the hobbits will not be able to follow this
route for much longer, at this rate, and certainly tonight we will have
need of a fire. And it does not appear that we shall have one by the
normal means.”
Gandalf was silent for a few moments, and then slowly nodded his head.
“We will speak of the route later, for Legolas has not yet returned, and
I need to know what he has found that lies ahead. But yes, it does seem
that we must have, at least for tonight, a fire.” He straightened up,
then, and pointed to a snowy depression at the side of the path. “Aragon
and Boromir, there is fairly level ground underneath here. See how much
of the snow you may be able to clear away. Gimli, look about for likely
branches for the fire. It will not matter if they are wet from the snow.
Pippin, you stay off of your feet, and Frodo, try to find some spare
cloths, if you have them. Sam, you may see to Bill, and Merry, we will
need the pots filled with snow to be melted.”
Without questions, all busied themselves with their assigned task, and
before very long the small area was relatively free from snow, and there
was a stack of dampened branches piled in the middle for a fire. The
blankets and cloaks had been spread about on which to sit, and Sam had
found a few handfuls of oats for Bill, and even one of the apples that
he had been carefully keeping for the pony for the occasional treat.
Certainly, he felt, handing it to Bill and giving the appreciative
pony’s nose an affectionate rub, this was a day of work that called for
the extra bit of recognition.
Gandalf stood before the wood with a grave expression, his arms crossed,
and gave a sigh. “Well, there’s no help for it, I suppose,” he muttered
at last, with the closest approach to uncertainty that Frodo had ever
seen him display. “But I do hate to announce my presence for all who
would see.” And with no other preamble, he touched his staff to the
wood.
There was a quick, intensely bright flare, and then the wood caught fire
and began to burn in a quite ordinary way. “Now, that’s an uncommonly
handy trick, no mistake,” an amazed Sam whispered to Frodo, sitting next
to him on a blanket. “I mean, the fireworks are all well an’ good for a
bit o’fun, but this trick is downright useful. Wonder why he hasn’t used
it afore now? Could have saved us a right lot of grief these past few
nights; lightin’ these damp logs has been that tricky.”
“Well, he said that it lets folk know he’s here, and he’d rather it was
not known,” Frodo quietly answered, with a frown. “Although, I really
can’t see that there’s anyone else about, as far off as we are from
everything. But then there’s that bit when we first went this way about
something not liking mortals. I must admit that’s still bothering me.”
As soon as the water had warmed enough, though, Boromir returned his
attention to Pippin, who had been sitting uncharacteristically silent
with Merry’s protective arm firm around his shoulders. “Let’s have a
look at it, young hobbit,” the man said gruffly, lifting Pippin’s foot
up again. “See that, Meriadoc?” he turned to the other hobbit, pointing
to Pippin’s toes. “It’s that whitish color that’s the sign, you see. And
you said there was no feeling in them?” he questioned Pippin again,
getting a silent nod in response. “ ‘Tis the sign of frostbite, to be
sure, but we should have caught it in time. They just need to be bathed
in warm water, and yes, it will sting, to be sure,” he added with a wry
smile, as Pippin winced at the touch of the wet cloth, “but that’s a
good sign, now. Here, Meriadoc, you may continue from here,” he added,
handing the cloth over to Merry.
“I must say, though,” he added, beginning to rise, “that my men
generally got frostbite when the snow got into their boots. Is there no
sort of footwear that your people use in this sort of weather?”
“Well, I have heard of some sort of boots,” Pippin found his voice, with
another wince at the returning sensation to his feet. “Hoy! Merry, that
really does sting, you know,” he added, somewhat impatiently, as Merry
gave a guilty start, and was promptly less energetic about massaging his
toes. “But that would generally be only used by hobbits to the far north
of the Shire, and only in the midst of winter. And we didn’t exactly
pack extensively, did we, Merry. As a matter of fact, I don’t believe we
actually packed at all. We didn’t even get to say goodbye to our
families,” and Pippin’s voice gave an unmistakable wobble at that, as
Merry quickly looked up with a frown.
But before Merry could say anything, Boromir asked, somewhat
incredulously, “You mean you left your home on a whim?”
“No, not exactly,” Merry interjected then, with more than a touch of
asperity. “There was the issue of the Black Riders hunting us down at
the time. They were quite inconsiderate on the matter of good-byes and
packing, and that sort of thing, if I remember correctly.”
“I do apologize,” the man replied quickly, “I did not know the details
of your departure. I do understand why Frodo is here, and I can
understand why Sam is, as well, but I did not know the circumstances
under which the both of you left your land. You do seem, if you may
pardon me for saying so, rather young to be on such a perilous journey.”
“Well, Merry isn’t really,” Pippin answered in a rather matter-of-fact
way, “but I suppose I am. But I certainly wasn’t to be left behind, so
there you are. We all love Frodo too much to let him wander off to parts
unknown without us, you know.”
Boromir gave them both a quick smile. “Frodo is indeed a fortunate
hobbit, to have such devoted friends,” he said softly. “That is not a
gift which comes to many.”
