While the Ring Went South 
Author: Thundera Tiger 
PG - English - Action/Adventure/Humor  
 

Author’s note and disclaimer: Okay, this is my first attempt at an 
LOTR fanfic (I have written fanfics before) and my first time posting 
to Fanfiction.net. So be critical but not too cruel. Beyond that, I 
don’t own any of these characters. I’m just borrowing them for a 
little non-profit fun and will return them intact by the end of the 
story.

This story takes place during that two-week period between the time 
the Fellowship of the Ring left Rivendell and the time they came down 
off Caradhras. Tolkien doesn’t say much about this time, so I thought 
I’d fill in my version of the details. We start on the night of 
December 30, 3018. (They left December 25, for those of you who like 
to follow timelines.) Enjoy!

Part 1

December 30, 3018

Only five days out from Imladris, and already I tire of their 
quarreling.

Gandalf shook his head and sighed. He’d known this would happen. Even 
a fool could have foreseen this. Not only had his heart spoken in 
warning, but simple common sense had made it painfully clear that this 
could not be avoided. The first two weeks of their journey, quite 
possibly the least perilous, might well prove to be the most 
irritating.

There was one bright spot in this, however. Aragorn now owed him two 
bags of Southfarthing pipe-weed. Before leaving Rivendell, the Ranger 
had bet that two particular members of the company could keep their 
tongues and tempers in check for at least a week while Gandalf 
predicted a breakdown of relationships within the first four days. 
Elrond, when informed of the bet, had said nothing other than to 
reiterate his feelings that the objects of the bet were meant to be 
part of the Fellowship. Gandalf had enjoyed similar feelings at the 
time, but he now wondered if he hadn’t been gravely mistaken.

"How can you seek to place the blame on me? With those supposedly keen 
elven eyes, I thought you would have seen me halt. I saw no reason to 
warn you, and it is your fault for running into me. I believe you owe 
me an apology."

"Keen my eyes may be, but you live so close to the ground that I 
mistook you for another rock in the path, Master Dwarf. And how can 
one apologize to something that can barely be seen, much less 
acknowledged?"

Gandalf wondered if Aragorn would be willing to place another wager as 
to when Legolas and Gimli would come to physical blows. The verbal 
barbs, blunt and subtle at first, had been gaining in strength and 
intensity, and the wizard was almost willing to bet both hat and staff 
that someone would have to pull the elf and dwarf apart by the end of 
this first week, if not sooner.

Gimli was now grumbling under his breath, a familiar sign that 
indicated Legolas was getting the better of the argument. "Better to 
pass unseen than to walk through hostile lands with ill-placed faith 
in weak and cowardly fighting skills," the dwarf growled.

"And for that, you should thank your short stature," Legolas replied 
easily. "My heart fails me when I think that a passing Orc might see 
through your arrogance and hew you lower than you already stand. May 
you be forever grateful that you are short and hard to see."

Gandalf noisily cleared his throat, a tactic that usually managed to 
silence both of them, though of late he’d been forced to add a 
backward glance complete with bristling eyebrows. To their credit, 
neither continued the debate this time. Gandalf heard Frodo sigh 
gratefully, and then came the hushed whispers of Merry and Pippin, who 
were apparently keeping a running tally of the verbal sparring 
matches. Legolas enjoyed a commanding lead and Merry was predicting a 
complete and total victimization of the dwarf by the end of the 
journey, but Pippin maintained that Gimli’s insults were improving and 
that the dwarf might take them all by surprise with a sudden rally.

"What say you to a halt, Gandalf?" Aragorn asked from behind the 
wizard. "There is a glade on the other side of this rise that would 
serve us well."

Gandalf nodded thoughtfully. Halts had become the launching point for 
many insults, but having just been silenced, the wizard doubted if 
either elf or dwarf would dare pick up their arguments again so soon. 
There might never be a better time.

"I could use a rest, too," Sam piped up from his position just in 
front of Gimli. "And it wouldn’t be a bad thing to let old Bill do a 
bit of grazing," he added, stroking the pony’s neck. If Bill had any 
thoughts on the matter, he kept them to himself and plodded forward 
silently, though his ears did flip backwards occasionally as though 
wondering when the elf and dwarf would start up again.

"We will stop briefly," Gandalf decided. "There are still a few hours 
before dawn during which we must journey. This halt will be our last 
one before sunrise."

At that announcement, even Boromir seemed to sigh with relief. There 
would be fewer chances for Legolas and Gimli to start the virtually 
endless quarrels. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the 
two that they would refrain from arguing during daylight and minimize 
their arguing while walking.

Gandalf wondered what Boromir made of Legolas and Gimli. A warrior 
from Gondor, he’d had little chance to interact with elves and dwarves 
before journeying to Rivendell, and he was now getting a full course 
of the animosity that ran between the two Races. So far, the man had 
said nothing concerning the two who, more often than not, were either 
directly behind him, directly before him, or on either side of him. To 
completely ignore them, Boromir would have to be rendered both blind 
and deaf. Even in the darkness of night, it was impossible to miss the 
looks that Legolas and Gimli would occasionally lever upon one 
another, looks with enough force to give even a dragon pause for 
thought. But so far, Boromir had kept his peace and said nothing. 
Gandalf wondered how long his silence would last.

On the other side of the hill, the Company found Aragorn’s glade and 
stopped for a brief rest. The hobbits quickly dropped their packs and 
themselves to the ground, grateful for a respite from the long 
marches. Under Sam’s watchful eye, Bill the pony was allowed to wander 
in search of green shoots. Aragorn stood apart from the group, eyeing 
the surrounding territory with the wary scrutiny of a Ranger. Boromir 
also drifted away from the company, seemingly still uneasy around his 
comrades. As well he might be, Gandalf sighed. Two of those comrades 
seem more willing to fight each other than the Dark Lord.

As if on cue, a thud, an outcry, and the peculiar sound of an elf 
trying to hold back laughter broke the silence of the night. And I 
thought they were finished until tomorrow. With the air of one 
resigned to a difficult and unwanted task, Gandalf turned around and 
took in a scene that threatened to quirk even his reluctant lips.

Gimli stood drenched to the bone in the cold night air, his water skin 
on the ground before him and a very confused Took sprawled on the 
ground behind him. Merry, Frodo, and Sam were all on their feet with 
expressions that suggested they wished to see the last few seconds 
played again in the hopes that they could figure out what had just 
happened.

"My dear hobbit and dwarf," Legolas cried. The prince of Mirkwood 
knelt swiftly by Pippin’s side and helped him back to his feet, 
considerately dusting him off as he did so. "I thought I spied a bush 
and movement beyond. Alas, it was Gimli’s beard that I saw and his 
short stature behind it. Your pardon, please, Master Peregrin."

"No harm done," Pippin stammered with a nervous glance at the wet, 
shivering dwarf.

"You…you…" Not for the first time since the beginning of the journey, 
Gimli was at a complete loss for words. But this time, the dwarf 
remedied his speechlessness with action, and the son of Gloin leaped 
forward in a murderous rage with fists clenched tight.

Initially startled, Legolas’s elven reflexes enabled him to dance away 
and out of reach. Gimli’s lunge took the dwarf sailing past a 
surprised Aragorn and into the brush beyond the dell while the elf’s 
dodge bore him straight into a Boromir’s broad chest, nearly knocking 
both of them to the ground.

"Enough!" Gandalf said sternly while Aragorn moved to assist Gimli to 
his feet and Boromir and Legolas regained their balance. "We may not 
be far from Rivendell, but the spies of the Enemy are still about. 
Peace, both of you. This behavior is foolishness."

"My apologies," Legolas said smoothly with a graceful bow. "You speak 
wisely and I heed your words."

"Just watch your back, elf," Gimli grumbled as he started to wring out 
his soaking beard. "You may not be so lucky in our next encounter."

"There will be no next encounter," Aragorn declared, eyeing both of 
them. "Now is not the time for petty quarrels. Your two Races may be 
at odds, but that should hold no weight for either of you." Gimli 
glowered angrily and Legolas smiled innocently.

Should have asked Aragorn about that second wager, Gandalf reflected 
with a twinge of regret. I would have won.

===

Part 2

While the Ring Went South 
Okay, normal drill here. I don’t own these guys (I wish I did) and 
they will be returned more or less intact by the end of the story. 
Don’t sue me because I have no money. (Sadness) Anyway, here comes the 
next day.


Yuleday,** 3018

Gimli tapped the haft of his axe thoughtfully, all the while keeping a 
close watch on the sleeping elf. It was sometimes difficult to tell 
whether or not the elf was asleep. Like all elves, Legolas slept with 
his eyes open, and it was always unnerving to glance over and find him 
looking at you when in truth he really wasn’t looking at you but at 
something else that only he could see. Still, after studying his 
opponent carefully during his watches, Gimli felt that he could label 
Legolas as either asleep or awake with a fair amount of accuracy. And 
the dwarf was reasonably certain that the elf was now asleep.

Boromir was due to relieve him on watch within the hour. The man had 
an uncanny ability to wake himself just before his scheduled watch, 
but as of yet, he showed no signs of stirring. A slow smile crept over 
Gimli’s face as he continued to study Legolas. The elf was usually 
quite careful when he slept, especially if he knew Gimli would be on 
guard sometime during the day. But his caution had slipped this time, 
and his water skin lay far enough away that Gimli was certain he could 
make off with it without disturbing the elf. That left the dwarf with 
one last question: what did he do once he got it?

Taking a few puffs on his pipe, Gimli ran several ideas through his 
head, but none seemed to fit. The hour was passing, Boromir murmured 
something as his sleep grew lighter, and Gimli knew he had to act 
quickly or not at all. And then the idea came. It was a simple idea 
but sometimes the best ideas were simple ones, and this particular 
idea was guaranteed to produce desired results. Wasting no more time, 
he stole quietly to the elf’s side, seized the water skin, and went to 
work. He finished just before Boromir woke for his watch, and the man 
roused to find Gimli peacefully smoking his pipe and watching the 
horizon.

"Anything to report?" Boromir questioned.

"Naught that I’ve seen," Gimli responded, the picture of innocence. 
"All remains quiet."

Boromir grunted, something that Gimli had learned meant the man was 
satisfied, he would take over the watch now, and the dwarf could get 
some sleep. Boromir never said much to any of them, even to Aragorn. 
Gimli could sense the man’s uneasiness around Races not his own and 
wondered if this would change over time. From the dwarf’s own 
observations, Boromir carried a mixture of suspicion and hesitant 
deference for Gandalf, grudging respect and a bit of envy for Aragorn, 
condescension and amusement toward the hobbits in general, confusion 
and bewilderment toward Frodo in particular, uncertainty and almost a 
hint of awe for Legolas (though for the life of him, the dwarf 
couldn’t understand why the elf would be held in awe), and a reluctant 
honor and curiosity for Gimli himself. The poor warrior had joined a 
company with only one other man, and that other man would oust 
Boromir’s father as ruler of Gondor. It was an awkward situation, and 
Gimli felt a flash of pity interrupt his plots of revenge. Still, 
there was very little he could do to put Boromir’s mind at ease. The 
man would simply have to figure it all out for himself. "I shall see 
you tonight, then," Gimli said, moving toward his chosen plot of 
ground. "If you have need of anything, call me."

Boromir grunted again, and Gimli translated it to be a means of 
expressing thanks for the offer but that the offer was unneeded. 
Deciding that two could play the non-verbal game, Gimli shrugged, 
nodded, and lay down, leaving Boromir to translate that message for 
himself. And good luck to him, Gimli thought with a hidden smile as he 
began to drift to sleep. Because even I’m not sure of what I was 
trying to say. 

* * * *

Sam had the last watch of the day before the others would wake, fix a 
cold breakfast, and prepare for the night’s marches. This particular 
watch was typically shorter than the other watches, because many of 
the Company would wake ahead of schedule and begin preparing early. 
Today was no exception. Fifteen minutes after Sam had relieved 
Boromir, Aragorn woke and left the group to scout ahead. Boromir had 
decided to use this last bit of time before nightfall to sleep, but it 
was obvious that his sleep was a light one and he would wake the 
moment everyone else began to stir. Pippin roused himself not long 
after Aragorn departed and joined Sam, engaging the other hobbit in a 
bit of quiet conversation. Their talking, though hushed as only 
hobbits can make it, woke Legolas who stood, stretched, and decided to 
follow Aragorn in case the Ranger would like some assistance or merely 
some company. After another few minutes had passed, Gandalf seemed to 
be stirring, Merry was awake but relishing the fact that he didn’t 
have to move anywhere for another hour or so, Gimli was snoring, and 
Frodo, for once, was sleeping peacefully.

An hour later, Aragorn and Legolas came back to find Merry getting to 
his feet, Boromir polishing his sword, Sam starting breakfast, Frodo 
blinking sleepily, Pippin poking through his pack with an air of 
concern, Gandalf evaluating the weather, and Gimli leaning against the 
trunk of a tree looking thoroughly bored.

"No sign of spies on the road ahead," Aragorn informed Gandalf when 
the wizard noted his return. "It may be that we have lost them for 
now, though my heart tells me this is not the case."

"They are merely set back," Gandalf agreed with a sigh. "It will not 
be long before they hound our tracks again. Tonight we shall have to 
move faster. Our pace has become leisurely of late."

"Okay, Sam, give it back."

Aragorn and Gandalf looked up from their discussion in the direction 
of the hobbits. Sam was giving Pippin a confused look and the 
indignant Took was shaking his pack menacingly.

"Give what back?" Sam asked.

"You know very well what. You took my Long Bottom leaf!"

"You had Long Bottom leaf?" Frodo broke in. "How did you get hold of 
Long Bottom leaf? I thought we used ours up in Rivendell."

"You mean you’ve had Long Bottom leaf and haven’t been sharing with 
the rest of us?" Merry demanded.

"Oh, that’s harsh, Mr. Pippin," Sam complained. "I’ve had to make do 
with what little I could scrounge up, seeing as elves have no call for 
pipe-weed, and here you have a collection of Long Bottom leaf!"

"Had a collection of Long Bottom leaf," Pippin growled.

"What makes you think Sam took it?" Frodo asked.

"Because he slept closest to my pack," Pippin said with a glowering 
look at the accused hobbit.

"If I’d known you had Long Bottom leaf, I would have asked for it 
first," Sam protested. "I can loan you some of my pipe-weed if you 
need it, Mr. Pippin, but I promise that I have no Long Bottom leaf."

"If he did, he’d probably share it," Merry added darkly.

"Well, if he didn’t take it, who did?" Pippin demanded.

"Are you sure you remembered to pack it?" Frodo asked. "You were late 
getting up yesterday, and you packed in a hurry. Perhaps you left it."

"No, I distinctly remember putting it right here next to my change of 
shirts. I know I did because I wondered if the smell would need to be 
washed from my clothes."

Frodo peered into the Took’s pack for a minute and then looked up. 
"Well, you’re right. It’s not here. But Pippin, if Sam says he didn’t 
take it, then he didn’t. And I know I didn’t take it. Merry, did you 
take it?"

"I would have if I’d known about it," Merry answered.

"So Merry didn’t take it, Gandalf, Aragorn, and Gimli all have their 
own, and Boromir and Legolas don’t use it." Frodo looked at Pippin and 
shrugged. "It’s just not here. You must have left it somewhere."

"But I didn’t…" Pippin’s protest trailed off suddenly when a hacking 
sound filled the camp. All eyes quickly found the source of the coughs 
to be Legolas, who had dropped to one knee and was shuddering 
violently. One hand clutched his throat, another grasped at his chest, 
and he doubled over in a very un-elven position.

"Legolas!"

Aragorn was immediately at the elf’s side, but soon found there was 
little he could do to help. Fortunately, the coughs seemed to be 
subsiding and Legolas managed to straighten just enough to catch 
Aragorn’s eyes and motion him to something on the ground. Puzzled, 
Aragorn picked up the elf’s water skin, studied it briefly, sniffed it 
once, and then tasted the water around the rim experimentally. A 
strange look came over the Ranger’s face. He first glanced at Pippin, 
then at Gimli who looked a little too innocent, and then back at 
Legolas. Legolas was caught in another round of violent coughs, but he 
sensed the looks and managed to throw a deadly glare in Gimli’s 
direction.

"Pippin, I think we may have found your missing pipe-weed," Aragorn 
said quietly, emptying the contents of Legolas’s water skin.

Pippin stared, Sam blinked, Frodo sighed, Merry glanced at Gimli, 
Gimli tried to appear surprised, Boromir turned away muttering under 
his breath, and Gandalf leaned wearily on his staff. "I see," the 
wizard murmured. He grimaced when Legolas clutched his stomach and 
started to heave. "Will he be all right?"

"Once he expels it from his system, he’ll be fine," Aragorn said, 
putting a supporting hand on the elf’s back. "Perhaps you should take 
the Company on without us," the Ranger added with an almost 
imperceptible jerk of his head toward Gimli. "We can catch up after a 
bit."

"There is danger in separating," Gandalf warned. "How long does he 
need to recover?"

Aragorn eyed Legolas who was still coughing convulsively. "Not long, 
but long enough that the rest of you can get a good start on the 
night’s travels. As I said before, we will be able to catch up. Have 
no fear of that."

Gandalf sighed and nodded. "Very well. But make haste when you come. 
It is safer for us to stay together than to break apart."

"We will not take long," Aragorn assured him, turning his attention 
back to the elf.

"Come," the wizard said to the others. "The night is passing, and we 
have far to travel."

"Long Bottom leaf," Pippin muttered while hoisting his pack over one 
shoulder. "Of all the things he could have put in that water skin, why 
did it have to be my Long Bottom leaf?"

"Serves you right for not sharing," Merry growled.

* * * *

Around midnight, the Company reached a small clearing and Gandalf 
called for a brief halt in the hopes that Aragorn and Legolas would 
make an appearance. There’d been no sign of either one since the group 
had left them at camp, and the wizard was becoming concerned. Both 
were quite capable of dealing with almost any problem that might come 
their way, but in these uncertain times with the danger of the One 
Ring looming over all hopes of the future, Gandalf was reluctant to go 
on until he’d received some sign that they were still safe.

To his credit, Gimli did appear somewhat remorseful. Gandalf supposed 
he should be grateful for that much. All of the Company seemed 
concerned with the continued absence of their two comrades, and there 
were more than a few dark glances thrown Gimli’s direction. And while 
Gimli might not mourn the loss of Legolas, he did respect Aragorn.

The group sat in an awkward silence, straining ears and eyes for signs 
of the Ranger and elf. Gandalf wondered if that would do them any 
good. Rangers and especially elves could move silently and stealthily 
if the need pressed. Aragorn and Legolas would probably not be noticed 
until they walked out of the surrounding trees into the clearing.

It was Boromir whose voice eventually broke through the night air, 
shattering the stillness like a swinging sword in a room filled with 
precious glass.

"Perhaps one or two could break from the group and start a search," 
the warrior suggested. "They need not wander far. Just a sign or token 
of Aragorn and Legolas would be enough to set our hearts at ease."

Gandalf looked at the remainder of the Company and raised one 
bristling eyebrow. Gathered in the clearing was one proud warrior of 
Gondor who fought more on the open plain than in the woods, one cold 
wizard who had advised against breaking up in the first place, one 
dwarf from the sparse slopes of the Lonely Mountain, one pony who was 
quite content to graze in peace and quiet, and four well-intentioned 
but bumbling hobbits. Humoring Boromir by mentally arranging a variety 
of pairings from the remainder of their Fellowship, Gandalf reached 
the conclusion that splitting the group further would be disastrous. 
Besides, the two best qualified to lead a search party into the 
surrounding forests were the two who were missing.

Boromir, watching Gandalf evaluate the members of the Company not 
missing, quickly reached the same conclusion and revised his earlier 
recommendation. "Or perhaps we could all go back and look for them."

"There may be nothing wrong. And they both travel faster than we are 
currently traveling," Gandalf mused. "Were we to continue on, they 
could easily catch us. Were we to turn back, we might run into them 
and so allay our fears, but the journey would be lengthened."

"You need not continue your debate," a voice suddenly called from the 
concealment of the trees. Boromir’s hand strayed to his sword hilt, 
the hobbits grouped together, and Gimli laid his hands on the haft of 
his axe. But Gandalf instantly recognized the voice and relaxed.

"It is long since we left you," the wizard said as Aragorn emerged 
from the dense forest. Legolas followed behind him. "Did you tarry for 
some reason?"

The Ranger frowned and looked back at the elf. Legolas shook his head 
slightly in answer to an unspoken question. Aragorn eventually turned 
his gaze back toward Gandalf. "I think this is best discussed as we 
walk. If you are all rested, we should resume the journey."

Only a flicker in the wizard’s dark eyes betrayed his surprise and 
concern. Keeping his face a mask of deceptive calm, he nodded and 
turned to the rest of the Fellowship. "We shall rest a few more 
minutes, and then we must continue. There are still many leagues to 
cover, and every minute of delay is a minute in which our Enemy grows 
ever stronger."

"I wish Gandalf would say something with a bit of cheer now and then," 
Sam muttered to Merry. "Something like ‘oh well done’ or ‘we’re 
winning today.’ All this doom and gloom is making me shiver."

"Well, look at it this way," Merry suggested. "If he keeps making 
things look bad, then the good things that happen will seem even 
better."

"Providing there will be good things," Frodo murmured ominously.

 

**In the reckoning of the Shire, each month had 30 days and the first 
and last day of the year were days outside the normal calendar, called 
Yuledays. This meant that December 30 was the next to last day of the 
old year and January 1 was the second day of the new year. See ROTK 
Appendix D.

=====

Part 3

Yuleday,** 3019

Gandalf propped his back against a convenient rock, sighed, and shook 
his head. "I had hoped to elude them for a longer period of time."

"There was only one set of tracks," Aragorn said quietly, almost 
speaking to himself. "It might be a simple scout sent by the pack to 
search for warmer climes."

"You know the likelihood of that as well as I do," Gandalf responded 
with a meaningful glance at Frodo. "Wargs. Of all the creatures to 
first test this Fellowship. You’re certain it was a Warg and not a 
mere wolf hunting for food?"

It was relatively early in the morning, but the rest of the Fellowship 
had already fallen asleep. After Legolas and Aragorn had rejoined the 
company around midnight the previous night, the Ranger had talked 
quickly and quietly with Gandalf as they journeyed. Shortly after 
that, the wizard had stopped the discussion and declared that he and 
Aragorn would be taking the first and second watches together in the 
morning. No more would be said on the subject, though many questions 
were put to Gandalf, Aragorn, and Legolas. Eventually, the rest of the 
Company gave up—though Boromir continued to mutter angrily beneath his 
breath—and hoped that the recent mystery would be explained in time. 
And now Gandalf and Aragorn sat together and took counsel on the wolf 
tracks that Aragorn had found shortly after he and Legolas left the 
camp.

"It was a Warg," Aragorn said solemnly in answer to the wizard’s 
question. "It was too large for an average wolf and the length in 
stride bespoke a hard body used to carrying burdens. Legolas also 
recognized it for a Warg track, and the elves of Mirkwood have had 
many with the Enemy’s wolves on the borders of their land."

"And you scouted the terrain before the rest of us woke?" the wizard 
asked. When Aragorn nodded, Gandalf sighed wearily. "He must have come 
on us shortly afterwards. Yet we saw no sign of him when we left you 
and Legolas."

Aragorn grimaced and took out his pipe, feeling the need for a smoke. 
"There may be no cause for concern," he pointed out. "As I said 
before, there was only one set of tracks. Elrond’s scouts reported 
that the main packs were still east of the mountains. This could be an 
exiled Warg. No howl has been raised at our presence and we may be but 
a passing interest to this creature."

Gandalf steepled his hands and studied the Ranger. "A passing 
interest? How many times did you say this Warg had circled our camp?"

"But he has yet to signal his comrades," Aragorn pressed.

"Yet," Gandalf noted. "And there is no further sign of him. Perhaps he 
has gone to signal them now."

"According to the trail Legolas and I followed last night, the Warg 
eventually turned west toward Rivendell. He was not traveling toward a 
pack. A Warg pack that close to Rivendell would not have escaped our 
notice."

"There are other reasons for him to turn west. Perhaps he was looking 
to see if our party had others further back. Perhaps he has gone to 
rally more scouts. Perhaps he was hungry and found game, putting aside 
our pursuit for a while until he satisfied his hunger. In any case, it 
is very likely that this Warg will soon put others on our trail."

Aragorn rubbed a tired hand across his weathered face. "Unfortunately, 
that was what Legolas and I concluded as well. It seems we have not 
shaken pursuit after all."

"As long as we travel with the Ring-bearer, pursuit will never be far 
behind," Gandalf sighed. "It remains for us to stay one march ahead of 
those who hunt us. And for us to do that, we must travel faster."

"Perhaps I should scout for this Warg while the others sleep. I may 
learn more of his movements and intentions," Aragorn mused. "If I find 
him, I could put an end to his fell life before he can contact his 
pack."

"You might find more of his tracks, but I doubt you will find him," 
Gandalf said. "If he does not wish to be seen, then you will not see 
him." The wizard looked at the dark trees that sheltered their Company 
and shook his head. "No, in this I think we must wait. Scouting Warg 
or chance wolf, we must endure him for a little longer. My heart tells 
me his intentions will be revealed soon."

"Should we speak of this with the others?" Aragorn asked, glancing 
specifically at Boromir.

Gandalf pursed his lips with indecision. "They suspect something. 
Legolas will not speak of it if they ask him, but their fears may be 
doubled by their ignorance. I think…I think it best if we caution them 
tonight before we set out. Perhaps we should warn Boromir and Gimli 
directly, but the hobbits, at least, should be told no more than 
necessary. They have fear enough as is." Gandalf was silent for a 
moment, still thinking the matter over, and then he seemed to give 
himself a shake and return to the present. "Well. We have talked long 
and hard, but have gained little new counsel. Let us close this 
discussion for now. I will take the last of the first watch and the 
whole of the second watch. You, Aragorn, should rest."

Aragorn chuckled slightly. "I may be in need of rest, but so are you, 
my friend."

The wizard brushed off the Ranger’s concern with a wave of his hand. " 
Have no concern for me. I have much on my mind, and it is doubtful 
that I could sleep anyway."

"But my mind is also filled with thought. If you wish, I will take 
half the second watch."

Gandalf shook his head firmly. "I am not in need of sleep this day. 
Rest. We will talk again tonight."

The Ranger was tempted to continue the debate, but he recognized the 
tone of finality in Gandalf’s voice and knew further protests on his 
part would be in vain. "Far be it from me to argue with a wizard," 
Aragorn said, signaling his surrender. Gandalf snorted at this and the 
Ranger smiled. "Until tonight, then."

Aragorn rose, found a suitable place to rest on the perimeter of their 
camp, and settled himself on the ground. He pillowed his head on one 
arm and positioned the other arm near Anduril’s hilt in case he should 
he have need of his sword during the day. With a last glance at the 
profile of the thoughtful wizard, Isildur’s heir closed his eyes and 
fell swiftly into sleep.

* * * *

Frodo rubbed his hands together and cupped them over his mouth, hoping 
to heat them with his breath. The sun was high in the sky, but its 
rays of warmth did not reach the small group of weary travelers 
huddled beneath a copse of trees. Frodo sighed and pulled his cloak 
tightly around himself, wishing for the bliss of sleep where he could 
be ignorant of the cold, the danger, and his burden. He could feel the 
cold touch of gold upon his chest, and its presence stirred a wealth 
of strange feelings and thoughts. Already, Frodo hated his journey. He 
was growing more aware of the Ring and that frightened him. With each 
passing day, the Ring became more prominent in casual thought. As of 
yet it was not an overwhelming concern, but it was a constant reminder 
of the unique danger and power that was his and his alone.

And the Ring set him apart. He was different from the rest of the 
Company in a way that did not extend to his fellow hobbits. Most of 
the others were uneasy around him. Casual conversation was hampered by 
a mixture of curiosity and fear. He would be forever known as the 
Ring-bearer whether this quest ran ill or not, and that was also 
something he was coming to hate.

So lost was he in thought that he did not realize his watch had come 
to an end until a soft touch on the shoulder roused him. Frodo jumped 
and spun, his hand straying to Sting.

"Whoa, Frodo," Pippin yelped, scrambling back a few feet. "Easy. I’m 
just here to relieve you."

Frodo blinked and then relaxed. "Sorry," he murmured. "You took me by 
surprise. And I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have 
been."

"Don’t worry about it," Pippin said, relaxing in turn. "I probably 
should have said something."

"No, I should have been aware of the time," Frodo said with a shake of 
his head. "I hadn’t realized my watch was over. If you hadn’t 
awakened…" The hobbit trailed off and looked at Pippin. "What’s going 
on? You never wake up for your watches."

"I had problems sleeping," Pippin sighed. "So I decided I might as 
well save you the trouble of coming over to rouse me." He glanced 
behind him, spied a convenient log, and sat down. "You can relate to 
that, Frodo, can’t you?"

"Relate to what?"

"Problems sleeping."

Frodo shuffled his feet a bit and looked away. "Perhaps."

The Took snorted. "Perhaps? Definitely, I’d say. Every time I take the 
watch, half of my time is spent watching you toss and turn. Cousin 
Frodo, what is wrong? What bothers you so much that you can’t even 
escape it in your dreams? It’s the you-know-what, isn’t it?"

"The you-know-what?" Frodo questioned, hoping to elude the 
conversation. At Pippin’s pained expression, he gave up, knowing 
exactly what the other hobbit was talking about. "What if it is?"

"Look, I’m just trying to help," Pippin said. "I’m your friend, Frodo, 
and as a friend, I’m telling you that you can’t keep this locked up 
inside. You’ve got to talk about it. The more you hide it, the worse 
it will grow until it is truly your burden alone. You were given this 
Fellowship so that wouldn’t happen. We’re here not only to protect you 
but also to help you bear you-know-what. So let me help. Talk to me."

"I don’t know if…I don’t think here and now is such a good place to 
discuss this," Frodo hedged.

"If not now, then when? And if not here, then where? The road won’t 
get easier, and it won’t get prettier. And if you don’t feel like 
talking to me, then talk to Sam or Merry or Gandalf or Strider. But 
talk to someone!"

Frodo was silent for a long time, looking toward the east and 
thinking. Pippin was right. He did need to talk, if only to find some 
way of putting his thoughts and feelings into words. And yet who could 
possibly understand the burden he carried? Who could possibly know 
what he was going through on a daily basis? "I’m not sure where to 
start," he finally said, knowing it was a weak answer but unable to 
offer anything else.

"Well, let’s start by answering a few questions," Pippin said. "Is the 
you-know-what causing your sleeping problems."

"I’m almost sure of it."

"Good. We’ve made progress. Next question. Do you have any theories as 
to why the you-know-what won’t let you sleep?"

"Maybe. Not really. It’s just…I can’t seem to get away from It," Frodo 
stammered, trying desperately to express what he felt. "Even when I 
sleep, I feel that It’s looking at me. Watching me. Waiting for me to 
slip. And when I do, slip that is, there will be no one left to pick 
up the pieces. I…I’m afraid that when I sleep, something will happen."

"That’s why we post watches," Pippin explained. "It’s so nothing will 
happen, or if something does happen, we’ll be warned."

"But that doesn’t help!" Frodo exclaimed, forgetting the rest of the 
sleeping Fellowship as he began to pace and wave his arms. "None of 
that helps. I know that’s why we post watches. I know that’s why 
Strider goes scouting every night before we march. But it doesn’t 
matter, because the forces we’re dealing with are beyond our control. 
Even if we see them coming, what good does it do? How does it help us 
to get some forewarning before we’re killed?"

"You speak as though we have no chance. Is that what you really 
believe?" Pippin asked curiously.

"Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know anymore," Frodo sighed, slumping onto 
the log beside the other hobbit. "All I really know is that I hate 
this burden and wish to be back in Rivendell before a comfortable fire 
listening to Bilbo recite poems from his book."

"And knowing that things will get worse before they get better doesn’t 
help, does it?"

"I thought you were trying to cheer me up."

Pippin shrugged. "I can’t give what I don’t have."

Frodo smiled slightly. "Thank you for trying anyway."

"You’re most welcome. Do you feel any better now?"

Frodo thought about that and found, much to his astonishment, that he 
did feel better. The Ring was still cold against his chest, the sun 
was still a pale gleam in the sky, and he was still somewhere in the 
wilderness in lands he did not know. But despite all this, it seemed a 
burden had been lifted from his shoulders. "I do feel better, Pippin," 
he finally said.

"Good. Now remember this little talk we’ve had and remember that I’m 
here. I can’t take your burden away from you, but I can help you by 
providing a listening ear whenever you need it. And so can the others. 
Just don’t keep things quiet so long that you can’t even sleep. And 
speaking of sleep, you’d better get some. I think Gandalf wants to 
pick up the pace. Strider said something to him last night, and after 
that he looked like he was ready to carry us if we didn’t move 
faster."

"I suppose you’re right for once, Pippin," Frodo said with a slight 
grin.

"For once?"

"Hmm. Yes, it does seem unlikely, doesn’t it?" Seeing the look on the 
Took’s face, Frodo laughed and felt more of his cares and worries slip 
away. "Thank you again, Pippin. Hopefully I will sleep easier 
tonight."

"My pleasure, Frodo," Pippin answered. "And I’ll have you know that 
I’m always right."

Frodo chuckled, laid out his blanket, and tried to make himself 
comfortable. Before long, sleep overtook him and he drifted into a 
world of misty dreams.

* * * *

Gimli awoke with a jerk, fearful that something horrible had been done 
to him while he slept. He felt frantically at his beard, reassured 
himself that it was indeed still there, then reached for his axe. Yes, 
that was there, too. Clothes? No, nothing had been done to the 
clothes. Narrowing his eyes, the dwarf sat up slowly, expecting to be 
assailed at any moment but a nameless something. Reaching for his 
water skin, he sniffed cautiously and then tasted it. Yes, that was 
fine, too. Gimli scowled and looked around. Legolas would have done 
something during the day to retaliate for the pipe-weed in the water 
last night. But what?

The dwarf glanced about the stirring camp, wondering what the elf 
could have possibly done. Yet there was no sign of any tampering. 
Legolas himself was sitting next to Sam, humming softly as he aided 
him in breakfast preparation. Aragorn looked as though he had just 
returned from his daily scouting routine and was speaking quietly with 
Gandalf, who was eyeing the surrounding woods with a great deal of 
mistrust. Frodo and Pippin were packing up their belongings. Merry was 
sorting through one of the bags of food under Sam’s direction. All was 
at peace with the exception of Boromir, who was stalking the camp’s 
perimeter like a predator on the prowl.

Gimli wondered if the man still felt slighted by Aragorn’s refusal to 
explain his secretive conversation with Gandalf. Despite the Ranger’s 
lineage, Gimli had noted that Boromir was drawn to the other man as a 
drowning sailor might be drawn toward a light on the shore. In this 
strange Company of varied Races, Boromir was desperately trying to 
anchor himself in a familiar environment. But with Aragorn continually 
placing his trust in Gandalf, Boromir was feeling…betrayed. Gimli 
wondered if he should mention this to Aragorn or Gandalf and then 
noticed that the two in question were motioning him toward them.

Curious, the dwarf rose and joined them. Boromir was also beckoned 
over, and Gimli felt some of his fears for the man die when Aragorn 
began talking to them about what had happened the previous evening, 
but they were quickly replaced by new fears.

"When Legolas and I left the camp last night, we came upon a set of 
tracks that had not been there before," Aragorn reported, his voice 
low and secretive. Gandalf kept a close watch on the hobbits and 
Legolas skillfully kept them busy with breakfast and other menial 
tasks. "We believe them to be Warg marks," the Ranger continued. "In 
my scouting this evening, I did not come upon any new tracks, but we 
should be wary. It may have been a scouting Warg and he may even now 
be reporting to his pack."

"If this is the case, we must hasten our journey," Boromir said 
quietly, glancing at the hobbits. Gimli searched the man’s voice for 
any telling emotion, but the warrior from Gondor carefully kept his 
voice neutral. Gimli could not tell if the man was upset at being 
denied this information or grateful that it had been shared. Perhaps a 
little of both.

"Indeed, but how that is to be accomplished remains to be seen," 
Aragorn answered, also looking at the hobbits. "They are not used to 
such travels and hardships. We must be patient."

"Patience could lead to our deaths and the ruin of all Middle Earth," 
Boromir countered. "There is a time and a place for it, but now is the 
time for speed. They must be made to travel faster."

"What would that accomplish?" Gimli asked suddenly. "If Wargs are 
indeed on our trail, they will catch us whether we hurry forward or 
wait for them here. We cannot outrun them on foot no matter how hard 
we press this Company."

"But there are places of greater safety that we may reach," Boromir 
pointed out.

"But would we reach them before the Wargs reach us?" Aragorn asked. 
"On this side of the mountains, there is little in the way of shelter, 
and I doubt we shall make the passes before we hear the howls of the 
pack. As I said before, we must be patient. We must travel faster, but 
we must do so by degrees. It is no use to waste energy now when it 
might be needed in battles to come."

Gandalf shifted suddenly and Aragorn fell silent. Beyond the wizard, 
dwarf, and men, Sam was putting the final touches on their cold 
breakfast and Merry, Pippin, and Frodo were watching the others 
curiously. Legolas shrugged as if to say he could think of nothing 
else to keep them further occupied.

"Breakfast is ready," Sam announced. He looked around and for the 
first time noticed the tension in the air. "That is, whenever the rest 
of you are ready for breakfast. It can wait."

"We are ready now, Sam," Aragorn said, moving forward and helping 
himself to dried fruit and salted meat. "And you have our thanks for 
the meal."

Gimli took his own breakfast with some trepidation, fearing that 
Legolas had devised a malicious trick and that it awaited him in his 
meat or his fruit. But breakfast passed without incident—much to the 
surprise of everyone—and before long, the Fellowship was on the trail, 
journeying through the dark night toward the mountains.

* * * *

Around midnight, Gandalf called for a halt and watched as the hobbits 
broke out what they termed "walking food." This consisted of anything 
that could be eaten with little preparation and was readily 
accessible. The wizard had once catalogued how much a hobbit could eat 
in a day, and even now, it never ceased to amaze him. The elves might 
be renowned for the glory of their feasts, but the hobbits should 
carry equal renown for their ability to eat everything at an elven 
dinner and more. Gandalf wondered what would happen when the "walking 
food" ran low and the hobbits were forced to go without for a while.

Turning his attention away from the hobbits, Gandalf next rested his 
gaze on Boromir and Aragorn, who stood talking together. That was a 
good sign. If Aragorn did become the king, he would need the support 
of his steward and that would eventually be Boromir. A close 
friendship might not be necessary, but a working relationship was 
vital. Fortunately, it seemed they were beginning to develop one, 
though awkwardness continued to hamper their efforts.

Next up for evaluation was Legolas. The elf and dwarf had been 
strangely quiet all night, and Gandalf wondered what new plot was 
afoot. Having had the final say yesterday, Gimli was wisely refraining 
from further acts. But Legolas…it was not like the prince to ignore 
the gauntlet that Gimli had thrown. Something was underway, and 
Gandalf desperately hoped that whatever it was would prove harmless 
enough. They could ill-afford to bring the Wargs down upon them 
through some mishap between a quarrelling dwarf and elf.

This brought Gandalf to the other half of the pair. Gimli was studying 
the elf closely whenever it seemed that Legolas was not paying 
attention. The dwarf also feared retribution, and Gandalf couldn’t 
help but smile at the elf’s cleverness. The wizard had no doubt that 
vengeance would be forthcoming, but making the dwarf wait for it was 
cruel and genius.

Gandalf also noted, with some amusement, that Gimli seemed tired. The 
dwarf had been casually boasting of his endurance the other day, but 
it appeared now that his endurance had been put to the test and found 
lacking. Small trails of sweat wound their way down from his temples, 
and his breath was heavy and forced.

"Aragorn?"

Legolas’s low tenor broke though the silence like the breeze whistling 
through the treetops, barely noticeable and yet instantly commanding 
the attention of those who noted it. Gandalf moved toward the elf even 
as the Ranger did, and a shiver of foreboding swept through the old 
wizard’s frame.

"Do you see something?" Aragorn asked quietly.

"Nay, but I hear movement," Legolas whispered, watching the 
surrounding forests with all the venerable knowledge and experience of 
an elf raised in the woods. "Something stalks us, but this something 
is skilled beyond the measure of an ordinary creature."

"Could you flush it toward us as you did with the spiders that day in 
Mirkwood when we were hunting?" Aragorn wondered.

The elf swung his pack down, readied his bow, and smiled grimly. "Your 
wish is my command, my liege."

Aragorn smiled back, clapped the elf on the back, and slid Anduril out 
of its scabbard as the Legolas slipped into the forest.

"What do you suppose is happening?" Pippin asked, watching the 
activities with interest.

Merry shook his head darkly. "Whatever it is, Strider and Gandalf 
don’t look happy about it. And Strider has his sword out."

"I thought his sword was broken," Pippin wondered aloud.

"It was mended in Rivendell," Boromir explained quietly, coming up 
behind the hobbits and also watching the proceedings closely.

"What is happening?" Gimli asked, joining the group. Sam and Frodo 
were also looking on silently.

"It might be just me, but it’s almost as if they’re hunting 
something," Merry said slowly. "I used to go after foxes in the woods 
west of Buckland with my cousins, and it looks like they’re trying 
something similar."

"You may be right, Halfling," Boromir said. The man stood with them a 
moment more and then moved toward Aragorn and Gandalf. Gimli 
considered joining them as well, but his back was screaming at him and 
his legs felt they could not move a single unnecessary step.

"We know so little of this land," Frodo murmured. "What could they be 
hunting?"

"Food?" Sam suggested hopefully, having noted that their supply of 
provisions could be increased.

"No, not food. There will be time enough to look for food later," 
Gimli murmured, giving in to his weariness and plopping to the ground. 
This exhaustion was strange, and the dwarf was becoming concerned.

"What, then, do you think it is?" Pippin asked, but the dwarf made no 
answer. He continued to watch Aragorn.

For his part, Aragorn’s senses were straining for any hint of the 
unseen. Only dimly aware of Boromir’s questioning glare behind him and 
Gandalf’s silent support, he stared into the woods and listened for 
any sign of the stalker or of Legolas. Shortly after the elf’s 
departure, he had heard the sounds of stealthy movement that had 
caught the attention of the elven prince. But not long after that, all 
sounds had ceased.

"Wait for me," Aragorn eventually whispered, starting forward.

"Aragorn…" The wizard’s voice was an unspoken warning.

"Legolas may need help," the Ranger answered. "I will not be long." He 
started forward again and then stopped. A cry echoed out of the woods, 
there came the sounds of a scuffle, and then everything fell quiet 
again. After a minute of tense silence during which none dared to 
move, Legolas emerged from the undergrowth, shaking his head and 
cursing quietly beneath his breath.

"I saw him," the elf told Aragorn. "And it is as we suspected, but he 
has gone now, and I doubt he will return this night." Legolas sighed 
and looked away. "I should have been faster."

"He is alone and thus more wary than usual," Aragorn answered. "I 
doubt any of us could have driven him. He would be doubly on guard."

"We can do no more about him this night," Gandalf said. "Come. It is 
time we were underway again."

The wizard turned and walked toward the hobbits and Gimli, Legolas 
picked up his pack and shouldered his bow, Aragorn sheathed Anduril, 
and Boromir glowered angrily off to the side, wondering why Aragorn 
put more trust in wizards and elves than in his own kind.

* * * *

"A simmering stew with potatoes, fresh carrots, onions, pork, and the 
Gaffer’s special secret ingredient."

"A stew? Come on, Sam, you can do better than that," Pippin scoffed. 
"What about a big turkey stuffed with bread and greens and a big bowl 
of apples?"

"Apples?" Sam shook his head. "The turkey’s fine and you’re all right 
with the stuffing, but where did you get the apples? You don’t serve 
apples with turkey."

"I had apples with turkey once," Merry commented.

"No, I agree with Sam," Frodo announced. "Apples don’t go with turkey. 
What was it Nob and Hob said? Apples for walking?"

"That’s right, Mr. Frodo," Sam nodded enthusiastically. "Apples for 
walking. It’s yams you’ll want with that turkey, not apples, Mr. 
Pippin."

"You know what you’ve all forgotten?" Merry piped up. "Mushrooms. 
Mushrooms go with any meal."

Behind the hobbits, who were now talking about food rather than eating 
it, Gimli staggered in a weary daze. His pack pulled at him, his 
shoulders ached, his legs dragged, his back moaned, and all his energy 
seemed spent. Every moment was a painful drudging experience, and the 
night dragged on as though it would last forever. Gimli was vaguely 
aware that Gandalf, Aragorn, and Boromir were regarding him with open 
concern, but he was too tired to view this as an affront to his pride. 
He wished only for this endless journey to cease and leave him to 
collapse on the path.

Gandalf called a halt to the marches earlier than usual. The others 
noticed this and also noticed Gimli’s exhausted state, but the dwarf 
himself remained oblivious. When his foggy mind finally comprehended 
that they were setting up camp for the day, he dropped like a stone 
and refused to move. Having already set up his own bed, Merry wandered 
over with the intention of moving Gimli’s pack over with the rest of 
the packs. But when he tried to lift it…

"What do you have in this?!"

The dwarf managed to open heavy eyelids and send the hobbit a glare. 
"I know how to pack for a long journey. The night’s travels must have 
tired you."

"Let me see," Pippin offered, trying to sling the pack onto his 
shoulder. His efforts were pitifully unsuccessful and he quickly gave 
up. "All right, now I want to know you have in here."

"Cloak…some food…" Gimli mumbled, closing his eyes and wishing the 
hobbits would go away and leave him alone. A rustling caught his 
attention and he opened his eyes again. "What are you doing?"

"Well no wonder your pack is so heavy," Pippin exclaimed, peering into 
the dwarf’s bag.

"Is this normal for dwarves?" Merry wondered. "I know they like to 
mine and they probably know a lot about different kinds of rocks, but 
on a trip like this, do you really want to carry them with you?"

Gimli stared dumbly at the hobbits until something deep within his 
mind clicked. "Rocks?"

"Rocks?" Boromir echoed from across the camp. "You’re carrying rocks?"

"Big rocks, too," Pippin observed.

Aragorn and Gandalf turned grim expressions on Legolas. The elf, who 
was in the process of arranging his own bed, managed to project an 
impressive air of innocence that fooled no one.

"Rocks," Gimli muttered, directing his own dark glare at the elven 
prince.

"Merry, you have first watch," Gandalf announced, trying to divert 
attention away from the elf and dwarf. "The rest of you, get some 
sleep. We’ll have to make up for lost time tomorrow."

"We may also have to make up for a lost elf," Gimli growled beneath 
his breath as weariness ultimately overcame him and he drifted into 
dreams.

 

**In the reckoning of the Shire, each month had 30 days and the first 
and last day of the year were days outside the normal calendar, called 
Yuledays. This meant that December 30 was the next to last day of the 
old year and January 1 was the second day of the new year. See ROTK 
Appendix D.


----------------------------------------------------------------------
----------


Part 4

January 1, 3019 
With a miserable shiver, Merry Brandybuck tried to readjust his layers 
of cloaks and blankets, but no matter what he did, it seemed that the 
bitter wind found new ways of boring through his coverings. His watch 
was nearing its end and Legolas would be taking over soon, but at this 
point, Merry wondered if he would be able to fall asleep. Considering 
the way he felt now, he would probably be awake for Legolas’s watch, 
Boromir’s watch, Sam’s watch, and Gandalf’s watch. 

Trying to shake off some of the cold, Merry abruptly stood and started 
to pace, hoping that movement would thaw his frozen blood. With 
effort, he managed to make his numb, protesting legs obey his commands 
and carry him about the camp, weaving an irregular circle around his 
comrades. The increased exercise worked for a bit, but eventually, the 
cold slowed his walking and he felt winter’s icy fingers once again. 

So distracted was he by his plight that he didn’t notice movement 
behind until something dropped onto his shoulders. Startled into 
jumping, the hobbit whirled, laid his hand to his sword, and then 
stopped. "Legolas?" 

"If you did not want the extra cloak, you could have said as much," 
the elf told him with a slight smile. "But I thought you would be glad 
of the gift." 

"Oh, I am!" Merry exclaimed, glancing at his shoulders and discovering 
that the elf’s cloak now encircled them. The thin material seemed a 
surer block against the wind than all of the hobbit's other coverings, 
and he felt his body heat warming the interior of the light covering. 
"It’s very warm," he said with some astonishment. 

"Of course it is warm." Legolas sounded indignant. 

"No, I mean…thank you. Thank you very much. I…won’t you be cold?" 

"This weather does not bother me," Legolas answered casually. "It must 
be very cold to affect an elf." 

"Well, it is cold enough to affect a hobbit," Merry said bitterly. 
"Much too cold for me, anyway. Will it get warmer soon, do you think?" 

The prince glanced up at the sky where the dark storm clouds that had 
once threatened from afar now loomed above the sleeping travelers. 
"There will be heavy rain tonight," Legolas finally said. "I fear it 
will slow our travels. Beyond that, I cannot tell. The weather is 
uncertain around the mountains, and the great peaks have much control. 
Their favor will be a telling point, and some of them have no love for 
elves or dwarves. Dark is their history and evil their roots. Whatever 
the weather be now, it will grow worse ere we make the mountain 
passes." 

"I think I was looking for something more optimistic," Merry 
confessed. "What about beyond the mountains? Surely the weather will 
be fair further south." 

"Perhaps, but the land will grow in peril and fair weather will avail 
us not. For as we move south, every step we take draws us closer to 
Mordor. In southern lands, we may wish for this cloud cover to hide us 
from unfriendly eyes." 

"Sam was right," Merry muttered under his breath. "There needs to be 
more optimism on this journey." 

With his sharp ears, Legolas picked up this grumbled comment and 
laughed. "Alas, I fear you hobbits have fallen in with grim and dour 
beings. Gandalf knows too much and has fought too long, Aragorn is too 
touched by the Elder race and too experienced in battling the enemy, 
Boromir has seen too much and has loved too little, I have lived too 
long and have defended my home too often, and Gimli…Gimli is a dwarf," 
the elf finished as though that explained everything. 

"Oh." Merry wasn’t quite sure what to say in response to this, but he 
did know one thing. He couldn’t continue to stand in the cold. "So 
have you come to relieve me from my watch? It is still early for you 
to be awake." 

"I…felt something," Legolas said hesitantly. "And I could not sleep. 
It was…" He trailed off, unsure as to whether or not he should 
continue. Ultimately deciding against it, the elf shook his head and 
turned back to Merry. "It does not matter. Do you wish to rest now? I 
will finish your watch and then take my own." 

"That does sound good," Merry said. "Do you want your cloak back?" 

"Tonight," Legolas said. "Until then, may it keep you warm." 

"Thank you," Merry beamed. The gesture touched him and the elven cloak 
was surprisingly comfortable. "Well, I guess I will see you tonight. 
And if you need anything…Strider?" 

Merry stared across the camp as the lanky Ranger rose and stretched. 
Sensing eyes upon him, Aragorn turned and frowned when he noted both 
Legolas and Merry up. "It is not yet time for your watch, my friend," 
Aragorn said to the elf. 

"And you do not have a watch today at all," Legolas answered quietly. 
Something caught his attention and he turned his eyes away from 
Aragorn. "It would seem that Mithrandir’s sleep is troubled as well." 
The elf nodded his head toward the wizard, and Aragorn and Merry 
watched while Gandalf twitched awake. Opening his flashing eyes, the 
wizard’s brow furrowed when he caught sight of Legolas, Aragorn, and 
Merry. 

"There is a reason we stop for sleep," Gandalf said, rising and 
joining the group. "Why do you not use this time for resting. Even 
you, Legolas, should not yet be awake." 

"I have offered to relieve Merry early," the elf explained. "He was 
just now retiring for the day." 

Merry blinked, realizing the elf was hinting that now was a good time 
to leave. "Yes, that’s right," he quickly said, taking his cue. He 
didn’t know what had disturbed Strider or Gandalf, and he realized 
that he really didn’t want to know. For now he was quite content to be 
a simple passenger on the trip, trusting in their wisdom for his 
survival. "I’ll be going now. To sleep, that is. And thank you again, 
Legolas." 

The elf nodded and watched with Aragorn and Gandalf as the hobbit 
found a resting place near the other hobbits, rolled himself up in 
Legolas’s cloak, and relaxed as he slipped into a world of dreams. 
After waiting a few more minutes, Gandalf turned back to the other 
two. 

"Now, perhaps you can tell me what is happening," the wizard said, his 
eyes warning that evasive answers would not be welcome. 

"Dae prestintin a erion," Legolas said in Sindarin, wary of speaking 
in the common tongue for fear that Merry might still be awake. "Law 
iston, dan gostan…" The elf trailed off uncertainly and glanced at the 
Ranger by his side. 

"Ha i draug," Aragorn said heavily, also using the elven language. 
"Anglenna ad." 

Gandalf sighed and nodded. He glanced around the camp and then 
inclined his head toward the path the Fellowship had followed the 
previous night. "Tol." 

Picking up sword and bow as a precaution, Aragorn and Legolas silently 
followed the wizard until they were a safe distance away from the 
others. Glancing back, Aragorn noticed that Boromir was stirring 
slightly and felt a pang of guilt that the man was not included in 
their conference. He was a warrior and well aware of the dangers that 
plagued them. Yet if this could be taken care of quickly and quietly, 
it was best that few knew of it. And while Boromir and Gimli now knew 
of the Warg, they still did not know how closely he trailed them. And 
he was quite close. Dangerously close. 

"He must be eliminated," Gandalf said without further preamble, 
obviously sharing Aragorn’s thoughts on the matter. "Or if he is not 
eliminated, we must prevent him from contacting a pack. His motives 
may have nothing to do with us, but we cannot afford to take that 
chance." 

"He is alone and wary, though," Aragorn pointed out quietly. "He will 
not be easy to take. Legolas tried late last night, and he slipped 
away from him. How shall the rest of us hunt a wolf that can hear even 
the approach of an elf?" 

"Perhaps I was too eager and not careful enough," Legolas offered. 
"Another attempt could be made, or we could bait a trap for him." 

"A Warg would not fall for a simple trap, nor can we take the time to 
fashion one and lie in wait," Gandalf stated. "We must lure him into 
the open and then we must hunt him." 

"What do you suggest?" Aragorn asked. 

"A simple plan," the wizard answered. "It is dangerous but no more so 
than journeying further with a Warg on our trail. However, it will 
involve splitting the Fellowship. One group will travel ahead while 
another group travels behind. The wolf will either be split between 
the two groups or will try to cut one group off. Aragorn, you will 
lead Boromir, Pippin, Merry, and Gimli in the first group. Legolas, 
Frodo, Sam, the pony, and I will follow you but we will stay at least 
one hundred meters behind you. Hopefully, our hunting friend will 
reveal himself in this, and when he does, we must be ready." 

"How will we coordinate between the two groups?" Legolas wondered. 
"For when one party gives chase, the other must be informed if we are 
able to drive him." 

"And what of mishap? What if someone in the latter group was to meet 
with some accident along the way? How would you tell those of us in 
the first group without further endangering the Ring-bearer?" Aragorn 
added. 

"As I said before, the plan is dangerous. But I see no other way to 
draw this creature into the open. Currently, he may hunt us at his 
leisure for we stay together and have no feasible means of hiding our 
trail from him. He has the advantage, and unless we change our habits, 
he will continue to have the advantage." Gandalf sighed and shook his 
head. "If either of you have a better idea, now is the time to present 
it. In the absence of an alternative, though, I move that we create a 
system of signals whereby we can communicate between groups." 

"Whistles?" Aragorn questioned. 

"Perhaps. Smoke and flares, also, would work. But however it is done, 
it must be in such a way that we do not attract the attention of other 
spies. If we can avoid the Enemy up until reaching the mountains 
passes, our chances are greatly improved." 

"Whistles then," Aragorn said with a glance at Legolas. The elf nodded 
in agreement. 

"We have used such signals before with success," the prince said. 
"Shall we change our system?" 

"No," Aragorn said after a moment of thought. "It is doubtful that the 
enemy will have taken the time to understand hunting whistles used 
occasionally by some of the Mirkwood elves." 

"Then may I suggest you rest, Aragorn?" Legolas said. "The Warg may be 
near, but he is mad if he thinks to attack on my watch. At least for 
now, you can sleep without fear." 

"And that is a luxury we will not have for much longer," Gandalf 
predicted ominously. "Well then, Aragorn and I must seek such rest as 
we may find on this dark day. But keep your bow at the ready, Legolas. 
He may grow bold while we slumber, and if you are offered a shot, be 
ready to take it." 

"Trust in the bolts of the elves," Legolas promised with a tight 
smile, pulling an arrow from his quiver and sighting along its smooth, 
straight shaft. "Long have my people hunted the fell demons and beasts 
of the Misty Mountains. If this Warg dares to show himself, it will be 
his last appearance." 

* * * *

The afternoon was cold and cheerless, and despite his fur-lined cloak, 
Boromir found himself shivering in the chilly air. As silent as a 
stone sentinel, he stood on the edge of camp, watching the surrounding 
forest with the habitual wariness of a soldier. Before lying down to 
sleep, Legolas had warned him that the trailing Warg had crept close 
to camp this day, but the elf felt that the wolf had departed not long 
before Boromir rose. For his part, Boromir accepted this information 
with a nod and secret doubts. He was coming to trust the elf’s 
superior senses, but the voice of his inborn suspicion concerning 
other races was difficult to ignore. Whatever Aragorn’s feelings on 
the subject might be, Boromir was far more inclined to trust in the 
wisdom and judgement of man than in the intuition and insight of the 
elves. 

Speaking of Aragorn… 

The son of Gondor’s ruling steward glanced over at the Ranger. To his 
surprise, he found Aragorn looking back at him. Boromir blinked but 
gave no other sign that he was startled. Aragorn smiled slightly as 
though he knew his gaze was disturbing and rose. 

"It is a cold day," he said quietly. 

"It is," Boromir responded in kind. He was not about to ask what 
purpose Aragorn had in rising. If the Ranger wish to share that 
information, so be it. But Denethor’s son was not going to beg for it. 

"Your watch has passed quietly," Aragorn continued, joining the other 
man on the edge of the camp. 

"You speak as though you have been awake for much of it." Boromir told 
himself that this was not asking for information but merely 
demonstrating his ability for insight. True, it opened the door for 
Aragorn to explain why he was awake, but at least Boromir had not come 
right out and demanded the reasons for the Ranger’s actions. In any 
case, he did not think himself capable of demanding anything from this 
man, and to ask was to show weakness. But why cannot I demand things 
of him? Boromir suddenly wondered. Am I not heir to the rule of Gondor 
and the staff of the steward? Am I not second in the council of Minas 
Tirith, submissive only to my father? Who is Aragorn that I should 
fear him so? 

"In truth, I have been awake since the beginning of Legolas’s watch," 
Aragorn answered, heedless of Boromir’s thoughts. "He told you of the 
Warg, but he did not tell you that the Warg’s presence woke him from 
his sleep before his scheduled watch. It also woke Gandalf and myself. 
I have been reluctant to sleep since." 

Boromir frowned. "I was not aware of this creature." 

"You have not hunted Wargs before. They have a…a feel about them. They 
are as shadows creeping upon your mind, and in daylight it is easier 
to sense their approach. But only those who have fought them are truly 
aware of them." Aragorn folded his arms across his chest and studied 
the dark woods touched by frost. "I am surprised Gimli did not wake, 
though perhaps he has not had cause to fight the wolves as his fathers 
did." 

"It is a mystery to me that something in the north can be as much of a 
threat as the minions that issue forth from the Black Gate where Minas 
Tirith stands guard." 

"As I said before at the Council, Boromir, Minas Tirith does not guard 
all roads, and the Enemy has many allies. Think of the fortress of Dol 
Goldur. For years, Sauron ruled southern Mirkwood from its fastness 
and Gondor was powerless to stop it. Nor could Gondor anticipate the 
treachery of Saruman and it cannot now guard against his minions that 
may breed at Isengard. The world is wider than you think, Boromir. 
Gondor is great, but Mordor is greater still." 