&&&&&
The sun did not reappear the next morning. Instead both sky and ground
were swathed in white, and a dim light made it most difficult to see
where one ended and the other began. Snow had actually covered them
lightly as they slept, and Gandalf reluctantly started the fire once
again in order that they might have a warm breakfast before starting off
again. Legolas had returned during the night, and after a quick
conference with Gandalf, it was decided that they would continue on the
road they had been following. “But time is of the essence,” the wizard
cautioned them tersely. “We have at the least two more days journey
across the face of Caradhras before our path will descend into more
hospitable lands again. Therefore, it would be best if the two lightest
of the hobbits ride Bill, for the time being. That would be Pippin and
Frodo, I believe. I’m afraid that is the limit that our brave pony may
carry, and so Sam and Merry, you will have to be assisted by Aragon and
Boromir. I must urge you, my good friends, to consider that our only
chance of success is in the swiftest passage possible.”
Any objections that Sam and Merry might have had at this undignified
means of transport were quickly swallowed by this stipulation, and they
meekly nodded assent.
So before long, Gandalf strode out in the lead, with Legolas continuing
to scout out ahead, with Aragon, Sam firmly clinging to his back
pig-a-back style, and leading Bill, at his side. Gimli followed, still
bravely battling through the drifts, and Boromir, with Merry on his
back, made up the rear. Frodo rode on Bill with Pippin in front, and
both being decent riders, quickly adjusted to the plodding pony’s pace.
Sam stolidly wrapped his arms around Aragon’s broad back and, ignoring
the rhythmic thump of his pack against his own back, resisted the
temptation to twist around to catch sight of Frodo. Merry, his pride
somewhat nettled by his undignified position, grimly clung to Boromir
and tried his best not to envy Pippin his lighter frame. He was not
entirely successful.
Time seemed to stand still in the windy whiteness, and it was nearly
impossible to tell if they were traveling uphill or down through the
snow. None spoke as the wind increased, biting fiercely into their
faces, and snow thickened in the air. The mountain, that had clearly
been at one side when they had begun, had disappeared into white as
their area of visibility became restricted to what was at their feet,
and no more. Halting for meals was unthinkable; not even Pippin
considered that possibility.
Legolas continued to tirelessly journey ahead and report back to Gandalf
on what lay ahead, but even he was beginning to show signs of
exhaustion, as they halted after what appeared to be hours of
slow-fought progress. Sam, near the front, could not hear the words of
the elf, but his expression was grim as he spoke to the wizard.
Quite suddenly there was a loud hollow boom and a sharp crack, and
Gandalf leaped forward, grabbing the startled elf’s arm, and giving it a
hasty jerk back. It was not an instant too soon however, as a great
sheet of ice suddenly slid down from the unseen mountain, past where
Legolas had just been standing but a moment ago.
Gandalf did not hide his alarm as he whirled about, and cried out in a
voice that could barely be heard above the wind, “Turn back! Turn back
at once!” Aragon acted immediately, and keeping Bill to the safer
mountain side, urged the bewildered pony rapidly around in the
treacherous snow; Frodo and Pippin clinging, white-faced, to his back.
Gimli and Boromir wasted no time in argument but turned as well, trying
to retrace their footsteps as quickly as possible.
It was well that they had acted swiftly, for with another booming crack,
a second wall of ice tumbled past where they had just been standing.
They need no more urging, but fled, scrambling and slipping in the
perilous drifts, until they at last found the place where they had made
camp the night before.
On the more stable ground, Boromir sagged in exhaustion against an icy
boulder, and Merry quickly slid to the ground. Gimli stood nearby,
propping himself against his axe, and breathing heavily. Sam could feel
Aragon’s harsh breathing as well, and also let himself drop to the
ground as quickly as he could, and sought out Frodo at once. The
disheartened group gathered around Gandalf, but the wizard’s face was
grim.
“It is as I have feared,” he wearily shook his head. “Caradhras holds no
good will toward any creature that moves about upon Middle Earth, and
will not suffer us to pass this way. With any luck, we will be allowed
to rest here tonight, but this road is closed to us, and we shall have
to retrace our steps come tomorrow.”
&&&&&
It was a somber evening, and none of the company said much. Gandalf
reluctantly lit one more fire, only sufficient for a quick meal to be
cooked, and a bit of warmth before the dark clouded night fell about
them. Sam lay with Frodo in his arms, but the other side exposed to the
cold. He had insisted that Merry take the position next to Bill this
night, for it seemed only fair to him. In spite of tucking the uppermost
cloak tightly in at his side, he still felt the bite of the icy air, and
tried his best to quell the involuntary shivers that racked him from
time to time. But Frodo was awake as well, and wordlessly urged Sam onto
his side, holding him spoon-fashion as Merry had held Pippin the night
before.
“These will be long and fearful roads, indeed,” he murmured softly into
Sam’s ear after Merry and Pippin’s breath had settled into the cadenced
pattern of sleep. Lifting himself slightly, Frodo gently wrapped one arm
under Sam’s neck and the other across his chest, embracing him closely.
“But I have you, my dearest Sam, and I promise you that I will keep you
safe,” he murmured, kissing the side of his face tenderly. “Sleep now,
my beloved; have no fear. You are in my arms, and nothing will ever harm
you here.”
And Sam felt his heartbeat steady and calm itself, and his anxious fears
subside. Warmth began to creep through his chilled body, and he suddenly
felt oddly contented and at peace. He was sheltered in Frodo’s love, and
he had never needed anything more than that.
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