Boromir was silent at this, considering Aragorn’s words. And it 
bothered him that he could not refute their logic. His pride in his 
country demanded that he rise to defend it, but how could he argue 
against such facts? Once more, he considered this man who stood next 
to him and possessed the alleged sword of Isildur. Not even in 
Rivendell had Boromir given much credence to the myth of Aragorn’s 
genealogy, but now… 

"Tonight we are trying to draw the wolf out," Aragorn said, abruptly 
changing the topic much to Boromir’s relief. "We will split the 
Fellowship into two groups. You and I will lead Gimli, Merry, and 
Pippin ahead while the rest lag behind. Hopefully we will force the 
wolf to reveal himself in his attempts to track all of us. Legolas and 
I have a system of whistles that we have used before in similar 
maneuvers. That should serve us well now." 

"Is it prudent to separate?" Boromir questioned before he could stop 
himself. "We would leave the latter group with no protection." 

Aragorn’s eyebrows shot up. "No protection? They will have Gandalf and 
Legolas. What better protection could you desire in these dark 
forests? Even an army of the Last Alliance would do no better than the 
combined forces of a wood elf and a wizard." 

"I hope your trust is not misplaced," Boromir said quietly. "But 
remember that they are not men. They are not our kind." And with that, 
Boromir strode away, vanishing into the trees before Aragorn could 
fashion a response. 

* * * *

Frodo woke to a small commotion that was steadily growing in volume 
and chaos. The scuffle of feet and the ring of an axe quickly drew his 
attention, and he sat up with a start, reaching instinctively for 
Sting. When he saw what was happening, he sighed and rubbed his eyes, 
wondering at the counsel of Elrond in putting an elf and a dwarf in 
the same company. Elrond himself was part elf. He should have known 
better. 

Legolas and Gimli glared at one another from opposite ends of the camp 
with Gandalf and Aragorn restraining the elf while Boromir, Merry, and 
Pippin held Gimli back. The dwarf’s axe had been wrested from him and 
lay near Frodo, but that did not prevent Gimli from continually 
lunging at the elf who, for his part, was trying equally hard to get 
at the dwarf. "What is happening?" Frodo whispered. 

"Quite a story to be sure, Mr. Frodo," a voice from behind answered. 

Frodo turned around and studied Sam’s thoughtful face. "Do you know 
how this started?" 

The other hobbit shuffled his feet and nodded. "More or less. I was 
making breakfast ready and Strider had just come back from scouting. 
Legolas was awake and he was doing something with his arrows when 
Gimli made some comment or other about Thraunduil and elven women. I 
don’t know exactly what it was that he said, but Legolas went all 
silent and then he rose and said something about Gloin screaming in 
Mirkwood’s dungeons. I guess he was referring to old Mr. Bilbo’s 
story, but I don’t rightly know. Well, then Gimli lunged and Legolas 
lunged right back. Strider tried to break them apart and then Gandalf 
and Boromir were there and before I knew it, Merry and Pippin were 
pulling Gimli back with Boromir and Legolas was over there with 
Strider and Gandalf." 

"Oh." Frodo wasn’t quite sure what else to say. 

"It’s such a shame it woke you," Sam continued. "You were sleeping 
peacefully at last, Mr. Frodo, but then this happened and there wasn’t 
anything I could do about it and…" 

"Forget it, Sam," Frodo sighed. "It’s time I was up anyway." 

By now, Aragorn’s constant talking to Legolas had calmed the elf to 
the point where he could be released, and Gimli was no longer jerking 
against Boromir’s firm grasp so he had also been let go. But neither 
one moved a step and continued to glare at each other across the camp. 

"Gandalf?" 

Aragorn’s deep voice cut a path through the tension, but no one 
relaxed. The wizard he had addressed continued to watch Legolas 
closely until the elf finally turned and met his gaze. Something 
passed between the two, but whatever it was did not agree with the 
elven prince. With a final glare at Gimli, he turned and stalked back 
to his bow and quiver, anger resonating from him as heat from a fire. 
Gandalf next turned to Gimli and held his eyes for the span of a few 
seconds. The dwarf shuddered, grumbled something in his own tongue, 
and turned away, retrieving his axe and moving to the edge of the 
forest. 

"Perhaps it is best if we take breakfast on the trail this evening," 
Aragorn suggested quietly. 

Gandalf nodded and turned his dark eyes toward Sam. "Can this be 
arranged, Master Samwise?" 

Quailing beneath the wizard’s gaze, Sam nodded hurriedly. A brief 
smile from Gandalf relaxed the poor gardener and Sam was able to 
formulate words to accompany his nod. "I can put a walking breakfast 
together and it won’t take more than a minute." 

"Thank you," Gandalf said, softening his eyes and attempting to 
further calm the hobbit. When Sam smiled back in return, the wizard 
nodded and then turned his eyes to the rest of the group. "While 
breakfast is being prepared for us, I will tell you what the plan is 
for tonight. We are departing from our normal procedure, for I fear we 
may be followed. If this is so, hopefully we can draw our pursuers 
into the open with this strategy. Aragorn and Boromir will take Gimli, 
Pippin, and Merry on ahead. The second group, comprising Frodo, Sam, 
Legolas, and myself, will depart shortly afterward. Because we will be 
in small groups, it is essential that everyone has their weapons at 
the ready." Gandalf glanced around the group to see if he still had 
everyone’s attention. Pippin appeared to be daydreaming and the wizard 
fixed a dark glare on him until the hobbit came back to the present 
and wilted beneath Gandalf’s baleful look. With a grunt of 
satisfaction, Gandalf nodded. "Let us be off, then. Aragorn, Boromir, 
you and your group are first. We will follow after." 

Aragorn shouldered his small pack, for Rangers traveled lightly and he 
had brought few provisions, and started off into the forest, glancing 
back to see that Boromir, Pippin, Merry, and Gimli were following. 
Boromir would not make eye contact with him, but he did follow, taking 
up rearguard as Merry and Pippin took position between the two men. 
Gimli walked alongside Aragorn and ere long, they had vanished into 
the trees. 

With a sigh of frustration, Gandalf shook his head and turned to the 
remainder of the Fellowship. The wizard had not missed the new tension 
between Aragorn and Boromir that materialized sometime during the 
night, but he hoped they could forget whatever quarrel lay between 
them. He was more hopeful of their getting along than he was of a 
certain elf and dwarf. This was further confirmed when he caught a 
glimpse of something in Legolas’s hand. The elf concealed it quickly 
when he sensed the wizard’s eyes on him, but Gandalf saw enough to 
recognize what it was the elf hid. Gimli would be missing his pipe 
tonight. 

"How long shall we wait?" Frodo asked. He had also seen the stolen 
pipe but was unsure if broaching the subject was a safe move. 

"We do not want them to draw too far ahead, but neither do we want to 
be just behind them," Gandalf answered. "We shall a quarter of an hour 
and then follow. That should give Aragorn enough time to find the 
proper trails and draw the attention of any pursuit that may be 
watching us." 

"What do think is watching us?" Sam asked with a shiver, glancing at 
the surrounding forest. 

"I have my suspicions, but night is not a good time to hear talk of 
fell things," Gandalf said evasively. 

"I do not think we are watched now," Legolas said slowly. He stood 
apart from the others and scanned the forest quietly, using both eyes 
and ears to map out the surroundings. "All seems quiet and peaceful 
for the moment. It has been so since I woke." 

Gandalf nodded to acknowledge the hidden message. The Warg had not 
been here in the morning. Where it went to was anyone’s guess, but it 
had not been around camp and it was not here now. 

They waited a bit longer, the silence broken only by the swishing of 
Bill’s tail and an ominous rumble of thunder overhead. Upon hearing 
the thunder, Sam had grumbled something under his breath and started 
digging through his heavy pack. Gandalf had been unable to catch all 
Sam’s words, but he had heard a mild curse about the rain. Raising his 
eyes to the cloud-covered sky, he silently acknowledged the truth of 
Sam’s prediction. It would rain tonight. 

After a few more minutes of waiting, during which anther rumble of 
thunder was heard, Gandalf stood. "Let us go," he said quietly. "The 
others have been given enough time. Stay close and stay alert. We may 
see things tonight." 

And with these foreboding words echoing in their minds, Frodo and Sam 
rose and followed Gandalf, leaving Legolas to walk in back, a guard in 
the dark against any that might walk behind them. A flash of light lit 
the sky as they left the camp, and crack of thunder shook the ground. 
Murmuring a curse of his own, Gandalf pulled his cloak tighter around 
himself and picked up the pace. 

* * * *

They had been traveling for the space of about four hours in silence, 
having seen nothing and felt nothing, when they heard a faint 
whistling like unto a bird. It was difficult to hear above the howling 
of the wind, which had risen in force as the clouds gathered, but it 
was discernable. Gandalf glanced back at Legolas who had stopped at 
the whistle and cocked his head. The wind whipped his hair about his 
face, but he ignored it as the whistle came again. "They have found 
something," the elf eventually said, looking at Gandalf. "They are 
stopping to investigate." 

"Was that Aragorn then?" Sam asked, huddling against Bill’s side as 
the wind wailed about them. 

"It was," Gandalf said shortly. He watched the forest closely and then 
turned back to Legolas. "How far away would you say they are?" 

"Perhaps half a mile," the elf estimated. "He says the shadow lies 
between us." 

"That would explain it," Gandalf said to himself. "Tell him we feel it 
also but not to pursue. Let us lull it into a false sense of security. 
Perhaps it will grow bolder." 

Legolas nodded and lifted his head to answer, but at that moment, a 
terrible crash of thunder bore down on them and at that signal, the 
clouds dropped their load of rain. Bill reared in fright and Sam 
seized the lead rein, struggling to bring the pony under control. 
Frodo raced to help him, but it wasn’t until Legolas stepped in and 
sang soft words to the horse, barely audible beneath the torrent of 
rain, that the pony calmed. Dripping wet, Sam and Frodo collapsed and 
huddled together. 

"This rain would be better if I could watch it through a window," Sam 
muttered miserably. Frodo nodded wordlessly beside him and shivered as 
cold water began soaking through all his outer coverings. 

"We will never catch him in this," Legolas called to Gandalf, pushing 
wet hair out of his eyes and keeping a firm hold on Bill’s halter. 

"We must regroup," Gandalf said, tipping his head and watching as 
water poured off the brim of his hat. "Frodo! Sam! Come. We must 
rejoin the others." 

Slipping and sliding in the mud, Frodo and Sam hurried after Gandalf, 
trying to stay close enough to see him through the curtain of falling 
water. Legolas followed after them, leading Bill behind him and 
stopping often to persuade the pony onward. 

To Frodo and Sam, it seemed as though they walked forever through the 
blinding wall of rain. Gandalf’s gray cloak vanished and appeared 
before them sporadically as the wizard wound his way through dripping 
underbrush. They could no longer see Legolas or Bill behind them and 
Gandalf seemed to be drawing further ahead. Leaning against one 
another for support, they struggled to move faster. They were 
conscious of Gandalf turning and waiting for them once, but they were 
not allowed to rest. The wizard was in haste, for this rain would wash 
away all evidence of the other group’s trail and if they had turned 
aside, they would be nearly impossible to find. 

A shrill whistle suddenly shot up from their left, freezing the small 
group in its tracks. "Aragorn!" Gandalf called hopefully, trying to 
make himself heard above the wind and the rain. There was no answer 
but in pausing to wait for one, they stood long enough that Legolas 
was able to catch up, leading a miserable pony behind him. 

"They are this way," Legolas shouted, moving off to the left. "Aragorn 
has found shelter." 

"Shelter?" Sam wondered. "In these woods? With rain like this, it 
better be a house at least." 

"I shall be thankful that we are all together again," Frodo mumbled, 
wrapping his cloak tighter around himself. 

"Hurry," Gandalf told the hobbits, moving behind them. "Follow 
Legolas." 

Quickly obeying his instructions, the hobbits raced after the elf, who 
proved even harder to follow than Gandalf. Were it not for Bill 
sinking deep into the mud at times and leaving hoof prints, they might 
have become lost, for Legolas left very little imprint and blended 
well with his surroundings, making him almost impossible to see. 
Still, they managed somehow, and with Gandalf’s constant encouragement 
behind them and Legolas stopping now and then to encourage Bill before 
them, they eventually crashed into a small clearing. 

"Aragorn!" Legolas cried, spotting a figure on the other side. 

"This way," the Ranger called back, disappearing into the woods. 
Legolas hurried after him and the hobbits slid after the elf with 
Gandalf picking up the rear and watching the dark forest behind them. 
After another few minutes of harsh travel through the storm, Legolas 
disappeared into a copse of trees. Hoping this was the shelter Aragorn 
had found, Sam and Frodo rushed after him. They found themselves with 
the remainder of the Fellowship in the middle of many trees that grew 
so close together their branches were laced one with another. It was 
far from Sam’s idea of a shelter, but when compared with the outside 
world, it was cheerful and cozy. The thick branches and leaves 
overhead diverted part of the rain and here the company huddled 
together, listening as thunder continued to roar around them. Gandalf 
pushed his way through the trees and joined them after another minute. 

"We will have to try again tomorrow night," Aragorn sighed as Gandalf 
approached. "It does not seem likely that this storm will pass before 
morning." 

"It is very likely that we will camp here," Gandalf agreed. "The storm 
may pass by morning, but I fear another will follow. Can you think of 
other places of refuge we might pass that lie close to this?" 

Aragorn glanced around as though trying to get his exact bearings. 
"There is a small stream not far from here," he finally said. "Along 
one bank, is has carved a small cave out of the rocks, but it is not 
large enough to hold all of us." 

"If it holds only the baggage, that would be something," Gandalf said. 
"We will need dry clothes if we are to survive. And we could rotate 
turns within the cave. How long will it take to reach?" 

"Five, maybe six hours," Aragorn guessed. 

"Then let us head for that tomorrow night," Gandalf decided. "For now, 
let us prepare to wait out the storm here and also so spend the day. 
It is the weather and not Sauron who has beaten us today." 

* * * *

Water was running in rivulets through Gimli’s beard and down his back. 
He had managed to find a rock up out of the mud on which to set his 
pack and was sheltering some of his pipe-weed from the rain in the 
hopes that it would dry. Pippin had managed to get his pipe started 
and Gimli was now looking for his own, feeling that the pipe-weed had 
dried sufficiently for him to light it. Unfortunately, his pipe didn’t 
seem to be anywhere in sight. 

Starting to worry that perhaps he had left it somewhere, Gimli went 
through his pack again but still with no success. His pipe was simply 
not there. Perhaps he had left it. The dwarf went through his evening 
packing activities, trying to recall if he’d done anything specific to 
the pipe. And actually, he had. He’d been smoking it when he’d implied 
that Legolas was an illegitimate son. And after Legolas had said that 
prison bit about his father Gloin, he’d lunged, he’d had his pipe in 
hand, he though he remembered it being knocked from him, and after 
that…hadn’t Legolas stooped to pick something up just as Gimli’s group 
had left camp? 

With a gleam of suspicion in his dwarven eyes, Gimli straightened and 
turned to find Legolas. He spotted the elf near the pony, stroking its 
neck and speaking soft words. The animal was still agitated and the 
continuing thunder that rolled above them was not helping matters. 
Through narrowed eyes, the dwarf watched the two, searching for any 
sign that the elf had taken his pipe. And he soon found what he was 
looking for. 

Literally. 

The end of his pipe could be seen peaking out of the top of Legolas’s 
pack, which was slung over the pony’s neck. With an angry glower, 
Gimli stalked over, startling both Legolas and Bill, and seized the 
pipe. Turning on the elf, he caught a flash of merriment in the 
prince’s bright gray eyes before it was quickly replaced by alarm as 
Gimli lunged. 

Aragorn, Gandalf, Boromir, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry, and Bill the 
pony all watched and time seemed to slow. Gimli leaped for the elf, 
Legolas started to slide out of the way as he had before, and then the 
unthinkable happened. Legolas’s left foot slipped in a puddle. Down he 
went, arms pinwheeling madly as he struggle to regain his balance. He 
landed hard, but Gimli landed harder and the elf grunted in pain as 
the dwarf’s heavy frame drove all air from his lungs. Time then 
abruptly resumed its normal pace and the rest of the Fellowship, 
recovering from the shock of seeing an elf off balance, threw 
themselves at the struggling forms. 

By the time they were finished, Bill was snorting on the other side of 
their shelter, Merry’s cloak had ripped, Pippin though a tooth was 
loose, Sam was spitting mud, Frodo was marveling that the Ring was 
still on its chain, Gandalf’s staff was missing, Boromir was trying to 
clear his horn of muddy water, Aragorn was dizzy, Gimli couldn’t 
stand, Legolas’s bow needed a new bow string, and the elf himself was 
incensed, furious, embarrassed, and affronted as only a young elven 
prince can be. 

"That was different," Merry commented, staring up at the trees from 
his position in the mud. 

"I could do with fewer differences," Pippin muttered, playing with his 
tooth. 

"But we were taught to celebrate our differences." 

Legolas struggled to his feet, dripping with mud and water. Flashing 
eyes the color of dark storm clouds sought out the dwarf and for a 
small moment, Gimli was afraid. "You…" the elf started, his voice low 
and dangerous, brimming with hatred and promises of vengeance. 

"Not now!" Aragorn interrupted firmly, recovering enough to also get 
to his feet though he swayed slightly. "We will deal with this later. 
Both of you!" he added with a warning glance for the dwarf. 

"Would it be possible to enjoy just one peaceful day?" Frodo asked 
quietly, rubbing the back of his head where he thought he felt a bump 
forming. "It’s already raining. Must we really make the situation 
worse?" 

"The hobbit speaks wisely," Boromir said. "I for one would like to 
enjoy a moment of peace without worrying about the spies of the enemy 
hearing or seeing incidents such as these." 

"Let us set the watches," Gandalf said wearily, finally finding his 
staff partially buried in the thick mud. "Aragorn, would you join me 
for the first and second watch? I have much I would discuss with you." 

"Of course," the Ranger answered, wishing the world would stop 
spinning around him. 

"Frodo, you will follow us. Pippin and Gimli, you have the last two. I 
suggest you all try to rest, even though the elements are not 
favorable at this time." 

"Well, seeing as I’m already as muddy as I’ve ever been, I think I’ll 
just sleep here," Sam sighed, propping his head up on a rock and 
ignoring the squelching sound made by his body as he shifted to find a 
comfortable position. 

"How can you do that, Sam?" Pippin asked with some amazement. 

Frodo’s gardener thought about that for a moment before shrugging. "I 
don’t rightly know. All I really know is that I’m exhausted and 
nothing is going to stand between me and a good sleep. Not even you, 
Mr. Pippin." 

"Hold onto that thought," Frodo recommended, settling down next to 
him. "There will probably be places worse than this on the journey 
ahead." 

"Thank you for that optimistic thought," Merry said with a sleepy 
yawn. "I’m sure we shall all rest better now." 

"You are welcome," Frodo murmured, closing his eyes and, despite the 
cold and wet, managing to fall into a dreamless slumber almost 
immediately. 
  
  
  
  
  
  

Dae prestintin a erion. Law iston, dan gostan…— Something disturbed me 
and I rose. I do not know, but I fear… 

Ha i draug. Anglenna ad—It is the wolf. He approaches again. 

Tol—Come. 

=========


Part 5

January 2, 3019

"And so we sit again and seek counsel," Aragorn sighed, taking a long 
draw of some rather damp pipe-weed. The rain continued to pour down 
through the trees, soaking everything it could reach. Though not as 
heavy as the cloud burst during the night, the storm was still severe 
and Aragorn was tempted to suggest the possibility of a fire. He 
didn’t because of the remote chance that this was no ordinary storm 
and the Enemy hoped they would reveal themselves, but it was still a 
fervent wish.

"Our old counsel has not held," Gandalf answered, wiping mud from his 
staff. "Therefore, I suggest we look for new counsel. And 
circumstances have changed somewhat." The wizard eyed the dark sky and 
the dripping leaves over head. "The weather, for example, seems to 
have turned against us."

"It also seems to have driven off the Warg," Aragorn pointed out. 
"Neither I nor Legolas felt any sign of him this morning." The Ranger 
paused and sighed at the mention of the elf. Shortly after the hobbits 
had fallen asleep, the elf had taken off. He would not be restrained, 
shrugging off all attempts to do so with deceptive strength, and he 
had not returned since. He would be back, Aragorn knew that much. But 
the elf’s pride needed to simmer, and until he could hold civil 
discourse with his companions, he would remain in the woods. With a 
shake of his head, Aragorn turned his mind again to their 
conversation. "I still do not feel this Warg. Perhaps the rain has 
also washed away our trail and our scent. He will have a more 
difficult time finding us if he is indeed gone."

"A difficult time, yes, but he will find us eventually," Gandalf said. 
"In fact, knowing our general location, it will probably not be more 
than a day or so before he hounds our tracks again. And there is the 
weather itself to consider. I had hoped to journey further south 
tonight or the next night, but if the streams begin to swell, it may 
serve us better to stay to the north where there are better 
crossings."

"In crossing streams, I think the hobbits and possibly Gimli will be 
the only ones at a disadvantage, and the hobbits at least will not 
object to being carried across. Barring that, they and Gimli can ride 
the pony. It will take longer, but we will be able to continue on our 
trail southward. And if you speak truly and the Warg quickly finds our 
scent again, we will not want to waste time wandering in the northern 
country. South is the most direct route, and I would vote for that."

"As would I. Our counsels agree then," Gandalf said. "All that remains 
now is to take thought for the Warg and the pursuit he may set to us. 
My heart still holds misgivings as to his motives. It is unlike a Warg 
to trail for so long without making some attempt at an attack. I fear 
he may be holding back because the main pack is not far behind."

"There have been signs of only a single Warg," Aragorn said. "Nowhere 
in this land do I feel the presence of a pack. Legolas has not said 
anything of that kind either, nor have you. Perhaps this is an injured 
Warg, or one that is overly cautious. And I still think the theory 
that he is an exile holds weight."

"If he had been injured, then Legolas would have been able to kill him 
two nights ago," Gandalf said. "A wood elf does not miss what he is 
hunting, yet the Warg was able to escape Legolas’s bow. No, he is in 
good health. As for being overly cautious, if that were true he would 
not be trailing us in the first place. And he drew quite close 
yesterday. Close enough to wake those of us who felt his presence."

"Then perhaps he is an exiled Warg and hunts us for purposes other 
than those of the Enemy."

"And what purposes would those be, Aragorn? Know you of any? Food? 
There is far easier prey to be found in the forest. Vengeance? He 
would have attacked long ago, not caring whether or not he perished so 
long as he ended the life of one who had offended him. Curiosity? He 
would have tired of us by the end of the first day." The wizard shook 
his head and looked out into the damp forest as water dripped from the 
brim of his hat. "No, it seems clearer with each moment that he is a 
scout or a spy. He has been sent to follow us and to mark our 
position. When the main pack arrives, they shall come on us swiftly 
and we shall be hard-pressed to drive them off."

"Then how do you propose we stop him?" the Ranger asked. "How shall we 
discourage him from following us and how shall we prevent other Wargs 
we might encounter from doing the same?"

"First of all, we must look at the problem one Warg at a time. It is 
no good worrying about the future if we cannot take care of the 
present. And as for the present, we must wait until the Warg returns. 
But we must also have ready a plan to spit him when he arrives. This 
is where you come in. I am learned in lore, but I fear that you are 
the wiser in hunting."

"Then perhaps we should hold counsel with Boromir and Legolas," 
Aragorn suggested. "Even Gimli may have suggestions for dealing with a 
following wolf."

"Perhaps," Gandalf mused. "But we would have to wait for one of that 
party to return from the woods."

Aragorn grimaced and looked to the surrounding trees. "He is angry, 
and well he might be. He fell before his foe, and his pride will sting 
for many days."

"So long as his pride does not lead us to trouble, he is welcome to 
it," Gandalf muttered. "But it is safer with the group than alone. A 
prince he might be and an accomplished hunter and archer, but he is 
still young as elves reckon the passing of years and he has much to 
learn. I fear what this journey may do to him and to the dwarf as well 
if they do not change their ways. A long road is hard, but it is 
harder still when you travel it with an enemy."

"I do not see any hopes that they will become friends," Aragorn 
remarked.

"They do not need to be friends. They simply need to cease to be foes. 
And they may surprise you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. There are many 
similarities between them that neither can see right now." The wizard 
sighed and wiped the last bit of mud from his staff. "Well, we cannot 
worry about that now. Let us return again to talk of the Warg. Have 
you any ideas at this time?

Aragorn was silent for a moment as he considered the problem. "I 
think," he said at length, "that Legolas had wise words yesterday when 
he suggested a trap."

"But you know well that we cannot stop to build one."

"I am aware of that, but we may not have to. A trap can take many 
forms, and as a Fellowship we ourselves might be a far more effective 
trap than any we might construct. I think our problem comes in luring 
the Warg into our grasp. Somehow, we must bait him and force him into 
revealing himself. We tried last night and failed in part to the 
weather, but as I now consider this, I do not think separating would 
have drawn him into the open. We must use bait, and I have in mind a 
way."

The Ranger fell silent for a moment. He was an odd sight, soaked with 
rain and caked with mud, but still there was a hidden air of royalty. 
Gandalf could not help but smile as he considered this muddy, weary, 
weathered man. He looked for all the world like a wandering vagabond, 
but in his eyes was light of purpose and destiny that might make an 
ordinary man quail to see. Even among his own people, rarely had there 
been a man of such strength and nobility. It gave the old wizard hope, 
for if fate had played a hand in raising Aragorn, surely it would not 
abandon them on their quest to destroy the Ring. "What is this other 
way of which you speak?" Gandalf finally asked when Aragorn remained 
quiet.

"I do not think the hobbits will approve," he eventually answered, 
glancing at Sam in particular. "But we are reaching a point of 
desperation." He looked at Sam once more and then shook his head. 
"Here, then, is my idea. This Warg is unlike ordinary wolves, but he 
is still a creature of flesh and blood. He has needs and wants, and he 
must pause to hunt, drink, and sleep. I have noticed that there is 
little game around here, and unless he has been most fortunate, he has 
had little to eat. I suggest…" Aragorn paused again as though coming 
to a difficult decision. With a deep breath, he plunged ahead. "I 
suggest we stake our pack animal away from our camp during the day in 
the hopes that the Warg will take the chance at easy prey."

"You are right," Gandalf said slowly after a moment of awkward 
silence. "The hobbits will not approve. I am not altogether certain 
that I approve."

"One could stand watch hidden within the cover of the trees, and the 
pony need not be far away," Aragorn reasoned. "I do not offer this 
choice gladly, but I see no other way at this time. When I hunted 
Wargs through Mirkwood with Legolas, we had large hunting parties 
capable of moving silently through the trees. All would separate and 
encircle an area where the wolf was suspected of hiding. Then the 
circle would start to close. The elf that saw the Warg first would 
send up a signal and all would converge. The Warg would then panic, he 
would make a mistake, and an elven arrow would find its mark. Here, we 
have not the advantage of numbers, nor do we have stealthy hunters. 
What we do have, though, is bait."

"I do not see how you will explain this to Sam," Gandalf said bluntly. 
"Nor do I have any desire to be present when you try to do so. But," 
the wizard continued, "I think your plan has a chance of success. 
However, I would not have us try this until the weather clears. Arrows 
and blades may go awry in the rain and I doubt that Sam will forgive 
you should he lose Bill."

"Then this is our plan?" Aragorn questioned.

"Until we can engineer a better," Gandalf said.

"Good. If that is indeed the case, I have a favor to ask. I would seek 
Legolas in this rain. Will you take the remainder of this watch?"

"Think you that he desires company?" Gandalf questioned.

"He may not desire it, but he is in need of it," Aragorn answered, 
rising and shaking his cloak out. "And he is in need of wise words, as 
well, or as much wisdom as I can give. Specifically, words concerning 
actions toward a certain dwarf, for I fear that unless he is stopped, 
he will seek retribution that may be his own undoing."

"Then seek him quickly, for as I said before, it is safer to remain 
with the group," Gandalf said.

"I will return ere the watch is over," Aragorn promised just before he 
disappeared silently into the trees. Gandalf sighed, shook his head, 
and took a lengthy pull on his pipe. It was already turning into a 
very long day.

* * * *

Perched high in a tree, his face turned upward into the rain, Legolas 
removed his quiver of arrows and leaned back against a broad trunk. 
Much of his fury was now being washed away, but smoldering pride still 
clamored for vengeance. The dwarf had simply gone too far, and Legolas 
was determined to see him pay. He didn’t know what form this payment 
would take, but he promised himself that it would be endlessly 
satisfying. Visions of a beardless dwarf running around in a frenzied 
panic entertained his thoughts as the crisp rain continued to fall.

A snapping twig about fifty yards away caught his attention. Other 
than that noise, the woods were completely silent. Reaching for his 
bow and drawing an arrow from the quiver that hung on a nearby branch, 
he moved away from the trunk and further out onto the limb, easily 
balancing himself on the narrow perch. Sharp, gray eyes studied the 
surroundings woods and after a bit, the elf relaxed, though he was not 
pleased by what he saw. Shoving the arrow back into the quiver and 
stringing the bow over his shoulder again, he resumed his seat and 
watched the progress of the intruder.

He wondered whether or not he should call out to Aragorn or if he 
should simply let the Ranger wander past. The only reason for Aragorn 
to be out in this downpour was the elf’s continued absence from the 
group, but company was the last thing Legolas wanted right now. That 
was the very reason he had left the Fellowship in the first place. A 
spark of anger flared in the elf’s heart but died quickly. Aragorn did 
this out of concern for a friend with whom he’d hunted the servants of 
the Enemy and in whom he had confided during many cold, cheerless 
nights around a small fire in the dark places of Mirkwood. It would 
not be fair to allow him to continue to wander. Of course, there was 
the small chance that he would be able to find the elf on his own, but 
Legolas doubted it. He had left the ground not far from where the 
Ranger was currently tracking, and even Aragorn could not follow an 
elf’s trail in the trees. Legolas was mildly impressed he had followed 
him even this far, for elves make little imprints and the rain would 
have washed away much evidence of his passing. But there he was, 
stubbornly reading the signs that indicated where Legolas had gone and 
continuing to trudge on as the rain continued to pour down.

He should be back in the shelter, the elf thought to himself as he 
watched the man shiver. He then had to silently laugh for calling 
their campsite a shelter. It was merely a collection of trees where 
the rain could not penetrate as well.

With a shake of his dripping head, he moved down a branch and squinted 
through the rain at Aragorn. The Ranger had reached the spot where 
Legolas had taken to the trees, and he was clearly frustrated and 
angry. Doubtless he has many words to say to me, the elf perceived. He 
thought a moment more and then made his decision. If angry words are 
to be said then let us say them. I would not have him dwell on his 
anger all morning and then release his rage tonight.

Seizing and shouldering his quiver, the elf jumped lightly down from 
the tree and started toward the Ranger. He debated about whether or 
not it would be wise to surprise Aragorn. It would be great fun, but 
it would also be dangerous if Aragorn reacted as though threatened. In 
the end, fun won over caution and Legolas slipped silently from tree 
to tree, making use of the foliage as one who has lived for centuries 
in the forest. Aragorn seemed to sense his approach and turned, but he 
bore the expression of one both puzzled and exasperated. Legolas hid a 
smile and moved closer, wondering how quickly he would have to dodge 
when Aragorn swung at him.

He looks as though he wishes to call for me, Legolas thought as he 
moved closer and was able to see more clearly through the rain. Of 
course he cannot, for that would alert our enemies. But I do not think 
I have ever seen him so…frustrated. Legolas was beginning to have 
second thoughts about startling the Ranger, but he was too close now 
to back down. Besides, in some ways this could be compensation for the 
early morning’s embarrassing fall. Aragorn might not be responsible 
for what had happened, but to the elf’s mind, scaring the Ranger would 
serve as a strange form of retribution. Besides, the others would 
never allow the punishments he wished to inflict upon Gimli. This 
might very well be his only chance at some kind of vengeance.

Aragorn now looked into the trees as though seeking for some sign of 
the elf. Legolas shook his head at that while he continued his 
stealthy movements. The Ranger should know better than to attempt the 
tracking of a wood elf in the forest. Once an elf took to the trees, 
finding him was nigh unto impossible. Aragorn knew that as well as 
anyone, but still he tried to search. His movements tentative and 
uncertain, he started moving toward another tree that had a large 
branch within easy jumping distance of his first tree.

Wrong direction, Legolas thought wryly. I chose not the easy way. But 
I suppose that to you, Aragorn, all paths in the trees are difficult. 
The elf glanced at the tree he had actually jumped to and the slender 
limb that had served as his landing point. From here, it did not look 
as though it could support his weight, but elven movements within the 
trees were not always bound by what could and could not be done. 
Sometimes it was more a question of what the tree would and would not 
permit. And this tree had quite willingly stretched out its slender 
limb and strengthened it to provide a place for Legolas to land.

Directing his attention back toward the wet, wandering Ranger, Legolas 
crept closer. He thought he caught a muttered curse as Aragorn 
realized the futility of his search. But the man had to know that he 
was watched. An elven gaze was not an easy thing to miss, and Aragorn 
had an uncanny knack for sensing when he was being observed. Deciding 
that the time for hiding was probably over, Legolas moved out of the 
dripping bushes and stood quietly behind the Ranger.

With another muttered curse, Aragorn turned around as though to head 
back, saw Legolas, and flinched violently. A smile played with the 
corners of the elf’s lips at the same time a flash of anger flickered 
in the Ranger’s dark eyes. "That was not the wisest thing you have 
ever done, young prince," Aragorn said quietly, his voice too 
controlled and too calm.

"My friend, there is no conceivable rational you could use to justify 
calling me ‘young,’" Legolas replied, deciding to temporarily divert 
the conversation. "Among my own people, it is true enough, but I have 
lived far longer than you or anyone else in the Fellowship save 
Gandalf."

Still annoyed, Aragorn folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his 
eyes. "Did you seek your own death by coming behind me? Or had you 
another motive?"

"What of yourself?" Legolas returned. "What motive had you for 
following me?"

Sensing that he was not about to win a word game with the elf unless 
he turned this into an all-day activity, Aragorn relented and shook 
his head. "I followed you because I needed to speak with you. And 
also, I was concerned. Even apart from the Fellowship, it is known to 
the Warg that you are a member of it and he will seek your death if he 
can contrive it."

"Then he will have to learn how to conduct himself in a forest better 
than a wood elf can," Legolas said easily. "He is used to the high 
mountains and the hidden valleys where trees are sparse and thin. I 
think you need have no fear on my part."

"I fear not only for your safety but for your actions," Aragorn said, 
a note of warning entering his voice.

"My actions?" Legolas sounded puzzled, but he actually had a fairly 
good idea of what the Ranger might be referring to.

"Or future actions, perhaps," the Ranger amended, "as they pertain to 
a certain dwarf." He paused to study the elf, but Legolas’s face did 
not change. Only in his eyes did there come a hint of emotion, and 
then it was but fleeting. Aragorn shook his head slightly. "You cannot 
continue this ridiculous quarrel. You are a danger to the Quest and 
the Ring-bearer."

"Perhaps that is true of the dwarf," Legolas said, his eyes beginning 
to narrow. "But as for me, I have not forgotten the true reason for 
our journey. My actions have never once betrayed us to Enemy spies or 
called down Enemy arrows. Nor will they ever."

"So you say, but in these dark times, even small mischief might go 
awry. You say I cannot call you young, but these pranks are childish! 
What misfortune has this particular dwarf brought upon your house? You 
did not even know him until three months ago."

"Does that matter?" Legolas questioned.

"Does the Quest matter?!"

Gray eyes storming over with anger and indignation, Legolas tightened 
his jaw. "I know the importance of what we do, as does every elf from 
here to the Undying Lands. Do not preach to me on the importance of 
that which Frodo bears! It carries with it the future of the Eldar 
race and ultimately our undoing, for either way the Quest bends, our 
days in Middle Earth are ended."

"Then let them end with honor and victory!" Aragorn said.

"You think I would have it any other way?" Legolas demanded.

"If you would not, then show it," Aragorn challenged, growing angry in 
turn. "The dwarf is not your enemy. Save your cunning for the true 
foes. We shall have need of it ere our quest is through."

For a long, awkward moment, elf and man stood facing one another in a 
test of wills. It was Legolas who eventually looked away. "This 
morning’s actions can not go unpunished," he murmured, a hint of his 
father’s stubbornness entering his voice.

"Legolas, you are immortal," Aragorn said, completely exasperated. 
"You have years uncounted to roam at will through Middle Earth and 
Valinor. One small embarrassment in the wilderness does not merit your 
concern. One hundred years from now, none will remember this incident. 
Is the safety of Middle Earth truly so trivial that you would throw it 
away for your pride?"

"Your concerns are unfounded," Legolas said flatly. "I will not 
endanger us."

"You cannot be certain of that. Anything you do might be a danger."

"Our very presence is a danger to the Ring-bearer, yet we are still 
with him," the elf shot back.

The Ranger ran a tired hand over his face. "If I cannot convince you, 
will you at least promise me one thing?" he asked wearily.

"What is that one thing?"

"Do nothing today or tonight. Wait."

"Why should I do that?"

"Because we are already in bad circumstances," Aragorn answered 
bluntly. "We do not need the two of you making it worse."

"Then I suggest you speak to the dwarf."

"Legolas!"

The elf scowled, but he eventually nodded in grudging assent. "Very 
well," he said, though he was clearly not happy about the situation. 
"You have my word that I will do nothing today and I will do nothing 
while night endures."

"Thank you," Aragorn sighed. "And I will talk with Gimli during his 
watch." Wiping the dripping rain from his forehead, the Ranger glanced 
around the forest. "Will you come back to the Company now? There is 
safety in numbers, and the rain is less beneath our trees."

"Less, but not abated. And once you are wet enough, it makes little 
difference where you stand."

"True, but there is still safety."

"The forest is quiet today," Legolas said evasively. "All the 
creatures are sleeping through the storm. If danger does approach, I 
shall hear it soon enough."

"For my sake then," Aragorn tried. "At least as a sign of unity. The 
hobbits, I think, feel safer when we present ourselves as a group 
rather than as quarreling foes."

"The hobbits are asleep."

"Frodo and Pippin have watches."

"So does Gimli."

Aragorn finally threw up his hands. "Then would you humor me? Or would 
you at least show some interest in a mission for which Elrond 
deliberately chose you?"

Legolas studied the Ranger and finally nodded. "If that is truly your 
wish, then I will come back. But do not expect me to hold discourse 
with the dwarf. Though I have given my word not to initiate mishap, I 
will act in self-defense."

"You shall have no cause to do so," Aragorn assured him, turning back 
toward the meager camp as the elf fell into step beside him. "I intend 
to speak with him and extract from him the same promise you gave me."

"The word of a dwarf," Legolas said with a derisive snort.

"The word of a dwarf is more reliable than that of most Races," 
Aragorn said sharply. "They have a fierce sense of honor, and their 
stubbornness and pride rivals that of the elves."

To this, Legolas made no response but fell silent at the Ranger’s 
side, watching the surrounding trees and occasionally wiping his face 
free of rain. At least we will have peace for a while, Aragorn 
thought. Though I doubt not that at sunrise tomorrow, they will be at 
it again. Still, as Gandalf had already said, a feud spanning 
thousands of years could not be mended in a day or even a week. But at 
least it could be put aside for a small time. And I suppose I shall 
have to settle for that, Aragorn sighed. For I see no hope that the 
two of them shall ever be more than bitter foes.

* * * *

Boromir did not like the rain. He never had, and he didn’t see this 
opinion changing in the near future. He didn’t care for mud, either. 
Oh, he’d endured many military campaigns in the shadows of the Ephel 
Duath Mountains when they were cloaked in cloud and rain and hail blew 
hard against the face of every man. But that didn’t mean he’d enjoyed 
those particular outings. In fact, those were the times when he 
usually turned command of the main regiment over to Faramir and took 
control of the scouts, who slipped in and out of the undergrowth and 
avoided much of the moisture that hounded the troops in the open.

Turning over with an ill temper in the squelching mud, he wondered if 
there was a piece of him somewhere that was not thoroughly soaked 
through to the bone. He decided there wasn’t and sighed heavily. 
Perhaps things would improve once they got underway. He had to snort 
in derision at this rather optimistic thought. He had been partially 
awake when Gimli had taken over on watch, and he had listened with 
interest to the conversation Aragorn had endured with the dwarf, 
eventually receiving a promise that Gimli would not take action 
against Legolas for one day and night. It had been something of a 
learning experience for Boromir as Aragorn had used expressions and 
phrases that the dwarf immediately responded to, but they had held no 
particular meaning for Boromir. It is as I felt before. He is too 
sundered from his own Race and knows too much of elves and dwarves. 
And even hobbits, it seems!

Boromir rolled over again, stubbornly ignoring the clinging mud as he 
did so and looked for Aragorn among the dozing Fellowship members. The 
Ranger was nowhere to be seen, and Boromir quickly noted that the elf 
was also absent. Scouting, most likely. He chooses strange companions, 
if Legolas was indeed a choice. I suppose the presence of a wood elf 
might aid him in these dark forests, but how shall elven counsel ever 
rival that of a man’s?

A string of imaginative dwarven curses caught his attention and he 
cast his eyes toward Gimli. Gimli was attempting to smoke some 
pipe-weed—a substance that never failed to send shivers of disgust 
down Boromir’s spine—and he was failing miserably as the rain 
relentlessly doused any spark of flame that he might manage. It was 
probably not the best start to their day, though there was still an 
hour left before the company was expected to rise. Still, in his small 
time with Gimli, Boromir had quickly learned that the dwarf’s fiery 
temper was to be avoided at all costs, and it looked as though this 
continuing rain was making that temper shorter than ever. Promise or 
no, Legolas had best be on his guard. Of course, the elf seemed 
perfectly capable of defending himself through both words and actions 
providing there was sure footing beneath him.

The man shook his head as he recalled the mishap of the early morning. 
That had been something Boromir would not soon forget. The gasps from 
Aragorn and Gandalf, the bewilderment and gleam of victory in Gimli’s 
eyes, the flash of complete surprise and confusion followed by burning 
rage for Legolas…it had all happened in but a few seconds, but those 
few seconds spoke eloquently about the personalities of his 
companions, giving Boromir more to go on than all his observations in 
Rivendell had provided. I wonder how it shall all play out, Denethor’s 
son pondered, surrendering to his wakefulness and sitting up with a 
slight stretch. If nothing else, it shall be interesting.

"You are up early," Gimli observed, his voice bitter and angry.

"I saw no reason to lie in the mud once I woke," Boromir replied, 
carefully giving the dwarf a wide birth as he strode around the camp 
and worked the stiffness from his muscles. "Know you where Aragorn or 
Legolas are?"

"Aragorn is scouting," Gimli said, making no mention of the elf.

"I see," Boromir said slowly, trying to decide how to read the 
omission of Legolas. Did that mean that the elf was scouting with 
Aragorn or that the dwarf didn’t know where he was?

The question was answered by a low, rather dangerous-sounding voice 
behind the man. "As for me, I am right here."

Turning with a jerk, Boromir’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of 
Legolas leaning against a tree on the edge of camp. He had not seen 
the elf and it is doubtful that he would have had not Legolas 
announced himself. "How long have you been there?" Boromir demanded.

"Long enough."

"He has been there since the beginning of my watch," Gimli spat, 
glaring at the elf who continued to watch him with eyes that could 
pierce a dragon’s soul.

Boromir despaired of understanding either one of these strange beings 
and walked away, moving to his pack and trying to clean it of the 
thick mud. After a few minutes, he gave up and turned back only to 
find that dwarf and elf were still staring at each other, neither one 
giving ground though it looked as though Gimli longed to. A staring 
contest, Boromir despaired. And father says that Faramir and I can 
behave childishly at times!

Sounds of a clearing throat interrupted the staring contest and three 
sets of eyes turned to Aragorn who had just returned from scouting. "I 
believe that both of you promised me something," he said with a dark 
glower.

"So we did," Legolas replied coolly. "And I at least am true to my 
word."

"What do you mean by that, elf?!" Gimli demanded.

"If you cannot understand it, then that is your loss," Legolas 
answered.

"Perhaps this morning’s fall has rattled your mind and you make no 
sense when you speak," Gimli challenged.

A flash of rage bright enough to compare with Denethor’s anger 
flickered through the elf’s eyes, and Boromir felt a quick surge of 
respect for Legolas. Anyone who could summon as much ire as his father 
was able to summon deserved at least a nod from him. "You would do 
well to watch yourself, Durin’s son," Legolas said softly, and his 
tone sent shivers down Boromir’s spine. "I fear there is more 
substance in your beard than there is in your head."

"Enough!" Aragorn interjected sharply. His voice caused Pippin to stir 
and roll over while Gandalf murmured something less than 
complimentary. The Ranger gave them no heed and continued. "Taking no 
action against the other includes derisive remarks."

"That was not part of the agreement," Gimli said.

"It is now," Aragorn warned. Both Gimli and Legolas sent him dark 
looks, which the Ranger returned with skill and anger.

By the staff of the stewards, Boromir thought bleakly, stomping into 
the surrounding forest as nature called to him. He had no intention of 
being caught in the crossfire should something develop from this 
current confrontation. He shook his head, still pondering the 
personalities with which he was forced to travel. I fear that once 
more, he ultimately decided, it will be a very long night.

* * * *

"507."

"508."

"509 and 510."

"Pippin and Merry!" Frodo warned, his voice sounding tired and 
haggard.

"511."

"512 through 526."

"Merry and Pippin!" Frodo tried again.

"I’m truly sorry, Mr. Frodo," Sam mumbled as he led a dispirited pony 
behind the Ring-bearer. "But on my honor, I didn’t know they would 
take my suggestion to heart!"

Tired of listening to muttered complaints about the weather from both 
Merry and Pippin, Sam had suggested they count the number of large 
raindrops that hit their feet instead of grumbling. He now seriously 
regretted his actions. The continual stream of numbers was beginning 
to grate on everyone’s nerves.

"Aragorn, a moment please. And if I could have quiet from everyone 
else…"

Gandalf’s rather pointed suggestion succeeded in silencing Merry and 
Pippin momentarily, but Sam and Frodo both knew that this reprieve 
would not last long enough. Digging into one of Bill’s many bags and 
finding a collection of dried meat, Sam munched away, trying to think 
of a time when he’d been dry and comfortable. He watched the shadowy 
figures of Strider and Gandalf curiously, wondering what they were 
saying and if they were talking about finding shelter. He had to admit 
that his idea of shelter differed vastly from Strider’s idea of 
shelter. Their camp during the day had not been dry in the slightest, 
but when compared to the rain outside their collection of trees, it 
had been a rather bitterly pleasant place to sleep.

"533," Pippin whispered. Sam felt like slugging him but didn’t because 
one: it would be improper and inappropriate, and two: it would 
interrupt the travel of food from his hand to his mouth.

Not constrained by these reasons, Frodo went ahead and sent Pippin 
sprawling into the mud. Merry laughed delightedly but quickly stopped 
when faced with Frodo’s dark glare. But when Pippin turned an outraged 
expression on the entire group, even Frodo couldn’t help but smile 
slightly.

"Come," Gandalf announced abruptly, pulling attention away from 
Pippin’s muddy form. "We shall turn south and follow the course of 
this stream. Aragorn can lead us to a place where the bank has been 
undercut. It may provide us with a shelter of sorts."

"Now he qualifies his shelters," Sam muttered. "And if this is a 
‘shelter of sorts,’ and yesterday was a ‘shelter,’ I wonder how wet 
we’ll be by tomorrow evening."

"Have no fear, Master Samwise," Aragorn laughed quietly, having 
overhead the hobbit’s grumbled remark. "This shelter shall provide 
more cover. The problem comes in its size, for not all of us will be 
able to fit within. But we will be able to store the baggage, and if 
nothing else comes of it, we may have dry garments to don tomorrow."

"The river is running high this year," Legolas interjected softly. 
"And the rain makes it worse. Will your shelter still be there or 
shall the river have risen above it?"

"That is something we will have to see," Aragorn answered coolly. The 
hobbits didn’t miss this strange degree of tension between elf and 
Ranger. As Sam thought about it, he realized the two had barely spoken 
a word to one another since they’d started the journey, and that was 
odd, because they were usually sharing some private joke or speaking 
softly during halts. He wondered what the reason could be for this and 
ultimately decided that he really didn’t want to know. He only wished 
they could make amends quickly because he liked Strider and he wanted 
to get to know Legolas better. It seemed wrong that they should be 
upset with one another.

The Fellowship trudged on through slick mud and thick rain for perhaps 
another two hours before Aragorn called a quick halt. Wiping water 
from his face, he walked forward into the trees and disappeared from 
all save the eyes of Legolas. Straining his sight, the elf could make 
out the silhouette of the Ranger approaching the riverbank where the 
water was flowing swiftly. Aragorn glanced up and down the stream, 
looking for something, and then he moved forward again. There was 
another pause, and then he turned back toward the company. At length, 
he stepped out from the trees and addressed Gandalf, though his words 
could be easily heard by everyone.

"The river has not drowned this shelter as Legolas feared," he said. 
"But it is smaller than I remember, probably due in part to the rising 
water. We shall be able to store the packs there and lay out clothes 
for drying, but I fear that with the supplies inside that there shall 
be no room for the rest of us. For ourselves, we must seek a different 
site or endure this storm here as best we can."

"Baggage without a guardian is a dangerous thing, even here in lands 
without inhabitants," Gandalf mused quietly. "Two must stand watch: 
one for the packs and one for the company." He was quiet a moment 
more, studying the weather thoughtfully. "Legolas, Boromir, and 
Aragorn. You shall rotate through guarding the packs. You three are 
all familiar with swift rivers and their danger, and you are used to 
longer watches and difficult circumstances."

"Then let us store the baggage and set one to watch while the other 
two go one with the rest of the Fellowship," Aragorn said. "This way, 
two will know where the Fellowship lies and we may meet up with you 
again when darkness falls."

Gandalf nodded, accepting the Ranger’s council. "Unload the pony. Let 
us work on storing our packs here, and then we may proceed the faster 
to a place of better shelter."

"See, Sam?" Merry spoke up. "Now it’s a ‘better’ shelter."

"But better than what?" Sam wondered with a sour glance at the sky. 
"Not better than a house, that’s certain."

"Even if it was better, how could we tell?" Pippin asked, pulling a 
large sack of food off Bill. "We’re really too wet to notice a 
difference."

Once again, Sam seriously considered slugging Pippin.

* * * *

The clouds had gone from a dark gray to a lighter gray, which meant 
the sun was rising though none could really tell. Boromir had stayed 
with Bill and the luggage while Legolas and Aragorn traveled on with 
the rest of the group, searching for some place where they might be 
reasonably dry. Without the pony and the packs, they were making good 
time, but they had yet to find a place where they might comfortably 
spend the day. Frodo was beginning to wonder if the river might not be 
the driest place to sleep when Aragorn suddenly stopped and swung left 
through the forest.

Puzzled by his abrupt actions, Gandalf halted and the rest of the 
Fellowship stopped behind him. It did not take long for Aragorn to 
return, and he bore a weary but grateful smile. "I have found 
something that might pass for a shelter," he reported. Ignoring Sam’s 
audible groan, he beckoned them to follow.

A few minutes later, they were facing a rocky overhang that offered 
refuge from the rain so long as the wind did not blow. Considering the 
fact that the wind had been gusting on and off throughout the previous 
day, this was not much. But it is better than nothing, Frodo allowed.

"I think we need to work on our definitions," Sam stated, eyeing the 
rocks. "My version of a shelter isn’t the same as everyone else’s 
version of a shelter."

"No, Sam, I think you and I are on the same page," Pippin said. "That 
is not a shelter."

"Would you have us construct a house for you?" Gimli asked. "Or 
perhaps a hobbit hole with lush furnishings, a warm bed, and a hot 
bath to go with it?"

"I’d settle for a warm bed and a hot bath," Merry said. "You can keep 
the furnishings."

"It is either this or the trees," Gandalf said, moving beneath the 
overhang. "And I have chosen this."

"Then Legolas and I will leave you," Aragorn said. "Take comfort, my 
friends, in the fact that your bed will be drier than ours. Until 
morning."

"Until morning," Gandalf answered with a nod.

Aragorn turned to go, but Legolas stood still, his head cocked and his 
eyes closed as though listening. The Ranger turned to him with a 
confused expression and moved as though to speak, but at that moment, 
the elf’s eyes popped open. He set an arrow to his bow with a speed no 
mortal eyes could follow, and then the bolt screeched through the 
morning air.

An outcry from Gimli and gasps from the hobbits followed. Almost 
afraid to look, Aragorn and Gandalf tracked the arrow’s flight path 
until their eyes rested on the dwarf. He was pinned to a nearby tree 
by his beard, the arrow securely nailing it in place. Aragorn turned 
an outraged expression on Legolas only to be met with a smile. 
Shouldering his bow, the elf met the Ranger’s challenging eyes with a 
cool calm as he folded his arms across his chest.

"The sun has just risen," he said simply.

============


Part 6


Author’s Note(s): Slight change of plans with this story. It was 
becoming enormous, so I divided it up into two chapters. One takes 
place during the day and one takes place during the night, but both 
can be considered January 3 (for those of you who are strictly 
following the timeline as laid down by the great master: Tolkien).

Also, questions have been posed by reviewers that I thought I’d take 
the time to answer. I’ve been planning to do this earlier, but I kept 
forgetting.

Length of this story: I’m planning to take this story up onto 
Caradhras and back down. They get off Caradhras on January 12, 3019, 
so you’ve got that many days left to cover with probably one chapter 
per day (unless I go overboard and have to split it between night and 
day again).

Source for my Elvish: Okay, for anyone interested in Quenya, good 
luck. I’ve tried to tackle that language and it is nasty. Sindarin is 
much easier and I recommend that as a starting point. Two great 
beginning websites for Sindarin are 
www.geocities.com/almacq.geo/sindar/index.html and the other one is 
www.elvish.org/gwaith/language.htm Hope that helps and THANK YOU for 
all the reviews!!!

January 3, 3019 (Day)

"You might have killed him."

"Would that have been a waste?"

"Legolas! He is a member of the Fellowship."

"He was in no danger. The wind was steady, he was resting, and the 
arrow was well crafted. It would have been impossible to miss that 
shot. Even a hobbit could have made it."

Listening to the conversation of his companions, Boromir wondered if 
he should hazard a guess as to the subject of their conversation. 
Instinct and common sense told him it concerned Gimli, but he was 
reluctant to ponder as to what an arrow might have to do with the 
dwarf. But at least one good thing was born of the argument between 
Aragorn and Legolas. Boromir could hear them coming and would not be 
taken by surprise.

"There is always a degree of uncertainty with arrows, even elven 
arrows! Elrond chose the dwarf! The least you could do would be to 
show him some form of acceptance as a member of this Fellowship."

Definitely about Gimli, Boromir decided, studying the surrounding 
trees and wondering if they could be bent to form a kind of lean-to.

"I honored your request, Aragorn, and I did not act until sunrise. Now 
would you please honor my request and let this matter fall?"

"I cannot let this matter fall because this matter happens to concern 
all free creatures from here to the Gray Havens."

Still listening to the conversation with part of his mind, Boromir 
decided that if the trees would bend beneath his weight and he used 
the straps from the group’s scabbards and quivers, he could probably 
form a rough shelter. It would be about as effective as their shelter 
from the previous day, but in this rain, something was better than 
nothing. Laying his horn and shield to the side, Boromir gauged one 
slender tree and leaped, catching hold of a large branch. Pulling 
himself up, he started to climb higher, hoping that near the top he 
would be able to pull the tree over towards another tree and lace the 
two together.

"We have already discussed the matter of all free creatures from here 
to the Gray Havens, and I have already assured you that my actions 
will in no way endanger them. I know perhaps better than any save 
Gandalf what lies at stake. My people have fought this menace since 
the dawn of time, and since my birth I have fought alongside them."

"I, too, have been trained since birth to fight, and I would not see 
my training go to waste because of the actions of a foolish elf."

"Foolish elf!? And what of man, Aragorn? What of your own ancestors? 
The Ring might have been destroyed long ago were it not for them."

"Well do I know that, and long have I labored to correct their 
mistakes. I warn you, do not make mention of that again. I am not my 
fathers."

"Nor am I. Let me handle the dwarf in my own way and in my own good 
time. Cease to pry into affairs that are none of your concern."

Boromir was now quite high in the tree, and it was starting to sway 
from side to side. Clinging to a limb while he waited for the swaying 
to cease, Boromir reflected on the fact that he had never heard 
Aragorn and Legolas argue. Not like this, anyway. Differences of 
opinion there had been and always would be, but angry contention was 
something new, and it caused Boromir to shiver. They were only a few 
yards away from the campsite now, and if they looked up, they would 
probably be able to see Denethor’s son dangling from a tree. But both 
were too locked in their private quarrel to worry about trivial things 
like their surroundings. Or the fact that Boromir’s current situation 
was slightly precarious.

"The Fellowship is my concern and the safety of the Ring-bearer!"

"And the safety of the Ring-bearer has no connection with my actions 
toward a greedy, gold-grubbing dwarf. If anything, I do Frodo a 
favor!"

"You do Frodo a disservice as well as bringing down the spirits of the 
entire company!"

"I am not responsible for the emotional well-being of those around me. 
They choose to feel the way they feel, and it is foolish to think I 
should hold any sort of accountability for that."

Boromir was not in the habit of asking for help. He could count on one 
hand the number of times he’d done so. He’d once asked Faramir to draw 
an arrow from his side. He’d asked Denethor for the interpretation of 
the dream he and his brother had shared, something that ultimately led 
him to Imladris. He’d asked another guard to stand watch with him at 
Henneth Annûn because a large company from Harad drew nigh and Boromir 
feared he could not watch all roads at once. And he’d asked Prince 
Imrahil of Dol Amroth to command the forces at Pelargir while he led a 
quick raid northwards into the forests of southern Ithilien. But other 
than those rare occurrences, Boromir was a fiercely independent man 
who chafed at the possibility that he might need aid. Yet as he hung 
from a tree upon a branch that was making rather disturbing cracking 
sounds, he realized he might need to request help yet again.

"Whether you admit it or not, you are an integral part of our group 
and your emotions affect those around you. You are an elf, Legolas! 
How can you think you would have anything less than a great effect?"

"Well do I know that I am an elf, and that should say something to 
you. I know what I do, and I tread my own paths cautiously."

Legolas and Aragorn were now directly below Boromir, but they were so 
intent upon one another that both elven archer and Ranger failed to 
realize that Denethor’s son seemed to have vanished from the campsite. 
Such a failure was a unique occurrence in Middle Earth and one worthy 
of note, but Boromir was too preoccupied to appreciate the 
significance of this event. Hoping he could avoid asking outright for 
assistance, he cleared his throat significantly and tried to knock 
some leaves down onto the two below him.

"You tread recklessly when you fire arrows at innocent dwarves!"

"Innocent?! May I remind you that…Boromir?"

Boromir sighed in relief at the same time he tried to look a little 
more competent in the trees. "I trust the others found sufficient 
shelter?" he called down.

Below him, Aragorn nodded slightly, his face showing obvious 
confusion. Legolas looked equally bewildered, but a smile was playing 
with the corners of his mouth and a twinkle of merriment glistened in 
his gray eyes.

"That is good," Boromir said, wincing as a shuddering crack ran along 
the limb to which he clung. "I would hope that drier bodies will 
result in better spirits." He wondered just how long it would take 
them to realize he needed help or if he would have to speak of it.

"Might I inquire as to what exactly you are doing?" Aragorn finally 
said after a moment of awkward silence.

"I was hoping to lash some of these trees together near the top where 
the trunks are slender," Boromir said as another crack sounded. He 
glanced anxiously at the point where the limb sprang from the trunk 
and with a sinking heart realized he had but moments to live. "We 
might be able to provide ourselves with some shelter this way," he 
continued, trying vainly to keep a note of grim fear from his voice.

"Legolas…"

"I see it."

Boromir swung slightly, trying to see what Aragorn and Legolas were 
doing down there. He could still see the Ranger, he could even see 
Bill where the pony was hobbled off to the side, but he had lost track 
of the elf. He wondered where Legolas had gone and then his thoughts 
were abruptly sidetracked by an ominous creak.

"You have not done this often, have you?"

Boromir gasped and nearly lost his grip as a voice sounded just above 
his head. Looking up, he caught sight of Legolas who was attempting to 
maneuver himself closer to the dangling man. "How did you…were you not 
on the ground a minute ago?"

"I was," Legolas answered, swinging off a limb and neatly catching 
another all in one smooth motion. "And if we do not act quickly, you 
will be on the ground in less than a minute." Now only a few branches 
away, Legolas studied the surrounding limbs, attempting to find a 
place that would hold both his weight and Boromir’s.

"Can you get to the tree next to you?" Aragorn shouted.

Legolas gave it a quick glance and shook his head. "That tree is wary 
of Boromir and does not seem inclined to lend us its aid."

"What does a tree know?" Boromir demanded, trying to decide whether to 
be confused, angry, or resigned to his fate.

"That you are too heavy to be this high," Legolas answered, jumping up 
one more branch and turning around. Wrapping his legs around the trunk 
behind him, he stretched out on his limb and extended his hand down 
toward Boromir. "Can you reach me?"

Boromir gingerly pulled himself up, but at that moment, his branch 
gave out. With a yell, he found himself falling and then his fall was 
violently arrested. His cloak constricted around his neck and his 
hands flew to it to prevent it from choking off his airway. A 
surprised grunt from up above and a small exclamation of surprise was 
all the reaction Legolas gave as he tightened his flimsy hold on the 
end of Boromir’s cloak and struggled to keep the man from falling.

"Now what?" Boromir managed to croak out as he started to strangle.

"Is there anything you can grab?" Legolas asked through gritted teeth.

Reaching out with one hand while the other tried to keep his airway 
open, Boromir’s flailing arm found a sturdy limb, and he quickly 
seized it. "Let go," he told Legolas.

With a sigh of relief, the elf let the cloak drop. Boromir felt the 
noose around his neck loosen and as he started to swing, he grabbed 
the limb with his other hand as well. Feeling about with his feet, he 
found a larger branch off to the side and jerked himself over. Hooking 
a leg over it, he managed to pull himself into a sitting position. 
With a shudder as the adrenaline in his system started to fade, he 
leaned back against the trunk and closed his eyes.

"If you are both done, I suggest you come down," Aragorn called. "I 
think we have played in the tree long enough."

"Actually, I believe Boromir had a good idea," Legolas responded, 
starting to climb higher in the tree. "Though I am at a loss as to 
what we could use to lash these trees together. But up here, there are 
branches that might be intertwined if we could find something akin to 
a rope."

"I was thinking that the straps from the packs or from your quiver 
might serve," Boromir said wearily. He opened his eyes and looked for 
Legolas, but the elf was too high and too at home in the trees. Only 
when he moved could Boromir find him.

"Aragorn? Catch."

The Ranger moved away from the tree trunk where he had been 
considering going up to check on Boromir. A quiver sans strap 
plummeted toward him and he moved back slightly to grab it. "Can you 
make it work?" he asked.

"We shall soon see."

Branches were now shaking violently above as Legolas sought to craft 
some sort of roof in the treetops. Feeling vibrations in the trunk, 
Boromir decided that the ground would probably be the safest place for 
him. With a great deal of care, he started down the tree.

After several long minutes of cautious climbing, Boromir found himself 
back on solid ground and enduring a rather amused look from Aragorn. 
"The elf is very high," Boromir said gruffly, trying to direct 
attention away from himself. "Is he safe up there?"

Aragorn’s amusement seemed to grow and he smiled as he glanced upward. 
"He is a Silvan elf. He is probably safer there than he is down here."

High above, the branches suddenly shifted with a note of finality and 
rain ceased to fall upon the two men below. There was a slight sound 
of movement, and then nothing. Boromir scanned for signs of Legolas, 
but he found no sign of the elf until—

"I think that will serve us well."

Boromir barely managed to keep from jumping as he swung around to 
discover Legolas behind him. Noting his surprise, the elf’s eyes 
danced with merriment and he smiled.

"My apologies, Master Boromir," the prince said with a slight bow. "I 
did not mean to startle you. Next time, I shall conduct myself in the 
manner of a dwarf so as to alert you of my presence."

A mixture of anger and chagrin warred within Boromir as he considered 
how to respond to that, but Aragorn beat him to it.

"Dwarves can move quickly and silently if they have great need."

Legolas looked as though Aragorn had just solemnly stated that the 
Misty Mountains were really large piles of cram discarded by the 
Beorings and left to harden over the process of thousands of years. 
"Perhaps to a man a dwarf might move with a degree of silence," the 
elf said at length, his eyes searching Aragorn’s face for signs that 
the Ranger might be ill.

"If you would allow him the opportunity, Gimli might surprise you," 
Aragorn said.

Legolas’s eyes flashed. "And how would he do that? With an axe while I 
am unawares? Or perhaps while I sleep?"

"He would never even consider such things," Aragorn responded. "Though 
I now wonder about you, seeing as you are the one doing the 
suggesting. And you were also the one to loose an arrow at him this 
morning."

"My arrow was released with skill and over a thousand years worth of 
experience," Legolas shot back.

Boromir sighed and stalked away. He was curious about the constant 
references to archery and if he listened long enough, his questions 
might be answered, but ultimately, he really didn’t want to know. He 
was growing weary of this animosity between elf and dwarf, and now 
there was contention between Legolas and Aragorn to deal with. It 
seemed the Fellowship was breaking before it had even truly formed.

Picking up three small twigs and breaking one so that it was shorter 
than the others, Boromir started back to his two arguing companions. 
Clearing his throat loudly, he managed to get their attention. "I 
suggest we draw lots for watches," he said. "And then I suggest that 
the two of us not on watch get some rest."

Legolas and Aragorn sent one another rather dark glares, but the elf 
reached forward and drew a twig from Boromir’s hand. Aragorn did 
likewise and found himself with the short one.

"Well," Boromir said with a clap of his hands, "now that this is 
settled, I will expect to be awakened in two hours, for longer watches 
will earn us better rest when we are sleeping. And after my turn, I 
shall wake you, Legolas." Quickly turning away before Aragorn or 
Legolas could protest his sudden assumption of authority, Boromir 
wrapped himself up in his damp cloak, settled against the trunk of a 
tree, and forced himself to go to sleep.

Legolas glanced between Aragorn and Boromir for a moment and then 
sprang into the branches of the tree that Boromir had attempted to 
climb. Aragorn sighed, shivered at the cold breeze that was beginning 
to blow in from the north, and wandered over toward Bill who was quite 
possibly the only member of the company within a mile who was not 
upset or annoyed with him. The morning was not off to a good start.

* * * *

"I wonder if there isn’t a bit of magic Gandalf could do that would 
make this wind skip over us," Sam muttered miserably, huddled beneath 
layers of blankets and feeling as though they did nothing for him.

Merry, who was on watch at the moment, shrugged and glanced at the 
wizard. "Maybe it doesn’t feel as cold to him as it does to us," he 
offered. Gandalf had taken the first watch and roused Merry for the 
second, though Merry had actually been awake. In fact, all of the 
hobbits had been awake and were still awake. The only two finding any 
rest in this storm were Gandalf and Gimli. The wizard had fallen 
asleep almost instantly after turning watch duty over to Merry and was 
now even snoring slightly. And as for Gimli, the dwarf might have been 
safe and dry in a cozy cavern for as soundly as he slept.

"Well, it wouldn’t feel as cold to me if we could get rid of that 
wind," Pippin said, seconding Sam’s opinion. "And that would get rid 
of the rain, too. We’d be drier, warmer, and then maybe I could go to 
sleep. How do they do it?" he demanded, peeking over his mound of 
blankets to scrutinize Gandalf and Gimli.

"Because they know how much they’ll need it," Frodo answered wearily. 
He was bone-weary, but like the other hobbits, he could not sleep 
under these conditions. "Maybe somebody could offer us a bit of a 
song. Maybe that would warm us up."

"A mug of ale would go a long way for warming me up," Sam said. "But I 
suppose I won’t get it for a long ways. And like as not, it won’t be 
near as good as what we had in Bree or even in Hobbiton."

"I think the elves should make ale," Pippin decided, shivering 
violently and pressing himself against Sam and Frodo in an attempt to 
share their meager body heat. "They make wonderful bread and wine. Why 
can’t they expand to other things? I’d give gold for an elven tankard 
of ale!"

"You don’t have gold," Merry pointed out.

"You know what I mean," Pippin said. "What about it, Frodo. You’re the 
official elf-friend. Why can’t the elves make ale?"

"Maybe wine is good enough for them," Frodo said, pulled into the 
trivial conversation despite himself.

"Wine is fine for feasts and banquets and all, but, begging your 
pardon, Mr. Frodo, wouldn’t you get tired of it after a while? And 
anyway, it doesn’t seem fitting for a good old-fashioned home-cooked 
meal," Sam opinioned.

"Well, there’s your problem," Merry answered. "The elves don’t have 
good old-fashioned home-cooked meals. They have banquets, feasts, or 
nothing. So they really don’t have a need for ale."

"What a waste of good talent," Pippin groused. "Do you think we could 
talk Legolas into brewing us some ale?"

"With what, Mr. Pippin?" Sam demanded. "Do you see anything around 
here that could be put into any sort of worthwhile brew?"

"I didn’t mean now, Sam, I meant later. We’ll be getting into warmer 
lands soon and then we’ll have better pickings. At least, I hope so. I 
don’t know if I can take any more cold weather."

"Legolas said something to me the other day about things getting worse 
before they get better," Merry remembered.

"I didn’t need to hear that," Frodo moaned. "I could have gone the 
rest of the journey without hearing that."

"But we all know it," Merry countered. "So why not say it? Let’s get 
it out into the open. It’s bound to get worse before it gets better. 
Take those mountains off in the distance. Mordor is on the other side 
of them, right? And that’s where we need to go. Exactly how are we 
going to do that? Somewhere around here, we’ll have to cross them. And 
I wager that won’t be an easy crossing."

"We could use snow to make ale," Pippin mused thoughtfully.

"As long as we can toss you into the pot, too," Frodo grumbled. "And 
don’t talk about snow. It’s already raining. You’re just tempting 
fate."

"Do you hear that?" Sam asked abruptly.

The other hobbits fell silent immediately, having learned even in the 
Shire to trust Sam’s ears. But the only sounds that came to them were 
that of wind and water. They shifted and looked at one another, but 
Sam was now standing, his blankets wrapped tightly around his 
shivering frame. He moved forward, daring the falling rain, and 
paused.

"What is it?" Frodo asked, getting to his feet and starting toward 
Gandalf in case he needed to be woken.

"I…well, I can’t rightly say, Mr. Frodo," Sam answered slowly, his 
face a study in confusion. "But it sounds like a…a big animal."

"A big animal?" Pippin echoed, fearing that the weather had driven 
poor Sam to madness.

"No, not just any big animal. I think it’s a…well, it’s a mean one. 
And it’s roaring."

"Roaring?" Merry frowned and moved out into the rain next to Sam. "I 
still don’t hear anything."

Deciding that Sam’s big, mean, roaring animal probably needed 
investigating, Frodo walked over and shook Gandalf. The wizard was 
awake instantly, reaching for his staff and surging to his feet with 
such speed that Frodo toppled over into the mud.

"What?" Gandalf demanded, trying to work out exactly what had shaken 
him from his sleep.

"It’s Sam," Frodo explained from his position on his back. He was 
dirty enough already and lying around in mucky water really wasn’t 
doing any harm, so he decided to stay there and collect his bearings. 
"Sam says he can hear something and it sounds like roaring."

Gandalf’s eyes narrowed immediately and he strode to Gimli’s side, 
waking the dwarf by rapping his staff against Gimli’s chain mail. 
"Up," the wizard commanded. "We may have visitors."

Gimli groaned in response, but he did open his eyes and struggle to a 
sitting position, reflexively reaching for his axe as he sensed the 
tension in Gandalf’s voice. "What visitors might those be?" he asked, 
turning his eyes to the surrounding forest. "And what would possess 
them to be out in this weather?"

Gandalf did not answer but moved into the rain to stand with Merry and 
Sam. Now that he was more alert, he was more puzzled than alarmed. His 
first thought upon waking had been that the Warg had drawn nigh and 
was signaling the rest of the pack, but as he cast about for signs of 
that, he realized that nowhere could he feel the presence of the wolf.

"What is it that you heard, Samwise?" Gandalf asked at length, his 
puzzlement turning to irritation as he continued to find nothing out 
of the ordinary.

"Roaring, and I still hear it," Sam answered. "It’s coming from up 
there."

The hobbit pointed toward the river that raced in the distance. Gimli 
had deigned to get to his feet and now stalked out to join them, 
hoping that whatever had disturbed everyone could be dealt with 
quickly so that he might sleep. He needed his rest to plot a fitting 
revenge for Legolas. The arrow in the beard demanded severe 
retribution, and Aragorn had hustled the elf away too quickly after it 
happened for the dwarf to take action then.

"I see nothing," Gimli grumbled after a quick glance at the woods. He 
eyed Sam with a baleful glance, wondering if the hobbit’s imagination 
had run away with him and woken them all up in the process.

"You won’t see anything. There’s nothing to see," Sam answered, 
becoming slightly frustrated. "I can hear it, not see it! Whatever’s 
making that sound is out there now and it wasn’t out there earlier. 
That’s all I know. And the sound is roaring."

"Roaring…" Gandalf suddenly stiffened, finally catching the sounds 
that had first commanded Sam’s attention. "Not roaring," he whispered, 
horror filling his face. "The river! The river is flooding!"

"Strider!" Pippin cried. "They’re all right next to the river!"

"Hurry!" Gandalf ordered, racing forward and praying that the sharp 
ears of Legolas and Aragorn would alert them to their danger just as 
Sam had been alerted. If not, they would never be warned in time."

* * * *

Aragorn paced restlessly beneath Legolas’s improvised canopy. 
Something was amiss, but he had yet to place what. The Warg had not 
returned, he was certain of that. And no orcs were near, of that he 
was also certain. Ringwraiths? No, he would have sensed those long 
ago, and their presence would have roused Legolas and Boromir. But 
something…something was not right. Something that eluded the Ranger’s 
sharp eyes but still managed to warn his senses.

Listening was something of a lost cause. With the river only a stone’s 
throw away, Aragorn could hear little above its constant roar. It was 
loud and fast this day, and Aragorn hoped that its crossing would not 
prove to be too difficult a task. He had recommended to Gandalf that 
they continue the southern journey and cross the river at one of its 
many fords, and he still stood by that counsel, but the continuing 
rains were a sobering note to an already dreary and despairing quest.

Hobbled off to the side, Bill suddenly gave a snort and started 
forward, jerking at his hobbles and neighing in fright. Aragorn 
hastened to his side, and once more attempted to discern what was 
wrong. But to his mortal senses, all was as it should be. No dread of 
evil darkened his heart, no suspicious noise sounded from the forest 
around them, and no shadow of movement caught his eye.

That only held true for another few seconds, and then Aragorn reached 
for his sword and swung his gaze upward. Something was moving in the 
trees, but it didn’t take long for the Ranger to realize it was 
Legolas. Relaxing, he released his sword hilt and frowned as he tried 
to follow the elf’s movements. From what little Aragorn could see of 
him, Legolas seemed agitated. Perhaps he also suffered from feelings 
of misgiving. That would be the logical explanation for the fact that 
he was taking no care to conceal himself, trusting in his innate 
elvish ability to alert him to imminent danger. Of course, it is 
doubtful that a gaze other than that of a Ranger would have been able 
to follow Legolas as he skillfully followed a trackless path through a 
maze of branches. Though stealth was last on his list of priorities, 
Legolas was an elf and moved noiselessly and gracefully, seeming to be 
an extension of the forest rather than a visitor that climbed higher 
and higher into the trees.

Trying to calm Bill, Aragorn impatiently waited for the elf to find a 
better vantagepoint and survey the situation with far-seeing eyes. 
Leaning against the trunk of a broad tree, Boromir stirred slightly 
and mumbled in his sleep, picking up on the tension around him but not 
awake enough for it to completely rouse him.

And then everything seemed to happen at once. Despite the hobbles, 
Bill reared and whinnied, breaking Aragorn’s hold on his halter and 
awkwardly dashing away. Boromir started and sat up slowly, attempted 
to discern what was happening around him. And Legolas dropped straight 
out of the trees, landing low in a cat-like crouch and making no 
attempt to hide the horror on his face.

"The river is flooding!" he cried, turning and racing toward the bank.

"What?!" Boromir jumped to his feet and followed the elf, shaking off 
the last remnants of sleep as he did so.

"The river!" Legolas repeated, leaping down the rocky bank and 
skidding to a halt next to the overhang where they’d stored the 
baggage. "Hurry! It will be upon us soon!"

Knowing all too well that without their winter clothes and extra food 
they wouldn’t last another week in the wild, Aragorn hastened to help 
the elf, forming a chain with him and Boromir. Legolas would seize a 
pack and toss it to Aragorn who tossed it to Denethor’s son who flung 
it as far as he could away from the river. As for the river, it was 
slowly rising, and Aragorn could now feel vibrations under foot that 
spoke of the flood barreling toward them. They were faint, but they 
were growing quickly.

"How soon?" Aragorn shouted above the sound of rain and rushing water.

Legolas tossed up a pack heavy with dried meat and paused to glance up 
the river. His eyes widened slightly, and he immediately dove back 
under the overhang, grabbing wildly for anything his hands would 
reach. That was answer enough for Aragorn who shouted a warning back 
to Boromir. Boromir grunted—a typical response for him—and continued 
to throw the baggage. He would not leave until the other two were 
clear.

"We can’t save the rest of it," Legolas yelled, seizing one more pack 
and starting to climb back up. "We must get clear of this area!" In 
his haste, a rock turned underfoot and he stumbled, sliding back down 
the bank.

"Come on!" Aragorn ordered, reaching a hand down to the elf and 
pulling hard as soon as he felt Legolas seize his arm. Then Boromir 
was beside him, taking the pack from Legolas and seizing the elf’s 
other hand. Legolas was pulled clear of the bank and together the 
three of them turned and began running.

But they had tarried too long. Aragorn heard a short oath from 
Boromir, a sharp intake of breath from Legolas, and the next thing he 
knew a wall of water hit him like a cave troll wielding a mithril 
club. The river rushed over his head and he was swept downstream with 
horrible speed, smashing into rocks, knocking against trees, and 
tearing through shrubs now all at the mercy of the raging water.

Flailing about, he somehow managed to get his bearings and stroked for 
the surface, but he fought against swirling currents and strong 
undertows caused by the boulders and tree trunks over which the 
flashflood was sweeping. His air began running out, and stars sparkled 
before his eyes. With a rather detached observation, he decided that 
the stars reminded him of the fireflies that danced on the lawns of 
Rivendell in the summer evenings. As a child he’d chased them, 
challenging Elladan and Elrohir to beat him in the game, and for all 
that they were far older and more mature, they could not forebear to 
join him.

His head glanced against a granite boulder and he was knocked from his 
daydream and back into reality. Realizing he had moments before he 
would be forced to take a grasping breath of water, Aragorn tried once 
more to break the surface. Kicking out with his feet, he pushed off 
riverbank and shot upwards, letting the currents sweep him about so 
long as they did not sweep him back down. And just as his eyes began 
to dim while his clamoring lungs screamed in protest, the waters above 
him parted and he thrust his head into wonderful, glorious, beautiful 
air.

With a gasping heave, he choked on sprays of water and rejoiced over 
the gift of breath. Struggling to remain afloat while his heavy cloak 
and sword threatened to drag him back down, Aragorn looked around for 
possibilities of a place to land. The western bank looked promising 
and he started swimming toward it, clutching at floating logs whenever 
he could and stopping often for rest. He was dragged beneath the water 
three more times, but each time he managed to resurface and each time 
the bank seemed a little closer. Inch by gasping inch, he closed the 
distance between himself and shore and finally managed to find a place 
where his feet could touch the bottom. He did not stand, though, for 
the rushing river would not permit such actions, but he was close now. 
And so he swam forward until the water only reached his knees, and on 
all fours, he threw himself from the river, exhausted, drenched, and 
shivering.

For a long time, he lay there, making no effort to exert himself and 
sucking precious air into his lungs. Rain continued to pour down on 
his back and his head throbbed where it had hit the rock. At length, 
summoning what strength remained to him, he attempted to stand. He 
managed to get to his knees, but that was as far as he could go. He 
lacked the energy for anything else and with a despairing moan, he 
sank back onto the wet, muddy ground. He knew he should begin looking 
for Boromir and Legolas, or at least Gandalf and the others to tell 
them of what had happened, but his eyes were closing of their own 
accord. All efforts at staving off unconsciousness were in vain, and 
it was not long before the Ranger fell into a deep and dreamless 
sleep.

* * * *

In silent desperation, one wizard, one dwarf, and four hobbits raced 
toward the campsite of their companions, hoping that they would find 
them safe and unharmed. Gandalf kept throwing irritated glances over 
his shoulder, unspoken demands that the hobbits increase their pace, 
but even Gimli was having trouble keeping up with the wizard’s long 
strides. They simply could not move faster despite the fear each one 
carried in his heart.

When the flood hit, they knew it. The rushing river could be seen from 
a distance and its roar could not go unheard. Moans of large trees as 
water slammed against their trunks echoed through the forest, and the 
grinding of great boulders now relegated to a riverbed was loud in 
their ears.

"What have I always told Mr. Merry about rivers?" Sam asked as he 
tried to push his short legs to greater speeds. "I knew something like 
this was going to happen!"

"Faster!" Gandalf shouted back at them. "If you have breath to speak, 
you have breath to run!"

But then Pippin cried out and veered to the side, jumping into the wet 
underbrush and disappearing instantly from view. Gimli shouted ahead 
to Gandalf who came to a skidding and angry halt, glaring into the 
surrounding forest for a glimpse of the now-missing Took. And then 
Pippin was racing back, reappearing almost as quickly as he had 
vanished, and behind him, jerking his head restlessly against the lead 
rope, came—

"Bill!" Sam cried, hurrying to the pony. "Bless me, Bill, look at you! 
You haven’t a dry spot on your entire body!"

The pony snorted and shook himself, flinging water everywhere. His 
hobbles had broken and only one lace around his right forefoot showed 
they had even existed in the first place. A shivering wracked his body 
and the pitiful horse buried its nose against Sam, exhausted from his 
flight and still frightened by the suddenness of the flood.

"They would not have let the pony run alone," Gimli said, his ominous 
words throwing a shadow onto Sam’s joy of having found his horse.

"I fear you are right, Gimli," Gandalf said, his voice soft and 
thoughtful. "They would not have left the pony alone." He shook his 
head, water raining down from his gray beard, and then turned. "Come," 
he urged, moving back into a run.

The others trailed after him, considerably more depressed now than 
they had been moments ago. Even Gimli’s powerful gait seemed to be 
faltering. In silence they ran, each cringing to think of what might 
await them when they found the camp by the river. But none of them 
could be truly prepared for what they found when at last they reached 
it.

Water still rushed over the former campsite, though now it was only 
ankle deep. The hobbits, wizard, and dwarf sank deep into the ground 
as they walked, making each step a mucky, wearisome struggle. They 
found a number of packs mired in deep mud. It looked as though they 
had been thrown there in haste. And high in the tops of a tree, the 
hobbits’ sharp eyes could make out what appeared to be the strap to 
Legolas’s quiver. Some of the boughs had been pulled together, 
creating a canopy that, for the most part, blocked the rain. Gandalf 
discovered the quiver itself lodged in a nearby tree. It looked as 
though it had been placed there for safekeeping during the day. The 
wizard shook his head sadly. The quiver and all its arrows had indeed 
been kept safe, but what of the owner?

And that was the great problem they met as they sloshed through what 
had now become a muddy quagmire. Nowhere could they find sign or token 
of Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas.

"Gandalf!"

It was Gimli’s voice near the south end of camp that attracted their 
attention. The group gathered together around him and the dwarf slowly 
lifted an object that had been partially buried by mud and debris and 
lodged between two trees growing closely together.

"Boromir’s shield," Frodo murmured, looking at Gandalf and awaiting 
his reaction.

The wizard stepped forward and took the shield from Gimli, examining 
the back and the straps that would have wound around the warrior’s 
arm. "This was torn from him," the wizard said at length. "See how the 
leather here is pulled and stretched. He clung to this before the 
water swept him away. But I do not think he held others. It is not 
stretched enough for that. Boromir was alone when he fought the 
flood."

"What of Aragorn and Legolas?" Merry asked quietly. Gandalf made no 
answer.

"Almost half of the baggage is over there," Sam observed, breaking the 
silence that settled over them like a shroud. He nodded toward the 
pile of packs that were sinking even deeper into the mud as they 
spoke. "Most of the food is saved and almost all the winter clothing 
is still here."

"It seems they tried to save the most valuable things before the flood 
could take them from us," Gandalf murmured.

"But what about them? Did they save themselves?" Pippin asked.

"I do not know," Gandalf answered quietly, surprising them all in 
admitting this, though if they had thought about it, there was no way 
for Gandalf to know otherwise. "I do not know if they survived or 
where they might now be," he continued. "One thing is clear, 
though—they are not around this campsite." The wizard looked about, 
seeming to weigh several decisions, and then shook his head. "Gather 
the baggage. And Pippin, see if you can retrieve Legolas’s quiver 
strap."

"What?!" the young hobbit demanded.

"Retrieve the strap," Gandalf repeated. "Sam, load Bill with the 
remainder of the packs. Gimli and Merry, track further south. See if 
you can find any more of our baggage, but stay within calling 
distance. Frodo and I will stay here to aid Sam."

Pippin looked as though he were about to set up a very loud protest at 
being made to climb the tree and secure Legolas’s quiver strap, but 
one look from Gandalf’s flashing eyes beneath bristling brows and he 
decided that high in the tree would actually be safer down in the mud. 
With a muttered grumble and a glare of his own, Pippin began slowly 
and cautiously climbing the tall tree.

By the time that Bill was loaded again and Gimli and Merry had 
returned, finding only a few extra pots and pans that had been stowed 
originally on Bill rather than in Sam’s pack, Pippin had reached the 
thin leather strap that tied tree branches together and formed a 
semi-shelter. He was making a concerted effort not to look down, but 
he was very aware that the ground was a rather long distance away. 
Clinging tightly to the shaking branches, he began unwinding the 
strap, hoping desperately that no wind would come up and blow him from 
his perch. A gasp of horror and amazement from Sam did not help his 
situation and he felt himself freeze up.

"You’re almost finished," Merry called encouragingly. "Don’t rush it, 
Pippin, you’ll be fine."

"If I’m so fine, why don’t you come up here and join me," Pippin 
grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut as a soft breeze whistled through 
the treetops. His stomach was doing a rather interesting dance, and he 
wondered if Sam’s breakfast would taste as good coming up as it had 
going down. Those below probably wouldn’t appreciate it, but at the 
moment, Pippin was not inclined to be generous to those who were still 
safe and sound on solid earth.

"If you would finish your task, you could come down," Gandalf said.

Pippin was severely tempted to turn his stomach loose, but he couldn’t 
for that would jeopardize his hold on his precarious perch. And though 
revenge and retribution were tempting, the will to live was more 
compelling. Gritting his teeth, he finished freeing the quiver strap 
and began backing off the branches toward the tree trunk, moving with 
painstaking slowness.

"What is our next move, Gandalf?" Gimli wondered while they waited for 
Pippin.

"We shall return to our camp," the wizard said. "And there we shall 
light a small fire." The others blinked in amazement at this and 
Gandalf went on to explain the reasoning. "The clothes must be dried 
no matter what the danger, for if we die of cold, the spies of Mordor 
will find us regardless. And when our missing companions are found, 
they will need the fire. Also, I suspect we could do with a bit of 
light. The dark clouds overhead have sapped our spirits, and a small 
fire might go far in cheering our hearts."

"But what about Strider, Legolas, and Boromir? Aren’t we going to 
search for them?" Frodo gasped.

"Not immediately. The fire and dry clothes are our first priority, for 
if we find them without such things, it will do them no good. Once 
things are properly underway, we shall separate. Some will stay at 
camp while others go on the hunt."

Gimli glanced around as if to indicate to the wizard that numbers and 
strength were not in their favor. Gandalf sighed, knowing that all too 
well. He currently planned to leave Gimli at camp with Frodo and Sam 
while he, Merry, and Pippin searched for Aragorn, Boromir, and 
Legolas. It was the best plan he could come up with on short notice, 
and he didn’t think another would be presenting itself soon. He didn’t 
like the notion of splitting, particularly since that gave the hobbits 
only one capable warrior for each group, but there was nothing else to 
be done.

"Will they make for our camp?" Merry asked. "Or do you think they’ll 
come back here?"

"Aragorn will make for our camp," Gandalf answered with reasonable 
certainty. He’d hunted with the Ranger before, and Aragorn’s first 
instincts would lead him to the driest campsite. Even though he would 
be tempted to search for Legolas and Boromir on his own, he would 
realize that he had to meet up with the remainder of the Fellowship 
and assure them of his survival as well as secure their help in 
finding the other two. Gandalf was also fairly certain that Legolas 
would do likewise. When separated, elven warriors were taught to make 
for a rendezvous point, and Legolas would probably employ that 
strategy here. As for Boromir, Gandalf had absolutely no idea what he 
would do.

"Just a few more feet, Pippin," Frodo called, watching the progress of 
the young Took. It was actually ten more feet, but considering how 
high Pippin had been, ten feet seemed like just a few.

"No elf will ever convince me to climb up a tree again," Pippin vowed, 
sliding down the trunk and landing with a rather strange plopping 
sound in the mud. "I don’t care if there are orcs, ringwraiths, 
trolls, or anything else behind me. No more trees."

"Come," Gandalf ordered, turning south. "It will be nightfall by the 
time we reach our former camp, and then we must work swiftly to dry 
blankets and cloaks. I fear we will need them ere the night is over."

"Thank you, Pippin, for getting that strap," Pippin said to himself, 
aiming his words at Gandalf’s back as he trailed behind the wizard. 
"You know, Pippin, for a hobbit you are incredible in the trees. I 
appreciate all the effort and trouble you go to on our behalf, Pippin. 
Even though it was only a quiver strap, I’m sure Legolas will be 
thankful, Pippin."

"Shut up, Pippin," Merry chimed in.

"You made a remarkable elf up there," Frodo said, jumping in before 
Pippin could redirect his anger.

The Took sniffed and nodded. "No need to thank me. I was only doing my 
duty as a member of the Fellowship."

Sam rolled his eyes, Frodo sighed, Merry shook his head, Gimli 
chuckled quietly, and Gandalf looked over his shoulder. "Are you 
coming or do you prefer to stand here chatting in the cold and wet?"

Straightening his waistcoat and running fingers through his dark hair, 
Pippin nodded. "Proceed. Pippin the Elf will follow."

"Fool of a Took," Gandalf muttered to himself as he turned and began 
walking again.

====================


Part 7

Author’s Notes: First of all, I just wanted to say THANK YOU for all 
the kind reviews and all the critical reviews. They are a big help and 
a good ego boost. ;) Anyway, I hope I can continue to write up to your 
expectations. Having said that, here comes the second half of January 
3, 3019. Hope you enjoy and to all of you expecting some form of 
Gimli/Legolas bond forming…well, we’ll just have to see…

 

 

January 3, 3019 (Night)

Dusk had fallen and with thick clouds covering the sky, the darkness 
of night was swift in its arrival. Cold winds off the mountains 
whistled through the trees, and the sound of a raging river flooding 
its banks echoed in the valleys at the foot of the towering mountains. 
Rain continued to pound the earth with no sign of slowing its 
relentless onslaught.

Coughing up water and spitting mud, Boromir raised his dripping head 
and groaned, ultimately deciding it was better to lie still than to 
move. With muddled thoughts, he began a self-inventory, running 
through what bumps and bruises he could feel before moving on to 
possibly more serious injuries. He had two lumps on the back of his 
head and his knee felt as though it had been severely wrenched. A 
throbbing in his lower back informed him that his spine was out of 
alignment and the palm of his left hand was robbed raw where he had 
clung stubbornly to his shield before the force of the water bore him 
away.

Still, all these were but minor concerns. What disturbed him more was 
a feeling that he was short of breath and the sharp stinging in his 
right side. Broken ribs, he decided grimly. And if I do not take care, 
they will puncture the lung. Once bound tightly, the ribs would 
trouble him little, but until such time, he would have to watch his 
movements carefully. Thankfully, nothing else seemed to be broken, and 
his mind was clear enough that he did not fear a concussion.

Rolling gingerly to his left side, he tried to conjure up his last few 
moments of consciousness. The water had hit them hard, and before he 
truly knew what was happening, he’d been struggling for his life. He 
remembered the hard jolt to his shoulder when his shield snagged 
itself between two trees, and he remembered hanging on to the leather 
straps for what seemed like time without end. But the river had been 
too strong. He’d been carried away, struggling against the current 
that dragged him beneath the water’s surface. He’d surfaced once or 
twice, just long enough each time to steal a breath of air, and then 
he would be dragged under again. But all the while, he’d managed to 
keep his wits and he’d continued to strive for the banks, though in 
truth his sense of direction became clouded.

He remembered being knocked into a large tree and pinned there by the 
force of the flood. He could remember grasping the great trunk and 
shinnying up its length until he again could hold his head above the 
rushing waters. His grip had begun to slip, but before he was dragged 
downstream, he was able to catch sight of the western bank and push 
off the groaning tree. More trees and rocks awaited his crashing form 
before he could drag himself clear of the water, yet somehow he 
managed it. Once safely clear of the river, he’d collapsed like a dead 
thing, and to all the world he might as well have been dead. It was 
only now that he summoned the strength to stir, and he was currently 
rethinking this new policy, pondering the merits of lying still a 
while longer.

But the cold breeze that stole across his shivering body convinced him 
otherwise. If he did not find shelter and warmth soon, he would not 
last more than a few hours. He had seen the greatest soldiers succumb 
to the cold during night battles along the Anduin. A wet warrior in 
chill weather was a dead warrior, and Boromir was not about to let an 
act of nature claim his life. When he went, he intended to die by the 
sword, defending Minas Tirith from the grasp of the Nameless One.

With cautious movements, Boromir managed to rise to his knees. His 
back cried out in protest and his fractured ribs sent spasms of pain 
along his right side, but he endured it and held his ground, 
determined that he would not sink back into the mud like one of 
Sauron’s foul creations. When the pain had passed enough for him to 
collect himself, he worked on rising to his feet. This was a bit more 
of a challenge, and his knee wobbled traitorously beneath him. The 
injury to his leg was worse than he’d originally believed, but it was 
still not debilitating. Nothing a strong brace could not repair. 
Eventually achieving a standing position of sorts, he swayed 
dangerously and closed his eyes as a sensation of vertigo took him. 
Reaching out and leaning against a tree, he shuddered and waited for 
the dizziness to pass.

It never really did pass, but after a few minutes, it went down in 
intensity. Deciding he would have to settle for this, Boromir opened 
his eyes and looked about. It was night now, the clouds still loomed 
overhead, and the rain continued to pour. He did not know this country 
as Aragorn and Gandalf did, and he realized that if he set out in the 
wrong direction, he could be lost for weeks. Only it would not be 
weeks because the cold and wet would finish him first. But how was he 
to know which direction was the right one?

And then the solution came to him, as pure and simple as the 
blossoming of a flower amidst a field of despair. "The river," he 
murmured quietly, relieved and yet disgusted with himself for not 
having seen it earlier. The river was a path he could follow. Tracing 
it back upstream, he would eventually return to the day’s campsite. It 
was the most logical course of action for him at the moment since he 
had very little idea of his whereabouts and no idea of where the other 
campsite was located. Aragorn and Legolas had been the two to go on 
ahead with the rest of the group while he had kept watch on Bill and 
the baggage. In truth, the river was his only choice and his only 
chance.

Pushing off of his tree and shoving down feelings of nausea from his 
stomach, Boromir put one shaking foot in front of the other and began 
the long trudge upstream through muck and mud. His injured knee 
protested loudly, his back complained ceaselessly, his stomach 
informed him that he had swallowed far too much river water, his ribs 
continued to rob him of breath, his skinned hand throbbed slightly, 
his head pounded greatly, and to top it all off, he was now shivering 
violently.

"What I need now is Aragorn’s Warg," Boromir said to no one in 
particular, stopping for a brief rest and shaking with cold. "It would 
be the perfect way to put a permanent end to this night."

But the Warg did not appear and Boromir continued to trudge onward, 
not knowing how far the river had dragged him or what he would do once 
he found the former campsite. If no one was there, he did not think he 
retained enough muscle control to build a fire even if he could find 
dry tinder amidst all this rain. His trembling hands were numb and if 
he were forced to defend himself, he did not think he would be able to 
hold his sword. But he had few options available to him, so through 
the mud he pressed. And all the while, the cold breeze flowed over and 
around his body, chilling him further and further.

After a mile or so of this seemingly endless upstream wandering, 
Boromir wondered if he should cry out. It would bring down any enemy 
spies, but it might also bring his companions. He was beginning to 
feel a sleepy haze creep over his mind, and some distant part of his 
brain had immediately identified it as a sign that he needed help and 
he needed it soon.

This was confirmed when he suddenly realized that his eyes were 
closed. Opening them quickly, he found that he had somehow ended up on 
the ground. Had he fallen? He did not remember falling. Had he sat 
down? He didn’t remember that either. He wondered if he should get up 
and try again, but he was so tired. So very tired. And it was bitterly 
cold. Why not wait a bit? He was sure to warm up again once he 
received some much needed rest.

In the back of his mind, an annoying little voice started ordering him 
to stand and keep moving. It was quite insistent and ignoring it was 
not really an option, but neither was obeying it. He didn’t have the 
strength to stand and his limbs had conspired against him. They would 
not obey his commands.

A numbing cold swept over him, he continued to shiver violently, but 
the sleepy haze was back. What thoughts he could manage were clouded 
and uncertain. The clamoring voice in the back of his mind gradually 
died down, and Boromir finally allowed his eyes to slide shut, too 
exhausted and too frozen to care what the consequences of this might 
be.

* * * *

Gandalf watched the growing darkness over the land and eyed the flame 
that Gimli was nurturing, silently marveling at the ability of the 
dwarf to maintain a steady fire with only wet wood to work with. But 
at the same time, his instincts cried out against it, predicting the 
arrival of countless enemies should the fire be allowed to continue. 
He reminded himself that this was out of necessity and that when they 
found the others, they would be in desperate need of warmth. If it is 
a choice between countless enemies or three dead companions, I would 
choose the countless enemies and save the companions, Gandalf told 
himself firmly. He truly believed this, but his instincts refused to 
listen to the voice of reason and loyalty, continuing to protest the 
warm flame that was steadily growing larger under Gimli’s expert care.

The hobbits had arranged every spare blanket and cloak around the 
fire, and steam was rising as the fire’s warmth began to dry the 
garments. The fabric was so thoroughly soaked with water that it was 
doubtful that it would dry completely before the garments would be 
needed. But at least they would be warm, and at least they would be 
drier than whatever Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas were currently using 
for a cloak.

The wizard sighed, hoping that those three could be found quickly. If 
they were not, he did not think they would be able to last the night. 
Legolas might, for as an elf he had a much higher tolerance for cold, 
but if he had been injured by the flood, this tolerance would go down 
while his body relegated energy to the healing process. And there was 
the continuing weather to consider. It was cold, everything was 
drenched with water, bitter winds were whispering through the woods, 
and it was still raining. Even an elf might have a difficult time 
keeping his body heat in the face of both cold and wet. And as for a 
man…

They all know basic survival techniques, Gandalf reassured himself. 
They know to keep moving, to avoid sleep, to find somewhere with as 
much shelter as possible. But even as he said this, he knew that a 
mind affected by the cold did not think clearly. Even basic survival 
techniques would be difficult to remember for an injured, frozen, 
weary traveler.

But none of this could be helped now. They had to focus on what could 
be done and go about achieving that. Glancing once more over the camp, 
Gandalf nodded. They could do little more here and it was time for 
some of them to go. "Sam, start a stew or a tea over the fire. It 
should be as hot as you can make it and still be able to drink it. If 
Aragorn, Boromir, or Legolas come back while I am gone, wrap them in 
blankets, place them near the fire, and get as much hot fluids into 
them as you can."

"Are you going to search for them alone?" Gimli asked, his brow 
furrowing with concern.

For answer, Gandalf turned to Merry and Pippin. "Come, you two. You 
shall accompany me. Bring spare blankets and cloaks. They need not be 
the driest, for under this rain, they will not stay dry for long," he 
added as the two hobbits obediently got to their feet.

"I was enjoying the fire," Pippin muttered beneath his breath.

"I thought you were the elf," Merry ribbed. "Elves never complain."

Gimli snorted at this. "Elves complain much, my dear hobbit. You have 
just never taken the time to listen."

"What would you know of elves?" Merry asked, gathering a pile of 
cloaks together. "The most you can do is harass them."

Gimli shrugged, caring little about the accusation. It was accurate 
enough, and the dwarf saw no shame in this. "I know enough of them, 
young hobbit. And as for complaints, it is in his glance, his manner, 
the tone of his voice…listen closely and you will find that our elf is 
ever at odds with those around him."

"Let us be off," Gandalf said, interrupting the conversation. 
"Remember what I have told you," he said, looking at Frodo, Sam, and 
Gimli. "If they return on their own, they will be cold, wet, and 
probably incoherent. You must care for them quickly and promptly. They 
must be kept warm, and if possible, they must be kept awake."

"Have no fear on their account," Gimli promised. "They will find 
safety here."

Gandalf nodded, hoping that this would be the case and that he, Merry, 
and Pippin would not be forced to bring all three of them back to the 
campsite. He doubted they would be able to accomplish the latter in 
time to save them all. "Farewell, then. Stay alert, all of you. The 
fire may draw our friends, but it will draw other things, too." And 
with that, he turned and strode into the darkness. Merry and Pippin 
followed quickly.

"Just like Gandalf to part with that kind of remark," Sam said, 
placing a kettle of water over the fire for heating. Gimli chuckled 
quietly in response, but Frodo said nothing. A strange feeling was 
growing over him—a feeling of awareness and malice. Gandalf was right. 
In spite of the rain, the fire was drawing other things.

* * * *

"Legolas?"

Legolas groaned and shivered, feeling as though a blanket of ice 
encased his body. Pulled from dark dreams into an even darker night, 
he blinked his eyes and wondered at his blurred vision. Was that 
normal?

"Legolas!"

Slowly, his vision began to clear. Shadows hovered over his shaking 
form and a bitter wind tousled his wet hair. His leg hurt, as did his 
left wrist. He tried to remember how he had injured himself, but his 
mind was not cooperating and wished to sink back into unconscious 
bliss. Deciding that this was probably for the best, Legolas allowed 
it, feeling his body relax in response.

"No, Legolas, I won’t let you do that. You must get up! I can’t 
support both of us."

Who kept speaking to him? Didn’t they know that he needed rest? With 
growing annoyance, the elf summoned his mind back from the comfortable 
world of dreams and into the harsher world of reality. He tried to 
speak, to tell whoever was there to leave him be, but he found he 
could not form words. He could not hold his shaking jaw still.

"Awaken! I was taught that elves are the superior beings. Don’t let 
that be wrong. You must get up!"

Something was shaking his arm and his throbbing wrist slapped 
painfully against his frozen body. Struggling for greater awareness, 
Legolas tried to pull away or strike back—he didn’t know which of the 
two he could manage or even which of the two he eventually 
attempted—but found himself groaning at the effort it took to even 
manage a faint, ineffectual tug.

"That’s right, Legolas, fight me. You can do it. I am but a mortal. 
Show me your superior elven strength and stamina. Rise!"

Rise? For what purpose? Had he possessed the energy, Legolas would 
have shaken his head in disbelief. He was frozen, tired, and injured. 
What good would standing do him? Beyond that, he didn’t think he could 
stand. Better to lie here quietly while—

"Legolas! Legolas, Mirkwood is under attack! Your father and brothers 
need you. The orcs are almost upon them!"

That got his attention. Legolas felt rage flare through him, bringing 
with it the fiery heat of anger and granting him strength from some 
hidden reserve. Transferring that strength to his uninjured right arm, 
he pushed himself up, coughing as he did so and feeling the soreness 
of his lungs in the strength of his coughs.

"That’s right, Legolas, you must rise. Your bow is needed."

Closing his eyes and concentrating all his attention inward, the elf 
mustered his waning energy, and with halting effort, he got to his 
knees. Someone was holding him now, steadying him as he swayed and 
continued to cough. It felt as though he had inhaled a lake. When had 
that happened?

"Just a bit more, my friend. On your feet. On your feet and then you 
can rest."

No, he could not rest. Not when Mirkwood was under attack. Who was 
this being that commanded him to rise? He was not an elf. What was his 
purpose in Mirkwood? Did he bring danger to the kingdom? With a final 
effort, Legolas surged to his feet, staggering and swaying 
immediately. His companion pressed him against a tree for balance, and 
leaning his head forward against the dark pine, Legolas made a rather 
disconcerting discovery.

This was not Mirkwood.

He blinked slowly, wondering what new trick and danger threatened. 
Turning his head, he frowned and then focused on a concerned face that 
hovered but inches from his own. "Aragorn?"

The Ranger sighed and a flicker of relief flashed briefly in his dark 
eyes. "You worried me, Legolas. When I first found you, you would not 
respond."

"You…you were the one who…we are not in Mirkwood." It was certainly 
not his best response, but his muddled brain was so confused that he 
could not form a more coherent answer.

Concern crept back into Aragorn’s eyes and he studied the elven prince 
closely. "Do you know where we are? Do you remember what happened?"

Turning around so that his back rested against the pine, Legolas 
closed his eyes and thought. "South of Imladris," he finally murmured, 
his memories returning slowly. "We were hit by a flooding river."

"Thank the Valar," Aragorn murmured. His sharp eyes studied the pale 
elf, making use of what little light filtered through the dark clouds 
overhead. "Are you able to travel? We must find the rest of the 
Fellowship."

Legolas nodded, opening his eyes and pushing off the tree trunk. 
"Where shall we go?"

"Their campsite," Aragorn answered. "I believe I know where we are, 
and our destination is not more than a mile or so away. Can you manage 
it?"

"Of course," the elf answered, annoyed at his chattering teeth. He 
took one step forward and instantly fell, his left thigh refusing to 
support him. Aragorn tried to catch him, but the Ranger was exhausted 
enough that even the slight weight of the elf threw them both off 
balance and into the mud.

"I take that as a no," Aragorn said, pushing himself out of the 
clinging muck. He looked over at Legolas who was struggling to get 
back to a sitting position and quickly noticed the expression of pain 
on the elf’s face. "You are injured."

"No more so than you," Legolas returned. Despite the chills that 
racked his body, he had not failed to notice that the Ranger kept 
clutching the back of his head as though it pained him.

"My own discomfort will not interfere with traveling," Aragorn 
informed him, moving next to the elf and stopping him from further 
attempts to rise. "What ails you?"

"Left leg and left wrist," Legolas confessed, realizing that Aragorn 
would not allow him to move until he had been examined. "I believe the 
wrist is sprained. I do not know what troubles the leg."

He watched while his arm was lifted and then winced slightly as 
Aragorn’s probing fingers examined the questionable wrist. "In this, 
you are correct. Nothing is broken," the Ranger said, his soft voice 
blending with the sound of constant rain. "It is badly sprained, 
though. When we return, I shall fashion a brace for it." He glanced at 
the elf, dark eyes meeting gray ones. "You may find that drawing your 
bow will be uncomfortable."

Legolas looked away and attempted to shrug, but he was shaking too 
hard for any movement to be discernable as anything other than 
shivers. "It will heal soon. Elves recover quickly."

"And for that you are lucky," Aragorn said. "Lie back down, Legolas. 
Hold still and let me move you."

Legolas closed his eyes and sank into the mud, barely noticing it 
since he was already soaked through to the bone. He relaxed his 
muscles and allowed Aragorn to push him onto his right side. Gentle 
hands touched his leg and the elf could not hold back a sharp hiss of 
pain. Aragorn paused for a moment, giving Legolas a chance to collect 
himself.

"Ready?"

The elf nodded, his eyes shut tight as he prepared for another 
onslaught of pain. Aragorn began the exam again, starting with the 
thigh and moving down to the calf, pressing gently and grimacing every 
time Legolas caught his breath. The elf did not cry out again, but it 
was clear that with every touch, he was in pain.

"I do not think it is as bad as it seems, but the cold makes it 
worse," Aragorn eventually said. "Your leg is rubbed raw from top to 
bottom. There is severe bruising around the thigh and the muscle is 
probably pulled. In addition to that, it is stiff with cold and 
swelling has caused it to tighten. It is currently a painful, bruised 
knot, and I am not surprised you fell when you put your weight upon 
it. I do not think you will be able to use your left leg for walking 
until that muscle is given a chance to warm up and loosen."

"So tell me, Aragorn, should I then wait here until summer returns and 
warms the muscle?" Legolas asked, unable to hold his sarcasm and 
bitterness back.

"No, you should not," the Ranger replied, checking his own tongue as 
he realized the shame Legolas felt in the injury. "You would slow our 
journey considerably, though I doubt not but the hobbits would be 
grateful for the rest." Aragorn glanced around, running options 
through his mind, and then came to a decision. "Come, Legolas. You 
were able to stand once. Let us see if you can do it again."

The elf sighed, a sound so soft that the Ranger’s sharp ears were 
barely able to catch it, and then he began to lumber awkwardly to his 
feet. Aragorn hastened to help him and after a few stumbles, Legolas 
was upright once more and leaning heavily on Aragorn for support. "If 
you truly wish me to travel," Legolas said, closing his eyes and 
turning his head away, "I fear I will need help."

"Then you shall have it," Aragorn said gently, understanding that it 
was not in the elf’s nature to ask for assistance. "Come. Lean on me 
and we shall travel these dark forests. It is better, in any case, 
that two should walk together instead of one alone."

Legolas made no answer to this but doggedly started forward, 
staggering every time his left leg was asked to hold even some of his 
own body weight. Aragorn tried to take as much strain off the elf as 
he could, but he was also tired. In silence they walked, and 
eventually, the Ranger was leaning on the elf almost as much as the 
elf was leaning against him.

"We cannot go much further," Legolas whispered at length, shaking his 
head as an unnatural need for sleep crept over his mind. "The cold and 
wet will have us ere long."

"We cannot give up, my friend," Aragorn said, forcing them to 
continue. "We have perhaps half a mile to go."

"It is half a mile too long," Legolas murmured, sinking toward the 
ground. Aragorn tightened his grip on the elf and roughly pulled him 
back up, but his strength was ebbing and if Legolas went down again, 
the Ranger did not think he would be able to hold him.

"Not now," Aragorn said firmly. "Not now and not ever. We push on. I 
did not think you were one to surrender."

"I am not," Legolas answered, a trace of anger in his voice. "But 
against the impossible…" The elf trailed off and began to fall once 
more. Aragorn tried to brace against this, but he had little energy 
left and ultimately ended up on the ground with the shivering elven 
prince.

"Legolas!"

To his growing horror, the elf made no answer.

Trying to hold his shaking hands steady, for the cold had nearly 
claimed him as well, Aragorn turned the elf over and began slapping 
his face, hoping desperately to elicit some kind of response. 
"Legolas!" he cried, not carrying what enemies he might bring down 
upon them. "Legolas, you must awaken!"

But this time, the elf was beyond hearing. In walking to this point, 
he had pushed himself as far as he could be pushed, and now his body 
was shutting down. Aragorn cursed loudly and looked about, knowing 
there was none around to help him but desperate to save his friend. 
And that’s when he saw it.

He had not been able to see it before, for from a standing position, 
low branches blocked the view, but from the ground, it burned brightly 
in the darkness. It was a beacon he could follow, a light against the 
shadows that surrounded him. The cold he had fought off for so long 
seemed to recede, and the flickering, dazzling sight before him called 
cheerfully, beckoning him onward. It reached for him, calmed him, 
healed him, and promised that greater healing awaited him if he would 
but follow its light. It was beautiful. It was glorious. It was hope 
unlooked for.

It was a campfire.

* * * *

"Someone’s coming!"

Together, Frodo and Gimli surged to their feet, the dwarf seizing his 
axe should it be needed. Both watched Sam as he stared out into the 
darkness, his sensitive ears registering heavy footfalls and haggard 
breath.

"Can you tell who or what?" Frodo asked, joining his friend on the 
edge of the campfire’s light and braving the pouring rain.

"Not yet, sir," Sam answered, moving further out. "But I think it’s 
hurt. It’s moving slowly and it doesn’t sound well."

"But you don’t know if it’s Aragorn, Boromir, or Legolas?" Frodo 
pressed. Sam shook his head.

"If it is, they’ll be needing our help," Gimli said. He took his axe 
in both hands and glanced at the hobbits. "Wait here. I’ll meet it out 
there before it can draw closer. And if it is one of our missing 
companions, all the better for then I can help him."

"What if it isn’t?" Frodo asked as Gimli strode forward with all the 
confidence of a mountain dwarf.

"Then we shall find out soon enough," he called back, disappearing 
into the night.

Once beyond the glowing campfire, he paused and waited for his eyes to 
adjust to the darkness. For a dwarf, he had unusually keen vision in 
the dark. While he would never challenge the eyes of an elf or even a 
hobbit, his night vision had served him well in the past and continued 
to do so now. And as his eyes adjusted, he began to make out a dark 
form partially obscured by the trees. As Sam had said, it appeared 
hurt and was moving with painstaking slowness. Sensing there was no 
danger, Gimli hurried forward and gasped when the figure’s face looked 
up at him.

"Aragorn!"

"Gimli?"

The Ranger’s voice was but a shadow of its normally powerful baritone. 
His entire body shook violently against the cold that seeped through 
his drenched clothes and slowed his feeble movements.

"Come," Gimli said, wasting no time. Shoving his axe into his belt, he 
planted his sturdy dwarf legs and hauled Aragorn over his shoulder, 
staggering beneath the weight of the heavy man but managing to stay 
upright. "We have a campfire waiting and hot soup. Dry clothes and 
warmth are what you need."

"Legolas…" Aragorn moaned, struggling slightly.

"The elf is not here," Gimli answered briskly, feeling slighted that 
Aragorn had mistaken him for the tree-loving, arrow-shooting prince. 
"Don’t move. You make this more difficult."

The Ranger groaned pitifully and seemed to go limp. Fearing for his 
wellbeing, Gimli hastened back as quickly as the slippery mud, the 
rain, and the weight of the man would allow him. The campfire glowed 
brightly and before long, he could make out the silhouettes of the 
hobbits as they awaited his return.

"It’s Strider!" Sam cried out when Gimli drew near.

"Hurry," Gimli ordered. "Sam, get the soup. Frodo, make a place for 
him by the fire where he can rest. Get the driest blankets and cloaks 
and make a bed. We must warm him quickly."

The hobbits sprang into action with a speed that surprised the dwarf. 
By the time he’d managed to get Aragorn next to the fire, a bed of the 
driest and warmest blankets had been prepared, heated cloaks were 
waiting, and Sam had ready a mug of the soup.

With Frodo’s help, Gimli lowered Aragorn into the waiting blankets. 
Together they wrestled him out of his water-soaked shirt and tossed it 
next to the fire where it could dry. "Wrap the cloaks around him," 
Gimli instructed. "Wrap them as tightly as you can. Here, let’s move 
him closer to the fire. Sam, see if you can get some of that soup into 
him."

"Legolas," Aragorn suddenly groaned as they were maneuvering him 
about.

"Always the elf," Gimli groused.

"Legolas isn’t here," Frodo said, ignoring the dwarf. "Don’t worry, 
though. Gandalf will find him."

"No. No, not here. Out there."

Frodo frowned and stopped Sam as he came forward with the soup. "What 
do you mean?" he asked Aragorn. "Do you know where he is?"

"Left him," the Ranger answered dimly, still not fully aware of his 
surroundings. "Left him to find help. He can’t move."

"They must have been traveling together," Frodo realized.

"We have to go get him!" Sam exclaimed, almost dropping the soup.

"We can’t leave the camp and we can’t leave Aragorn," Gimli broke in, 
hoping to calm the hobbits with words of reason. "The packs and 
blankets must be watched. Legolas will probably make it in on his 
own."

"And if he doesn’t?" Frodo challenged. The hobbit still had a strong 
sense of uneasiness as though something waited just beyond the 
firelight. If Legolas was as weak as Aragorn had implied, the elf 
would be no match for whatever enemy awaited them. Frodo was surprised 
that the Ranger had survived the journey. "The two of you can stay," 
Frodo stated, standing up and loosening Sting in its scabbard. "I’m 
going to look for him."

"Absolutely not!" Gimli protested, also standing. "None of us should 
be wandering in that rain and darkness alone, least of all you. If we 
lose you, we lose the quest!"

"But we can’t abandon him," Frodo shot back, his eyes hardening with 
resolve.

Gimli stood silent for a moment. He looked at Aragorn who was 
reflexively swallowing the soup as Sam spoon-fed him, he looked at Sam 
who was watching Gimli and Frodo carefully when he wasn’t feeding 
Aragorn, and he looked at Frodo who seemed prepared to dash off into 
danger and shadow without a second thought. "I’ll go," the dwarf said 
at length. "Keep your swords ready and try to keep Aragorn awake. If 
he is aware enough, he will help defend you if danger draws near."

"You’re certain?" Frodo asked, his eyes unsure and suspicious. "We are 
speaking of Legolas."

"You would accuse me of murder?!"

Frodo stepped back, aware that he had gravely insulted the dwarf. "I 
just thought that maybe you’d feel more comfortable if someone else 
went."

Relaxing slightly but with anger still glinting in his eyes, Gimli 
shook his head. "I am a dwarf," he said proudly. "We do not leave a 
companion to die, even if that companion is an elf." Pulling his axe 
back out, he turned and started into the darkness. "Stay alert and 
stay safe," he called over his shoulder just before he vanished into 
the surrounding gloom.

* * * *

Gandalf leaned wearily on his staff and tipped his head, watching as 
water poured from his dripping hat. In the company of Merry and 
Pippin, he’d journeyed back to the original flooded camp and they were 
now following the river downstream, hoping to discover baggage, food, 
or missing companions. To show for their efforts, they had acquired 
two extra blankets drenched with water, some bruised apples, and one 
of Sam’s spare shirts.

It was not encouraging.

The wizard was vaguely aware of Merry and Pippin as they searched the 
underbrush around him, enduring the ongoing rain without complaint. 
But as the night dragged on and they still found no sign of Aragorn, 
Boromir, or Legolas, the hobbits were slowly becoming frustrated while 
Gandalf simply became colder. But if he was cold, then the group swept 
away by the river would be nearly frozen. He kept this thought 
foremost in his mind and doggedly continued the search, knowing that 
if the missing three were not found this night, it would probably be 
too late for them. Even now, time was growing scarce.

The search continued vainly, the rain poured down miserably, and the 
wind blew relentlessly. Gandalf shook his head as he considered the 
course of events. The Fellowship had expected orcs, trolls, wolves, 
capture, torture, and death, but here was something none of them had 
anticipated. Who would have thought that two of the best warriors from 
the Race of Man along with the elven prince of Mirkwood would have 
been lost to a flooding river in a rainstorm?

Not lost yet, Gandalf corrected himself, using his staff to pull 
himself through the thick mud. There is yet hope, though it may grow 
dim. There is always hope.

Unfortunately, he did not think he convince the weary hobbits of this. 
To their credit, they were still silent in their misery but Gandalf 
read in their eyes and their faces that they were giving up. There had 
been no definitive sign that Aragorn, Boromir, or Legolas was near, 
and the dark and cold were beginning to tell on their spirits. They 
longed for firelight and warmth, and it was not to be had out here in 
the rain. But they could not abandon their companions to certain 
death. Merry and Pippin understood this, else they would not still be 
out here, but it was still a difficult chore.

And then Merry gave a great shout. Gandalf nearly jumped out of his 
boots in surprise and was almost bowled over when Pippin came charging 
into him. "He’s found something!" the young Took exclaimed. "Merry’s 
found something!"

Gandalf had figured that much out for himself, but he was grateful 
that Pippin seemed to have leaped out of the consuming bowls of 
melancholy. Following the hobbit quickly, it was not long before he 
caught sight of Merry hunched over something.

"It’s Boromir," Merry whispered, looking up as Gandalf drew near. 
"He’s still breathing, but he’s cold and I can’t get him to wake up."

Kneeling swiftly by the warrior’s side, Gandalf checked his vital 
signs and grimaced. They did not have much time. "Roll him onto his 
back," the wizard ordered quickly, taking a water skin and murmuring 
soft words of incantation. The water within the carrier began to swirl 
and mix, building in heat and energy. "Raise his head," Gandalf 
instructed.

"What are you doing?" Pippin asked, alarmed at Boromir’s pallor and 
lack of response.

"If we are fortunate, I am saving his life," Gandalf answered 
brusquely. With care and caution, he began pouring the warm liquid 
into Boromir’s mouth. He sighed with relief when the man swallowed in 
reflex, and so the wizard continued the process. When most of the 
water was gone, Gandalf shouldered the skin and stepped behind Boromir 
where the hobbits were propping him up. "Let us move him into a 
sitting position. With luck, he will awaken soon."

"And without luck?" Pippin wondered.

"Without luck, he will have to remain here," Gandalf said quietly.

The hobbits sat in silence for a bit, pondering what that might mean, 
and then Boromir coughed suddenly. Moving to support him as he began 
to sway, the hobbits braced themselves against his back while Gandalf 
stepped into the man’s field of vision, grasping his shoulder and 
hoping that Boromir would regain consciousness soon.

Fortunately for all of them, Gandalf’s hopes were realized. Boromir’s 
eyes fluttered open slowly and he groaned, one hand instinctively 
flying to his side. Listening to his breathing, Gandalf realized that 
something was off about it and immediately suspected broken ribs. That 
will make this more difficult.

"Mithrandir?" Boromir murmured, trying to fix his wandering gaze on 
the vague blur before his face.

"You must come with us," Gandalf said firmly in a voice that even 
Elrond would fear to contend. "You must somehow rise and walk. Can you 
do this, son of Gondor?"

Boromir seemed to straighten and a sparkle of resolve and defiance lit 
his eyes glazed. "I shall not fall to this. Let us go."

The task of actually getting Boromir to his feet was not as easy as 
the man seemed to think it would be. He was the heaviest member of the 
Fellowship even though Aragorn was the tallest and it was no small 
feat for one old wizard and two small hobbits to help this staggering 
warrior burdened with sopping cloak and large sword to his feet. But 
somehow, after several tries and several muddy failures, Boromir was 
up. His right knee trembled and jerked, but he was up.

"Now what?" Merry asked.

Gandalf had been thinking the same thing. Boromir might be standing, 
but he was not truly awake and was bound to lapse back into 
unconsciousness soon. The heated water touched with a hint of energy 
would do much for him, but it would not be enough. Reluctantly, aware 
that the use of power would draw the attention of unwanted eyes, 
Gandalf put a hand on Boromir’s shoulder and began to whisper. It 
seemed as though a soft halo of light surrounded the warrior, and the 
man’s eyes closed as he was surrounded by bliss.

"Did you heal him?" Pippin asked.

"Such power is not in me, I fear," Gandalf answered. "I have put him 
into a trance. He will make it back to camp now, but who can say 
whether or not the strain will kill him. Still, I do not see another 
way."

"So should we go back or keep looking?" Merry asked. "Aragorn and 
Legolas are still out there."

Gandalf sighed and looked at Boromir. "Dawn is but several hours away. 
And Boromir is in need of immediate assistance. If the others have not 
found their way back, I fear we can do nothing to help them now except 
perhaps by finding their remains in the morning." The wizard closed 
his eyes briefly and then quickly composed himself. "Come. We must 
return swiftly to camp and see that Boromir is given true warmth and 
nourishment, for without it, we may not have even reached him in 
time."

* * * *

Of all things to be looking for in the middle of a storm, I am looking 
for an elf! Gimli shook his head at the irony of it all and willed his 
legs to travel faster. He was not at ease with leaving the hobbits 
alone in the camp, but there had been no other way short of physical 
restraint to keep Frodo from dashing off alone. The dwarf fought off a 
shiver and hastened his swift jog. The rain drummed against him and 
the slight breezes were bitterly cold, but he tried to ignore them. He 
had a purpose to this journey and the sooner he accomplished that 
purpose, the sooner he could return to the fire and the hobbits.

He’d reached the area where he’d found Aragorn and discovered that 
there was some luck left in Middle Earth. The muddy ground clearly 
showed the prints of Aragorn’s halting progress toward the campfire. 
He had but to follow these footsteps to find the elf. The task was 
simple enough, but Gimli was aware of a few key problems. For all he 
knew, Aragorn and Legolas might have been swept to the other side of 
the river. If that was the case and Aragorn had crossed the river in 
returning to camp, Gimli would be forced to cross the river to search 
for the elf. The prospect was not exactly thrilling. There was also 
the possibility that Aragorn had been hallucinating and Legolas had 
never been with him. Gimli had seen that occasionally in dwarves who 
were rescued from extreme cold. The mind was a strange thing and 
played tricks when the weather turned bitter. Or there was the 
possibility that the tracks might vanish further on where the ground 
became rocky. If that happened, the dwarf did not know what he would 
do. He had no desire to search the woods blindly for a lost elf, 
especially at night and in the rain.

So far, though, there was a clear trail of tracks, it did not lead 
across the river, and he had not gone far enough to believe that 
Aragorn had hallucinated the entire thing. But another problem was 
slowly taking shape in Gimli’s mind. What would he do when he found 
Legolas? The elf did not trust him, and accepting help from the dwarf 
would be difficult at best, impossible at worse. Gimli really couldn’t 
blame Legolas, for if their situations were reversed, he would feel 
the same. In fact, he was unsure of his own feelings regarding lending 
the elf his aid. This was, after all, the same elf that had insulted 
him, insulted his father, nailed him to a tree, stolen his pipe, 
filled his pack with rocks, and soaked him with Pippin’s water skin. 
Why shouldn’t he be made to suffer a little more?

Gimli quickly shook his head. His thoughts were running along 
dangerous lines, and perhaps Frodo had been right to doubt him. He was 
uncomfortable with retrieving the elf, but he could not, in good 
faith, have sent the hobbits! Beyond the dangers of the forest, they 
would have faced the additional problem of transportation. As 
strong-hearted as they might be, they lacked strength of limb and they 
would not have been able to support Legolas on the journey home.

Concentrate, the dwarf ordered silently. Concentrate on the task. 
Schooling his mind, Gimli continued to follow Aragorn’s tracks in the 
dark night. They were now more difficult to see and the rain that ran 
off his head was not making things easier. But he pressed on, calling 
on the legendary endurance and tenacity of the dwarves. He had taken a 
mission upon himself and he would not rest until he was clearly 
convinced that Legolas was beyond his reach.

So intent was he on the footprints that he did not see the mound 
before him and tripped roughly, landing with a splash in the puddles. 
Spitting muddy water, Gimli turned and cursed, but then he froze. 
Somewhere in his mind, something clicked. He had not tripped on a log 
or a tree root. His foot had connected with something soft and 
yielding. Almost afraid to look, he glanced back and saw, lying 
motionless on the ground, the frozen figure of the elf.

Gimli hastened to his feet and moved to the elf’s side, frowning as he 
did so. Aragorn had been shivering violently when he’d been found, but 
Legolas lay completely still. Kneeling beside Legolas, Gimli turned 
him onto his back and shook his shoulder gently.

Legolas did not stir.

The dwarf cursed again, and at that point, something strange happened. 
All contempt for the being who’d nailed his beard to a tree in the 
early morning vanished. Legolas’s still face, taut with pain and cold, 
stroke a chord with Gimli, and he felt a strange sensation of sorrow 
and loss. Sorrow for the changing of the world and loss for the elves 
who even now were fleeing Middle Earth. It was a strange emotion and 
one that the dwarf quickly thrust down, but it left its mark in his 
mind. A concern he’d never thought to feel for an elf arose in the 
heart of the dwarf. The Eldar were vanishing. He could not let Middle 
Earth lose Legolas. Beyond that, this was no ordinary elf, or so he 
reasoned, seeking for a way to logically explain his sudden anxiety. 
Despite their continuing animosity, this was an elf who’d been his 
companion now for almost two weeks. They might not be friends, but 
they were both members of the Fellowship and both protectors of the 
Ring-bearer. Duty and dwarven custom demanded that Gimli look after 
his injured comrade. And so cloaking himself with the garb of duty and 
custom, Gimli tried again to wake the elf.

"Legolas?"

The prince did not so much as twitch. His frown deepening, Gimli shook 
Legolas harder and tried to think of something that might rouse him 
from his cold-induced stupor.

"Legolas, it is the dwarf. If you do not rise, I will be forced to 
slip pipe-weed into your food for the next three days. And that bow? 
Firewood unless you speak up. Legolas, I am laughing at your fall from 
the other day. Legolas! Would you have a dwarf survive the journey 
while you perish here in the mud? We have yet to even reach the 
mountains!"

But no matter what the dwarf said or what insults he created, the elf 
remained as still as stone. He was still breathing—Gimli had checked 
that first—but he was completely unresponsive to any outside stimuli. 
Realizing that Legolas was probably only moments away from dying of 
exposure, Gimli took off his own cloak, wrapped it around the elf with 
more care than he thought himself capable of, and hauled Legolas over 
his shoulder.

"Come then, Master Elf. Since you cannot move yourself, I will do it 
for you," Gimli said, turning and jogging back toward the camp. 
Legolas was much easier to carry than Aragorn had been, for he weighed 
significantly less. "Do not think that I will forget this moment in 
the near future," the dwarf continued, making conversation with 
himself as he sloshed through the muddy terrain. "Your life is in my 
hands, Legolas, and when you recover, you will owe me much. We will 
see how you repay this." Gimli smiled to himself. An uncomfortable 
duty had just turned into a rather sly form of payback for the arrow 
in the beard. The possibilities were endless.

Dangling over Gimli’s shoulder, Legolas suddenly groaned and 
shuddered, and the dwarf was reminded that the elf was still in 
danger. In order to enjoy the fruits of his labors, Gimli would have 
to make certain that Legolas recovered. There was still much to be 
done, not least of which was getting back to camp and getting the elf 
warmed up. Summoning the inborn strength of a dwarf, Gimli quickened 
his pace and hurried on.

==============


Part 8


Author’s Notes: Well, I did it again. I had to split January 4 into a 
day chapter and a night chapter. There’s really no appreciable action 
in either one, but there was enough dialogue and enough reactions that 
I thought more character introspection was called for. Anyway, hope 
you enjoy!

January 4, 3019 (Day)

Never before had dawn been such a glorious sight. Frodo felt the evil 
menace that watched their camp draw back as if wary of the light. And 
that was another thing about this particular dawn, especially when 
contrasted with recent preceding dawns. Light! There was light! The 
clouds were beginning to break up, and hints of blue sky appeared 
slowly and cautiously. The sun was not yet high enough to peak over 
the tall mountains to the east, but its rays could be seen reflecting 
off the snow and just the confirmation of its continued existence was 
a joy to Frodo. The rain did continue, but it seemed to be letting up 
for the moment. Perhaps they were about to have a change of luck.

"Frodo, would you see to the fire?"

Gandalf’s stern voice from behind shook the hobbit from his reverie. 
Gandalf, Merry, and Pippin had arrived in camp just minutes ago, 
bringing with them two soaked blankets, a few rather bruised apples, 
an extra shirt of Sam’s, and Boromir. The shuddering man, only 
partially aware of his surroundings, had now joined Aragorn next to 
the fire and Gandalf was wrapping some torn strips of cloth tightly 
around the man’s chest.

"How is he?" Frodo asked, throwing a few more logs into the roaring 
flame.

"If we can successfully warm him up, I suspect he will be fine," 
Gandalf said. "His ribs are cracked, but if bound, they should not 
provide him with undue trouble. Samwise, is that soup ready yet?"

"It’s a bit hot," Sam answered, checking a bowl he’d just moved away 
from the fire so that it could cool. "Maybe another minute."

"Legolas," Aragorn groaned, moving restlessly beneath a mound of 
heated blankets. He had almost stopped shivering but he was still not 
fully conscious. "Legolas," the Ranger murmured again.

"He’s still not here," Frodo soothed gently, trying to ignore the 
rising feeling of anxiety. There had been no sign of either Gimli or 
Legolas after the dwarf had left camp, and Gimli at least should have 
returned by now, with or without the elf.

"Left him," Aragorn whispered, his movements increasing. "Have to find 
him. Cold. So cold."

"We’re looking for him, Strider," Merry broke in, keeling next to the 
Ranger and trying to keep him still. But as weak and tired as Aragorn 
was, he was still deceptively strong, and Merry soon called Pippin 
over to assist him. "Just rest," Merry tried again. "Legolas will be 
here soon."

"And Gimli, too, we hope," Pippin added under his breath, practically 
sitting on Aragorn’s chest to keep him from struggling. It disturbed 
him that the strong, crafty Ranger now lay weak and helpless next to a 
fire. Ever since Weathertop, he’d looked up to Aragorn as a source of 
protection and guidance. But now, he was the one doing the 
protecting—or at least part of it—and the Ranger was the weaker 
individual. It was a role reversal that Pippin did not like, and he 
hoped he did not have to endure his new responsibilities for much 
longer. Aragorn was a much better leader and protector.

"How long ago did Gimli leave?" Merry asked Frodo quietly, taking care 
that Aragorn did not overhear the whispered words.

"I think a couple of hours," Frodo answered, turning his eyes to the 
surrounding forest. The continuing absence of both the elf and the 
dwarf troubled him greatly. Legolas’s keen senses were a luxury they 
could ill afford to do without, and Gimli’s staunch loyalty and 
unswerving devotion to the mission were of great comfort to the 
Ring-bearer. Where were they? "I don’t understand it," Frodo murmured, 
voicing his thoughts aloud. "If Gimli couldn’t find Legolas, he would 
have come back before now. And if he did find him, he would have 
returned immediately."

"What if he found him and Legolas couldn’t be moved?" Sam suggested 
hesitantly, ignoring his own concerns. "Or what if Legolas was farther 
away than Strider remembered? There are lots of reasons that they 
aren’t back yet, Mr. Frodo, and not all of them are bad reasons or 
have bad endings."

"I hope you’re right, Sam," Frodo murmured.

"Boromir!" Gandalf suddenly ordered sharply, startling all of them. 
"Boromir, you must stay awake!"

"T-tired," the man hissed through chattering teeth as he tried to push 
Gandalf away with feeble efforts. "Need rest. Just a b-bit."

"Sam, we need that soup. Boromir must be warmed quickly," the wizard 
called.

"I think it’ll do now, Mr. Gandalf," Sam said, checking the soup once 
more. To his mind, it was still on the hot side, but if Boromir needed 
it now, a slightly burned throat was a small price to pay for living. 
Picking up the bowl and grabbing a nearby spoon, Sam made his way over 
to where Gandalf was tying off Boromir’s makeshift bandages. "Time for 
breakfast, sir," Sam announced with as much mock cheerfulness as he 
could muster.

"Open your mouth," Gandalf said gently but firmly, moving behind 
Boromir and supporting his lolling head. "Carefully now or you’ll 
spill. Come, Boromir, you can stay awake." The wizard frowned as 
Boromir continued to drift away. "Boromir, what would your father say 
if he saw you like this? Is this how the son of Denethor meets an 
enemy?"

It was a cruel tactic and Gandalf knew it, but he could think of 
nothing else to rouse the man. With a murmur that sounded suspiciously 
like a curse, Boromir managed to open his eyes and blink blearily at 
them all. "Mithrandir?"

The wizard sighed in relief. "Yes, Boromir, I am here. But if you wish 
to remain here with me, you must eat. Look to Sam. He has your soup 
ready for you."

"That’s right, Mr. Boromir," Sam said, nodding and moving the spoon 
forward. "It’s nice and hot, and it’ll do wonders for warming you up."

"I c-can do this myself," Boromir said with a hint of stung pride. He 
reached for the spoon but his hand was shaking so hard that Sam drew 
back and Boromir made a sound that might have been a strangled sob.

"Boromir, you are freezing," Gandalf said, his voice quiet and 
understanding. "And if we do not warm you quickly, you will be dying. 
Let Sam feed you. Put away your pride. Lie here and recover. That is 
the best thing you can do for yourself."

Torn by indecision born of the conflicting forces of pride and common 
sense, Boromir, Denethor’s son, heir to the steward of Gondor, captain 
of the forces in Osgiliath, and renowned warrior, finally relented. 
With a nod, he gave in and allowed Gandalf to support his shaking 
frame. And when Sam came forward again with the spoon, Boromir closed 
his eyes and accepted the proffered nourishment. If it was too hot, he 
did not say. He endured the spoon-feeding in an uneasy silence as one 
might endure a long night of guard duty when the enemy was known to be 
near.

"Gandalf, I think Strider’s going to sleep again."

Looking toward Merry who hovered over the Ranger along with Frodo and 
Pippin, Gandalf swore silently. "Chafe his arms and legs. Open the 
blankets on his chest and turn him onto his side so that he faces the 
fire directly. If this does not work and you still cannot rouse him, 
tell me."

With quick nods of acknowledgement, the three hobbits went to work, 
pushing Aragorn over, rubbing his arms and legs vigorously, and 
speaking urgent words to him in the hopes that he would respond. 
Gandalf heard a muffled groan from their direction and assumed that 
Aragorn was beginning to wake. That was good. The Ranger could 
probably be allowed to sleep now without risking his life, but Gandalf 
didn’t want to chance it. In a few hours, when Aragorn had completely 
stopped shivering, they would allow him to doze off, but for the 
moment, it was best to heed the voice of prudence.

"That’s all of it," Sam said, feeding Boromir the last spoonful of 
soup. "Do you want more now or do you want to see how this settles?"

"More, Samwise," Gandalf answered before Boromir could even think of 
refusing the offer. "Take the water from the kettle on the fire and 
when it has cooled sufficiently, we will begin this again." The 
wizard, shifted Boromir even closer to the fire, wincing at the heat 
it emanated, and laid him down on a pile of blankets. "Pippin? Would 
you watch him? Talk to him so that he will not fall asleep."

"Right," Pippin said. He left Aragorn’s side and made his way toward 
Boromir, ignoring the man’s baleful glare. "So, how about this 
weather?"

Gandalf shook his head as he stepped away, picking up his staff and 
moving toward the forest. A dozen yards or so away from the fire, he 
stopped and sighed, searching the eaves of the wood with narrowed 
eyes. Someone stirred behind him, and he looked back to see Frodo 
joining him.

"Where do you suppose they are?"

"I fear I cannot hazard a guess," Gandalf answered, his voice quiet 
and thoughtful. "By your account, Gimli left about two hours ago, 
correct?"

Frodo nodded. "He left when Strider told us about Legolas."

"And when found, Aragorn could barely move himself. He would not have 
left Legolas unless there was no other choice, but alone and 
unburdened, he might have been able to go a great distance even though 
weariness had forced him to leave the elf. Legolas could be anywhere, 
and in the process of finding him, Gimli might become lost himself. 
Barring that, I can think of no reason save the devices of the Enemy 
that might have delayed the dwarf."

Frodo shivered, aware again of malicious eyes observing his movements, 
but the evil seemed distant enough that it should not prove to be a 
threat. More immediate was his anxiety for two missing comrades. 
Though sunlight was beginning to creep down the mountainsides and the 
rain was beginning to relent, darkness and cold still gripped the 
land. If Gimli and Legolas did not arrive soon, they might not arrive 
at all.

* * * *

Gimli eased Legolas down from his shoulders and laid him against the 
trunk of a broad tree. The elf was moaning slightly and had even begun 
to shiver, which Gimli took as good signs since he had been doing 
neither earlier. But at the moment, the dwarf needed more. He hated to 
admit it and he didn’t understand how it could have happened, but 
somehow in the darkness and the rain, he had missed the trail of 
footprints that would lead him back to camp.

He was lost.

"All right, elf," Gimli murmured, shaking the dampness from his beard 
and kneeling next to Legolas. His back ached from carrying the prince, 
but he forced himself to ignore it. There would be time for 
retribution later. "Wake up. This is for your life, not mine, so leave 
your elvish dream world. Legolas! Legolas, wake up!"

Legolas groaned and shifted his head.

"Legolas!" The dwarf took hold of the elf’s shoulder and began to 
shake him. "I know you can do this, elf. You’re not that far-gone yet. 
Show me how an elf defies death! Durin’s beard, you stupid immortal, 
wake up!"

But this time, Legolas remained completely still. Even his shivers of 
cold began to die away. Realizing how little time remained to save the 
prince, Gimli slapped the elf across the face and started chafing his 
arms. The strange concern that had affected him during the night 
manifested itself again. There were so few of the Eldar lingering in 
Middle Earth. To lose another elf would be such a grave tragedy. And 
to lose him to something like the weather… Gimli shook his head 
fiercely. What was he doing? What had come over him? Concern for an 
elf was unheard of. Besides, anxiety was doing nothing for getting 
them back to the rest of the Fellowship. Sternly disciplining his 
thoughts, the dwarf turned his attention back to Legolas, trying once 
more to rouse him.

"Elf, I refuse to be lost in this weather. Wake up! Legolas!" But 
there still seemed to be no response. Gimli was close to despairing 
and almost decided to simply trudge onward in the hopes that he would 
blunder back into camp when, much to the dwarf’s reluctant but eternal 
relief, Legolas sighed and turned his head slightly. "That’s right, 
keep coming," Gimli encouraged, feeling the euphoric return of hope. 
"All the way now. Open your eyes." He slapped the elf again, hoping to 
elicit some kind of stronger response. "Legolas!"

The shivers were returning as Legolas started to drift back into the 
world of the living. After another minute, the elf groaned and his 
eyes fluttered a bit. Gimli slapped him yet again and went back to 
chafing his arms, trying desperately to increase the circulation. And 
after a minute or two more, his efforts were rewarded. The vacant look 
of elven sleep disappeared. With a shudder, gray eyes slowly focused 
on the dwarf. They were clouded and hazy in stark contrast to their 
usual brightness, but they were focused and there was awareness 
lurking within their depths.

"Legolas?"

The elf frowned slightly, the expression in his face and eyes 
revealing obvious confusion. Gimli decided that he would have given 
gold to know what went through Legolas’s mind as the prince found 
himself shivering violently, weak to the point of collapse, and being 
revived by the single most unlikely member of the Fellowship. The elf 
closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again, perhaps believing 
Gimli to be a dream. When he found that the dwarf was still there, his 
frown deepened and the wheels in his cold-fogged mind began to turn, 
seeking some kind of rational explanation.

"Gimli?" he finally ventured, his voice tentative and suspicious.

Gimli was sorely tempted to explain that he was saving Legolas’s life, 
but there was no time. He could see the prince weakening visibly by 
the second. "Listen closely, elf," the dwarf said, continuing to rub 
Legolas’s arms. "You’ll never hear this from me again, so don’t let it 
go to your head, but your senses are better than mine. I need you to 
listen closely and tell me if our companions are near."

The elf blinked, obviously confused by the request. "What?"

"Focus! Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, and the hobbits," Gimli said, 
watching Legolas closely and forcing down feelings of rising 
frustration. "Where are they? Are they close by?"

The elf’s brow furrowed with bewilderment, but he seemed to 
concentrate slightly and turned his head to the side as though 
listening. "I…they are near…" Legolas trailed off and shivered, his 
concentration broken by the cold that stole the very breath from his 
weary body. His expressive eyes began to cloud over and the absent 
look of sleep returned. Realizing what was happening, Gimli cursed and 
shook the elf hard.

"No, Legolas, concentrate. Stay with me. You said they were near, but 
I need to know how near and where. Can you tell me? Can you answer 
that?"

"Tired," the elf whispered, his head lolling forward onto his chest.

"I know you’re tired and I promise you that I’ll let you go back to 
sleep in a minute, but first you must answer my question: Where is the 
rest of the Fellowship? Legolas?" Gimli cursed yet again as the elf’s 
breathing began to slow. "Legolas, you can’t do that yet. You have to 
answer my question." But this time, Legolas seemed to be drifting even 
further from the reaches of the living world. His skin took on a 
sickly gray color while overtones of blue colored his lips. Much to 
Gimli’s alarm, Legolas’s eyes then slid shut, something that even the 
most ignorant and prejudiced dwarf would recognize as a serious 
warning sign, and Gimli was far from ignorant. Renewing his efforts 
with increased fervor, he shook the elf so hard it was a wonder he did 
not break any bones. "Legolas! Listen, Master Elf, I will not leave 
you alone until you answer me! At least show me in what direction our 
comrades lie."

Barely conscious, Legolas willed his reluctant eyes back open, 
compelled by both the urgent tone in the dwarf’s voice and his own 
irritation. He blinked, attempting to clear his vision, and shook his 
head slightly. The world seemed to be encased in an impossible fog, 
though how this came to be was something the elf could not clearly 
remember or understand. All he knew was that he was bitterly cold and 
the only thing he wanted to do was to sleep. Hoping this would 
convince the dwarf to leave him alone, Legolas turned his eyes 
directly west, shivered, and nodded. "That way," he whispered.

"Thank you," Gimli said, seizing the elf around the waist and hauling 
him back over his shoulders. "Go back to sleep. I have no doubt that 
Gandalf will wake you later."

Legolas said nothing in response and did not even attempt a feeble 
protest about being carried, instead slumping limply over the dwarf’s 
shoulder as though he were still unconscious. Feeling that time was 
almost up, Gimli hurried forward, crashing through underbrush and 
slipping in mud. Wet leaves slapped against his face and branches 
dragged at his corselet of mail. Legolas lay heavy and unmoving across 
his shoulders, but the dwarf could dimly feel the rise and fall of the 
elf’s chest. His breathing was shallow, but at least it was still 
there. That was something. Despite the fact that the elf himself 
seemed to have given up, his elven stamina was still hanging grimly to 
life. But Gimli could sense that this grip would soon give, and then 
there would be no hope for Legolas.

As he continued to run, Gimli wondered what Legolas had meant in 
saying that the rest of the Fellowship was near. Near was a very 
relative term, particularly for an elf, and could mean anything from a 
few feet to several leagues. Gimli was beginning to suspect that 
Legolas had been speaking in terms of the latter. He decided there 
should be some sort of law or provision prohibiting members of the 
Eldar race from using vague terms like near, loud, or ominous. Beings 
with gifted senses should be confined to concrete statements of 
measurable facts. That would also cut back on elven poetic tendencies, 
which wearied dwarven ears and took time away from more practical 
matters. With a shake of his head and a shift of his cramping 
shoulders, Gimli resigned himself to the fact that he was still lost 
in the forest. Shortly afterward, he crashed through a copse of trees 
and found himself face to belt with Gandalf.

Frozen in surprise, dwarf and wizard stared at one another for a few 
seconds before recovering, and then both started to speak at once.

"Where have you—"

"I’ve been looking everywhere for—"

They stopped, stared again, and Gandalf eventually took control of the 
conversation. "Foolish dwarf, where have you been?!"

"Is it my fault that this elf could not make it back to camp on his 
own and we became lost as a result?" Gimli demanded. "I have been 
searching this cold, wet, dripping forest for you, in the dark and the 
rain no less, and now that I’ve found you, all you can do is—"

"Peace," Gandalf interrupted, realizing the diatribe could last for 
some time. "How is Legolas?"

Gimli grunted and pulled the elf off his shoulders so that Gandalf 
could examine him. "Cold and tired. He would not stay awake."

Holding his hand over the elf’s mouth, Gandalf frowned. "There is no 
warmth in his breath. The core of his body is almost devoid of heat." 
The wizard felt for a pulse and found it to be shallow, rapid, and 
uneven. "There is little time left," he murmured, his alarm and 
concern rising exponentially. "Come, Gimli. We must hurry! Speed is of 
the essence." And saying this, Gandalf scooped the elf into his arms 
with a surprising display of strength and hastened away. Tired, wet, 
hungry, and feeling slightly miffed, Gimli was left to follow as best 
he could.

* * * *

"Any sign of Gandalf?" Frodo asked, directing his question to Merry.

The other hobbit took his eyes from the surrounding forest for a 
moment and sighed, shaking his head. "Nothing that I can see," he 
answered, turning back to stare at the trees into which Gandalf had 
disappeared almost half an hour ago. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I 
can’t see anything. I can’t hear anything, either. It’s like he’s 
disappeared."

"He really hasn’t been gone that long," Pippin pointed out, using his 
words to calm his own fears. "And he knows the area well enough that 
he wouldn’t get lost. Right, Strider?" Pippin glanced over at the 
dozing Ranger. "Strider?"

"Mmm…"

"Let him sleep," Frodo admonished. "Gandalf said that he was probably 
out of danger. So long as he can still wake for dinner, he’ll be fine. 
And I don’t know any of us who wouldn’t be willing to wake up for 
Sam’s stew."

"Why is it that you Halflings will p-permit Aragorn to rest b-but you 
insist on annoying me?" Boromir wondered from beneath a large mound of 
blankets, his teeth chattering audibly. "Should I n-not merit the same 
l-level of courtesy and respect as a Ranger of the wild?"

"But he finished his soup, Master Boromir," Sam answered, stirring up 
yet another bowl of broth. "You’re not quite done. When you are 
finished, then we’ll let you sleep."

"And how shall we d-determine when I have f-finished?" Boromir 
challenged.

"Gandalf is in charge of that," Pippin said. "You’ll have to take it 
up with him."

Boromir murmured something in his native tongue that did not sound 
like a compliment by any stretch of the imagination and pulled some 
blankets over his head. Pippin, who had been tasked with seeing that 
Boromir remained awake, lifted the edge of one blanket and peered 
inside.

"You better not fall asleep on me," he warned. "We Tooks can be 
violent if we have to wake someone."

"Warriors of Gondor c-can be v-violent if woken suddenly from a 
well-deserved rest, Master T-took, so have a care," Boromir grumbled.

"Boromir, you’re still shivering," Frodo reasoned, tossing another log 
onto the fire. "You can’t go to sleep now because you might never wake 
up. We have to make certain you’re warm enough so that your body won’t 
shut down the moment you close your eyes."

"Soup’s ready," Sam announced. "It’s time for more, Mr. Boromir, if 
you feel up to it."

"I don’t."

"Hold!" a voice shouted from the forest. All four hobbits jumped and 
Boromir shifted slightly beneath his mound. Even Aragorn stirred a 
bit, murmuring something about scouting parties and shadows before 
turning over and going back to sleep. "Hold, Samwise," the voice 
repeated, and presently Gandalf could be seen racing out from beneath 
the trees. Gimli jogged behind him and a very still, very pale elf lay 
motionless in the wizard’s arms.

"You found them!" Pippin cheered.

Ignoring the Took, Gandalf brushed past him and headed straight for 
the campfire. "Samwise, we must get that soup into Legolas. Frodo, 
Merry, gather up the hottest blankets you can find." Gandalf knelt 
next to the fire and laid Legolas on a pile of drying cloaks. "Here, 
Pippin, strip him of his tunic. Take those blankets and wrap him up 
tightly. Sit him as close to the fire as possible and start more 
blankets warming. We’ll rotate them so that as some blankets cool, hot 
ones will replace them. Hurry!"

The commotion and Gandalf’s urgent, commanding tone managed to burrow 
through the layers of Aragorn’s dreams and he stirred again, this time 
even venturing to open his eyes. Furrowing his brow, the Ranger tried 
to track the camp’s activities despite the clouds that hazed his weary 
mind and eventually registered the fact that something serious was 
going on. "Gandalf?" he murmured, too sleepy to put much more into the 
question other than the wizard’s name.

"Rest, Aragorn," Gandalf commanded, keeping his attention focused on 
Legolas. He lifted the elf as Pippin wrapped a third layer of hot 
blankets around the unresponsive prince, and then the wizard propped 
him into a sitting position and rested him against his side. "Come, 
Sam," Gandalf ordered, rubbing the elf’s neck and jaw. Under the 
massage, Legolas’s mouth opened slightly. Sam looked questioningly at 
Gandalf who nodded. "Feed him the soup, Samwise. He will probably 
swallow reflexively but if he does not, there are ways of aiding the 
process."

San hesitated, still uncertain about feeding anyone who was not 
conscious since the Gaffer had once choked on an artichoke that way, 
but when the wizard’s bristling eyebrows began to arch, he quickly 
obeyed and slipped a spoonful of hot soup into the elf’s mouth. When 
nothing happened, Gandalf began rubbing the elf’s neck just below the 
jaw and eventually Legolas swallowed.

"I don’t think I’ve seen anything like that, and that’s a fact," Sam 
said quietly with a touch of awe. "You can do that when he’s not even 
awake for it?"

"It is a simple enough technique," Gandalf answered. "Another spoonful 
if you would, Sam. Let us see if he can swallow on his own yet."

The hobbit nodded and quickly gave the elf more soup, watching closely 
for any discernable change in his condition. When there was not, 
Gandalf sighed and repeated his earlier actions, eventually forcing 
the reflexive swallow. There was still no warmth in Legolas’s breath, 
and coupled with the fact that his eyes were closed, Gandalf knew they 
were running out of time to warm him.

"How is he?" a voice at Gandalf’s elbow asked.

Gandalf flinched in surprise and turned a startled gaze upon Gimli. 
The dwarf seemed at least genuinely interested in the elf’s welfare if 
not truly concerned for it, and that puzzled the wizard. "He is not 
well, Gimli. If we do not warm and wake him by tonight, I fear things 
will go ill." Gandalf hesitated, debating about whether or not to 
proceed, and eventually decided to do so. "You probably saved his 
life, Gimli. He would not have endured the cold and damp for long if 
he had been left alone, and it is doubtful he would have survived even 
until sunrise."

"So long as we must be burdened with his presence, I thought it best 
to have him living rather than dead," Gimli answered, affecting an 
uncaring attitude that Gandalf quickly saw through. "He is easier to 
carry that way."

"Very practical of you," Gandalf said, motioning for Sam to continue 
with the feeding. "If you wish it, Legolas does not need to know of 
your involvement in his rescue."

"No, let him learn of it," Gimli said, still trying to sound casual 
and nonchalant. "He will ask who took part in the saving of his life, 
in any case, and we have no need for lies in this Fellowship. Such 
things would drive us apart." And ignoring the not-so-subtle stares 
that turned his direction at such an announcement, Gimli moved away 
from the fire, seeking a place of rest that was not a burning oven.

"He swallowed, Mr. Gandalf," Sam suddenly spoke up excitedly. "I saw 
it. He swallowed on his own."

Gandalf smiled, feeling a bit of hope reenter his heart. "Then 
continue, Sam. Make certain he swallows every time you feed him, and 
do not stop until I instruct you to do so. Warm food and drink are his 
best chance at recovering lost heat."

"Gandalf?"

It was Aragorn again, this time managing to raise himself up on one 
elbow. He was still shivering slightly, but the color in his face was 
returning and his eyes were clear and piercing as was the Ranger’s 
wont. Gandalf sighed in relief. At least there was one patient who was 
on the mend.

"Rest," the wizard commanded, holding Aragorn’s dark eyes with his 
own. "You can be of better use to us if you recover."

"You found Legolas," Aragorn observed, pushing himself into a sitting 
position. "How is he?"

Gandalf grimaced. What exactly did he say to that? He could not lie 
for the Ranger would see through him faster than the hobbits could 
devour a meal. But he could not tell the entire truth, for then 
Aragorn would wish to help and while his help would be useful, it was 
not truly needed. At least, not yet.

But before Gandalf could say anything, Sam broke in, effectively 
releasing the proverbial cat from the proverbial bag. "He was too cold 
to swallow, Strider," the hobbit said, his eyes dark with concern. 
"But then we started feeding him some soup and now he can swallow on 
his own. But he won’t open his eyes and he won’t wake up." Sam looked 
back at the elf who still lay propped against Gandalf. "And I don’t 
rightly know much about elves, but he seems far to pale to me."

"The soup, Samwise," Gandalf prompted, nodding at the bowl of cooling 
broth in the hobbit’s hands. Chagrined, Sam quickly went back to his 
task of feeding Legolas, watching carefully each time to see that the 
elf swallowed what he was given. Trusting Sam to ensure that Legolas 
did not choke, Gandalf turned his attention to Aragorn and fixed him 
with a baleful stare. "I am not a tottering old man who wanders about 
Middle Earth, taking with me only a staff upon which to lean," the 
wizard said, his voice chilling slightly for effect. "The elf and 
Boromir will be cared for, and you will go back to sleep. We will wake 
you for dinner."

A hint of rebellion stole into Aragorn’s gaze, and he seemed about to 
protest but something else caught his attention. He stiffened, 
blinked, and then turned his eyes away from the camp, searching the 
surrounding forests. At the same time, Gandalf also felt the presence 
of an evil malice and he, too, turned his eyes outward. Frodo, who was 
warming blankets by the fire for Legolas, almost dropped the thick 
cloth in surprise. One hand stole to his breast and he seemed to 
clutch at something within his shirt.

"Gandalf…"

"Not now, Frodo," the wizard murmured, noting that no one else seemed 
to be stirred by this foreign presence. He wondered that Frodo should 
react so to the presence of the Warg, but a quick glance at the young 
hobbit swiftly revealed the answer. And we have not even passed the 
mountains, Gandalf sighed. Still, the ability to sense the Enemy may 
aid him in his quest to destroy the Ring. That is, it may if the Ring 
does not control him first.

"The rain slows, and life returns to its normal routine," Aragorn 
spoke, pitching his voice deliberately light and making his words 
vague enough so that the hobbits, Gimli, and Boromir would not become 
suspicious.

"If you think to call this normal, then you are as mad as the elf," 
Gimli declared, deciding that finding a seat free of mud or water was 
a futile effort. He plopped down on a wet log next to his pack and 
began looking for his pipe. "I take it that we are not moving 
tonight."

"We will not move at sunset," Gandalf clarified. "But I think we may 
be able to move about midnight."

"But Legolas isn’t even awake yet," Pippin said in surprise. "How do 
you know that—"

"Elves recover quickly," Gandalf said, "and as soon as we are able to 
move, we must do so. It is dangerous to stay in one place for a great 
length of time. We have already lingered here far too long." Gandalf 
fell silent after that and the manner of his bearing forbade further 
questioning.

So Sam continued to trickle soup down Legolas’s throat, Pippin 
continued to keep Boromir awake through ceaseless pestering, Boromir 
continued to threaten the young hobbit’s existence though he was 
secretly amused by the Took’s antics, Merry become efficient at 
warming blankets and wrapping them around Legolas, the elf slowly 
gained back his color though his eyes remained closed, and Gimli 
smoked his pipe in thoughtful silence with occasional stray glances at 
the elf as though something puzzled him. Gandalf, Aragorn, and Frodo, 
on the other hand, were not nearly as light of heart as some of their 
companions. The Warg had returned, and he drew ever closer, almost 
braving the light of day as he watched the Fellowship.

He senses were are not all hale, Gandalf realized grimly, his eyes 
straying to the semi-alert form of Aragorn, the shivering form of 
Boromir, and the limp form of Legolas. But surely he does not think to 
attack us. The wizard’s brow furrowed with thought, trying to account 
for the fact that a creature of darkness was drawing near while the 
sun yet shone. Perhaps Aragorn was right. Perhaps he grows hungry and 
thinks to steal from our supplies. Or perhaps to hunt our pony. 
Gandalf then looked over at Bill who was standing near the fire with 
his head down and his tail swishing lazily from side to side.

From across the fire, Aragorn caught Gandalf’s eyes and nodded toward 
the horse. He then jerked his head away from the fire, signaling the 
presence of the Warg. Gandalf tensed, recalling the Ranger’s plan to 
lure the Warg into the open by using Bill as bait. Not yet, the wizard 
mouthed, but he had to admit that the idea was becoming more 
appealing. The Warg had to be eliminated, and what better way to 
destroy the creature than by using one of his weaknesses against him? 
But the plan would have to wait, for such action would call for the 
involvement of Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli, three of which 
were somewhat incapacitated.

Deciphering the logic behind Gandalf’s admonition to wait, Aragorn 
nodded thoughtfully and then turned to watch the world beyond the 
camp. So much for resting, the wizard sighed. But with the presence of 
the wolf casting a shadow across the Ranger’s heart, it was doubtful 
that Aragorn would have been able to sleep even had he desired to do 
so.

Gandalf sighed again and looked at the thin clouds that covered the 
sky and the slight that rain that still fell. It would have been a 
fine day but for the presence of the wolf. And travel during the night 
would not have been relatively pleasant compared to previous nights, 
but instead, they would have to wait for some of the Fellowship to 
recover. I hate waiting, the wizard decided. I have done far too much 
of it. But he would have to wait yet a little more, and so he settled 
himself down to endure the remainder of the day. At least the 
Fellowship was together again. And perhaps, just perhaps, there had 
been a change of heart in Gimli the dwarf. Travel might even become 
bearable.

================


Part 9


January 4, 3019 (Night)

His first forays in returning to the conscious world were met with 
limited success and a great deal of pain. It was as though the Fell 
Winter of 2911* had returned and brought with it the fearsome 
blizzards that had very nearly starved the elves out of Mirkwood. 
Legolas clearly remembered one bitterly cold night when he had sought 
shelter beneath an old pine tree with five other elves. By morning, 
only half of that scouting party remained in the realm of the living, 
and they would have all perished had not Thranduil’s search teams 
found them shortly after sunrise. Wondering if this was a repeat of 
that tragic event and whether or not he had been rescued again or left 
to waste away, Legolas tried for the fifth time to open his eyes.

Once more, he encountered failure. He simply did not have the energy 
or the strength to acknowledge the outside world. But his mind was 
becoming more alert. As he continued to struggle against the grasp of 
darkness, fuzzy memories started to surface. He could dimly remember 
Aragorn’s furious voice commanding him to rise, and he remembered his 
own inability to comply with that request as well as his rather 
embarrassing lack of will to even make the attempt. He also seemed to 
have a vague recollection of Gimli shouting something at him, but that 
made no sense and he dismissed it as a bizarre nightmare of the 
unconscious world.

Once again he rallied against the darkness, mustering his strength and 
energy, but still, he could not seem to get his eyes open. Yet he was 
making progress. He was fairly certain of that. His fogged senses were 
slowly returning and his elven ears had begun to pick up sounds. He 
heard voices, faint and distant as though they hailed from far away, 
but Legolas suspected this was not the case and that the obstacle in 
clearly discerning the spoken word lay with him rather than with his 
surroundings.

Touch was the next sense to recover, and along with it came taste. 
Something hot slid into the elf’s mouth, and then warm soup was 
trickling down his throat. A heat in his stomach indicated that this 
had been going on for quite some time but that he was only now 
becoming aware of it. So I have been rescued, Legolas decided, feeling 
his need to return to consciousness abate slightly with this 
knowledge. But how? Aragorn was as weary as I was. He could not have 
carried me back to camp, and I wonder if he had the strength to even 
arrive on his own. And what if the Dúnadan left my side to seek for 
help and was not found when I was? Concern for his friend quickly 
rekindled the elf’s desire to open his eyes, and he resumed his 
struggles, this time making better progress as his body continued to 
warm.

Now he could feel the presence of heated blankets around his shivering 
form, and he could also feel rough hands chafing his arms, restoring 
circulation and providing heat through friction. A faint smell of 
pipe-weed and pony caught his nose just ere more hot soup slipped into 
his mouth, and he mentally smiled. Well met, Samwise, he thought with 
a touch of gratitude and warmth for the hobbit who showed a 
fascination for the Eldar at the same time that he retained his 
innocence and his rustic habits.

The hands that rubbed his arms stopped for a moment and then came a 
faint touch at his throat, feeling for a pulse. Since he was still not 
up to opening his eyes or responding in any way to his rescuers, 
Legolas decided to concentrate on learning upon whom he was propped. 
The hands were callused and large but the prince could sense a subtle 
and infinite skill within them. They seemed almost elvish in that 
respect. There was also a faint smell of pipe-weed and…wood? Ah, 
Mithrandir, Legolas realized. It would appear that I at least am in 
good hands. But what of Aragorn? And I saw naught of Boromir after the 
flood!

His inability to communicate with those around him was moving beyond 
the point of annoyance and becoming a severe source of frustration. He 
was not used to being shut away, whether by stone walls or physical 
inability. He was an elf, and the elves had been the first to use the 
spoken word. They had always been able to converse with others, and 
the fact that Legolas now couldn’t was distressing. He needed to be 
able to communicate. Not that the elf sought to monopolize all 
conversation. Quite the contrary, in fact. He was very content to 
listen and offer his opinion only when it was requested. But the 
ability to speak…he needed to know that he could speak if he wished 
to. It was ingrained in his nature. It was an essential part of his 
makeup and his personality, and if he did not manage to either open 
his eyes or speak within the very near future, he felt that he would 
go mad.

"I think he is waking."

Legolas had guessed rightly. That was Gandalf, and now he heard the 
stirring of other bodies. Someone’s hand slid across his brow, and 
judging from its size and its feel, he decided it belonged to Sam. The 
sound of a popping spine off to his right sent a wave of relief 
through Legolas. Aragorn! So he was also found. The elf smiled 
mentally at his method of identification, but it was true that 
whenever the Ranger stretched, his back always seemed to crack 
slightly. It was something Legolas had learned when they’d hunted 
spiders together in Mirkwood. On watch late one night, a stretching 
Aragorn had jolted the elf from sleep because his popping spine 
sounded remarkably like the creaking of a carapace.

A muted grumble caught his attention next and it took him a moment to 
label the voice as being Boromir’s. It sounded more distant than the 
others’ voices and Legolas wondered at this, but at least he had now 
accounted for everyone who had been swept away in the flashflood.

"Legolas?"

Everything within the elf froze. It was a small consolation that the 
other members of the Fellowship also seemed surprised by this new 
voice, for he could dimly hear their gasps and mutterings. 
Unfortunately, this also meant that he had probably not imagined what 
had just happened.

"Legolas, can you answer me?"

There it was again! What was the dwarf up to this time? He was doing a 
remarkable job of feigning concern, but Legolas was not about to fall 
for it. Whatever Gimli planned to get out of the elf’s misfortune, he 
would not get the satisfaction of having fooled the prince. Legolas 
was far too wise for this simple game, and his opinion of the dwarf’s 
intelligence dropped dramatically.

"Come, Legolas, you spoke when I was dragging you in out of the rain. 
I would think that you can speak now that the rain has stopped."

Dragging me in out of the rain?! Legolas felt his brow furrow, an 
accomplishment that should have been viewed with triumphant, but the 
elf was too busy trying to figure out what Gimli had meant. Surely he 
does not…he can’t have…who found me? Attempts to open his eyes were 
now born of a desperate need to disprove a dangerous idea that was 
taking shape in the elf’s mind. And driven by a nearly hysterical 
fear, Legolas finally managed it.

Reluctant, heavy lids lifted from foggy gray eyes that were 
immediately captured by a pair of deep-set eyes so dark they were 
almost black. For a moment, nothing happened. Neither dared move, and 
Legolas suddenly realized that he had never actually looked Gimli in 
the eyes before. They’d had staring contests, of course, but during 
such times, Legolas had been blinded by the need to win and had not 
taken the time to process what he saw. But now…something in those dark 
eyes intrigued him. There was strength there and a deep courage 
springing from a soul as complex as his own. Then the eyes blinked and 
turned away, and the moment vanished, lost in the cold night air that 
was slowly overtaking the campsite.

"Good evening to you, Legolas," Gandalf said behind the elf, shifting 
Legolas down onto the ground next to the fire so that he was no longer 
propped against the wizard. "How do you feel?"

I will not ask what happened. I will not ask what happened. I will 
not—"What happened?" Curse the Valar!

"The river swept you, Aragorn, and Boromir downstream," the wizard 
explained, turning dark eyes on Gimli as though suddenly suspicious of 
something. "Aragorn was able to travel to camp, but you were not so 
fortunate. Gimli found you later and brought you in."

"You were long in recovering, Master Elf," Gimli added, his eyes 
twinkling with the knowledge that Legolas was now in his debt. "But it 
is a relief to see that you are now awake and conscious. I despaired 
of ever hearing your voice again when I carried you through the dark, 
the rain, the cold, and the mud."

I knew I should not have asked what happened. "You have my…thanks, 
Gimli," Legolas said hesitantly, wondering exactly what was going to 
happen next. The dwarf beamed at him, and Legolas received the 
overwhelming impression that Gimli was thoroughly enjoying this. The 
elf shifted uncomfortably, wishing vainly for the strength to rise so 
that he might put some distance between himself and the gloating 
dwarf. "What of Boromir?" he asked. He had already heard the man and 
knew he was within the camp, but he hoped to turn the conversation 
toward something else with the inquiry. "Did you find him?"

"Merry, Pippin, and I found Boromir," Gandalf answered, turning and 
signaling to someone who was beyond the elf’s field of vision. "More 
soup, Samwise. He is still shivering."

Legolas glanced down at his body and discovered—much to his 
amazement—that Gandalf was right. He was shivering. And now that he 
considered it, he did feel quite cold. But he could sense his elven 
healing abilities already kicking in, and he doubted not that he would 
be able to stand and move about on his own within the next few hours.

"It’s good to see you up, Mr. Legolas," a hobbit’s voice called, 
pulling the elf’s attention away from introspection. "I was worried 
about feeding you when you were asleep, but Gandalf said it was 
necessary and I—"

"Have no fear, Sam," Legolas said with a slight smile. "I am certain 
that care was taken, and I thank you for your service." Legolas was 
actually secretly appalled by the idea that he’d been spoon-fed, but 
if such a thing had been needed, then it had been needed. And the elf 
was grateful that Sam had been the one to undertake the task. The 
gardener was not a warrior by any stretch of the imagination, and it 
seemed easier to admit weakness to one already vulnerable rather than 
admitting it to one with comparable skills in battle.

"Well, you’re welcome," Sam said, surprised by the gratitude. "It 
wasn’t difficult and I don’t want you to be thinking that it was any 
trouble, but—"

"Sam? The soup?" Gandalf broke in.

"Right," the hobbit said, trying to readjust his train of thought. 
"Anyway, this should be much easier now with you being awake and all. 
We’ll just find something you can prop your head against and—"

"I think I shall be able to manage this on my own," Legolas 
interrupted. He would accept help up to a point, but he was not about 
to endure a conscious force-feeding from a hobbit, especially if it 
was to be witnessed by a dwarf. "If you would set the bowl down, I 
shall be happy to partake of your soup."

Sam and Gandalf exchanged dubious looks above the elf’s head and 
Legolas felt a flash of irritation. Gimli’s slight smile further 
fueled the elf’s temper and he was casting about his still-hazy brain 
for something scathing to say when Aragorn stepped into view. 
"Legolas, if I remember correctly, your wrist is sprained. Would you 
allow me to examine it?"

"You are supposed to be resting," Gandalf pointed out, sending the 
Ranger a dark look.

"Boromir is resting enough for both of us," Aragorn replied, glancing 
at a large pile of blankets on the other side of the fire. Legolas saw 
the mound move slightly as if in response and then it went still 
again. "Legolas?" The elf turned back as the Ranger addressed him. "If 
you would raise your arm…"

The prince sighed, knowing from experience that Aragorn could not be 
gainsaid once he set his mind on something. And if he were honest with 
himself, the Ranger’s inspection would probably bring him a measure of 
comfort. It would be reassuring to know that his wrist was merely 
sprained and not broken, something about which he was not entirely 
certain. Eventually nodding, Legolas tried to lift his left arm, but 
to his surprise and shame, his attempts went nowhere. Confused, the 
elf studied the traitorous arm, mentally willing it to rise and 
wincing when the only response was an increase in the shivers that 
already shook him.

Aragorn smiled slightly and knelt next to the elf. "You see, my 
friend? You have very little strength, and what strength you have is 
negated by the trembling of your limbs. Now let us aid you. If it is 
any consolation, I endured this several hours ago." The ranger turned 
away and motioned Sam forward.

Legolas narrowed his eyes, a protest forming on his lips, but Gandalf 
beat him to it. "Aragorn, it is my intention to travel again tonight. 
It will do us no good if you topple over just ere our departure."

"And what good is an archer if he cannot pull back his own bow?" 
Aragorn returned, picking up the elf’s shaking wrist and probing 
gently, searching for possible breaks.

"There are others here who are quite capable of—"

"But there are none here with my skills or qualifications," the Ranger 
interrupted.

"If I may say something…" Legolas broke in.

"No," Gandalf and Aragorn returned in unison.

"Mr. Legolas, I don’t think you’re going to convince them of 
anything," Sam advised, taking a position near the elf’s head. "Now, 
we need to prop you against something so your head is upright and—"

"Allow me to assist you both," Gimli volunteered, moving behind the 
elf.

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he would suddenly find himself 
whisked away onto a trackless path in Mirkwood where his only concerns 
were Wargs and Orcs. But such was not to be the case, and he opened 
his eyes to discover that the situation remained as it was. Gandalf 
and Aragorn were facing off over his chest, Sam was offering him a 
spoonful of hot broth, and Gimli was now holding his head up. He 
wondered when Merry, Pippin, and Frodo would appear to join the 
circus, and while they were at it, they might as well wake Boromir and 
drag him into the chaos. It would be just as productive as whatever it 
was they were doing now.

As if on cue, three hobbit faces appeared from behind Sam, their 
curious eyes examining Legolas and evaluating his condition. "Didn’t I 
tell you that he’d wake up?" Pippin asked, looking at Merry.

"No, I believe that’s what I told you," Merry returned.

"How are you feeling?" Frodo asked, ignoring the other two.

This is not happening, Legolas told himself firmly, closing his eyes 
and trying to ignore the outside world. But his elven senses were 
regaining their sharpness and he was acutely aware of the fact that he 
was surrounded by everyone in the Fellowship with the exception of 
Boromir and Bill.

Still holding the elf’s arm, Aragorn felt him shift restlessly and 
realized just how crowded it was beginning to be. He cast a 
significant look at Gandalf who also realized what was happening and 
decided a change in tactics was called for. "Frodo, Merry, Pippin, see 
what you can do about gathering some dry firewood. Gimli, prop the 
elf’s head against his pack and let us prepare a meal of more 
sustenance for the rest of us. Sam, you are charged with feeding 
Legolas. Aragorn, at least take some rest once you are finished here."

"And what of me?" Legolas demanded, now thoroughly disgusted with his 
own condition as well as the attentions of others. "I remind you that 
I am perfectly capable of hearing you even should you decide to speak 
around me rather than to me."

Muscles in the wizard’s face twitched as he tried to keep back a 
smile. The elf was reacting almost exactly as Boromir and Aragorn had, 
and in spite of the situation, it was quite amusing. "Recover," 
Gandalf managed to say without chuckling. "And rest. If you are able, 
we will move by midnight."

"If I am able?!"

"Eat," Aragorn ordered, taking Sam’s spoon and shoving it into the 
elf’s mouth.

* * * *

The sun shone brightly over Hobbiton, and cheerful voices called out 
to one another as the resident hobbits began the market day, gathering 
in the town center to set up booths and to sample others’ wares. A 
warm breeze lifted the hair along the back of Pippin’s neck and he 
sighed, marveling at how good it felt to be comfortable and dry. He 
wondered a bit at that, trying to remember when he had been otherwise, 
but the past didn’t seem to exist, and in truth, he couldn’t even 
recall why he was in Hobbiton. Shouldn’t he have been in the Great 
Smials digging through some forgotten room after ancient artifacts or 
looking for hidden doors that would take him to greater treasures and 
possible adventures?

The breeze brushed against his skin again, but this time it was no 
longer warm. There was an icy chill to it, and it seemed to him that 
the sky was beginning to cloud. The voices around him changed from 
happy and cheerful to tense and concerned, nor did they sound like 
hobbits. It was as if the voices contained the weight of ages and the 
fears of all free peoples of Middle Earth.

"Pippin?"

Merry? Pippin looked around for his friend, but he could not find him. 
The landscape was beginning to blur and the colors ran together as do 
the colors of a painting that is tipped upward when it is not yet dry. 
Faces faded from view and the bustling village of Hobbiton became a 
wash of gray, lost in a sudden gush of rain that burst from the dark 
clouds. The sun disappeared, and without it, all warmth vanished.

"Pippin!"

He was being shaken violently and he feared an earthquake had come. 
Pippin could only remember one earthquake and it had been enough for 
him. He’d raced from the Great Smials along with the majority of the 
Took family and together they’d fought to maintain their balance while 
the world around them heaved and shuddered. Bilbo Baggins claimed that 
a larger earthquake had once hit the Shire, but that had been long 
before Pippin’s birth, and Pippin found it difficult to believe that 
an earthquake could be any greater than the one he’d survived.

"Peregrin Took!"

With a jolt and a gasp, Pippin suddenly bolted upright, wrapping his 
hands around whatever force was shaking him. Thrown off balance by his 
sudden movements, a hobbit toppled forward and knocked them both into 
a drying patch of mud. Blinking his eyes and wiping his face, Pippin 
looked around and remembered where he was. He was somewhere south of 
Imladris, he was wet and cold, and he had just been roused from a very 
soothing dream.

"You needn’t shout," Pippin said crossly, getting to his feet and 
offering Merry a hand up.

"You wouldn’t wake up," Merry returned, ignoring the other hobbit’s 
assistance and getting to his feet under his own power. "And what was 
all that about throwing us both into a mud puddle?"

"You startled me," Pippin said, feeling that the fault was Merry’s and 
if anyone should feel guilty about throwing anyone else into a mud 
puddle, it should be the Brandybuck. "And why did you need to wake me 
up anyway?"

"Don’t blame me, blame Gandalf," Merry answered. "He told me to wake 
you up so we could start moving. Bill is already loaded and almost 
everyone is ready to move."

Pippin frowned and glanced up at the sky. The clouds were thin and he 
could dimly make out a few stars, but he could not see enough to make 
any reasonable guess as to what time it was. "How long have I been 
asleep?"

Merry shrugged. "Only a few hours. It’s just after midnight, at least 
that’s what Sam thinks, and things didn’t settle down until well after 
nightfall."

"So we really are traveling?" Pippin asked, letting his eyes wander 
over the camp. Gimli was pulling on his own pack, Sam was making a 
valiant attempt at freeing Bill’s mane of cockleburs, Gandalf stood 
quietly on the perimeter with his eyes trained on the surrounding 
wood, Boromir was fastening his cloak about his neck and a tight brace 
was now wrapped around his knee, Frodo was burying the last ashes of 
the fire, Legolas was pacing with a slight limp in his left leg, and 
Aragorn was watching him critically. "I didn’t think they’d recover 
that quickly," Pippin admitted.

"I didn’t either, but Gandalf was right. Boromir woke up not long 
after you fell asleep, and from the way he acted, you couldn’t tell 
he’d been swept down a river. Not long after that, Legolas was telling 
both Strider and Sam to leave him alone and he kept threatening to 
take off the brace that Strider had made for his wrist. That’s when 
Strider started telling him that he’d never heal if he kept that up. 
So then Legolas said something in Elvish and they had a pretty loud 
argument for a while, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying 
and Frodo said they were talking to quickly for him to translate."

"But everything is okay now?"

"More or less, I think," Merry said. "After Legolas started walking 
around, Strider backed off, but he kept a close eye on him. In fact, 
he’s still watching him. And then Gimli…" Merry trailed off and looked 
over at the dwarf. "Gimli asked Legolas if he would shake out his 
cloak and I thought Legolas was going to nail the dwarf to a tree 
again. But instead, he got this strange look on his face and went 
ahead and did it."

Pippin blinked. "Legolas did what? Are you sure?"

"I saw it with my own eyes," Merry insisted. "He shook out the cloak 
and then he threw it at Gimli and walked away. He wasn’t happy, but…it 
was strange, Pippin."

"He owes Gimli his life," a voice said behind the hobbits. Frodo 
walked forward, hitching his pack higher on his shoulders and watching 
both the elf and the dwarf. "Gimli saved his life yesterday and 
Legolas owes him for it. Elves have strict customs about life-debts, 
probably because they’re immortal and life is very precious to them. 
But anyway, until Legolas repays Gimli somehow, he…I don’t know if I 
really understand it, but I think it’s kind of like servitude. Only it 
really isn’t servitude because it doesn’t extend that far."

"So Legolas has to do Gimli favors once in a while?" Merry guessed.

Frodo nodded. "Something like that. It’s actually a little more 
complex, but that’s the basic idea."

"Didn’t I tell you that Gimli would win?" Pippin said.

Merry scowled. "We haven’t reached the end of the journey yet. And as 
far as verbal spars go, Legolas is still leagues ahead of Gimli."

"But this beats all verbal wars!" Pippin protested. "This is the 
ultimate insult and trumps anything Legolas has ever said."

Merry started to argue, but a clearing throat interrupted him and he 
turned with the other hobbits toward Gandalf. The wizard was surveying 
the camp with furrowed brows and a strong sense of disapproval. Seeing 
that he had everyone’s attention, Gandalf lifted his staff and slung 
his light pack over his shoulder. "I believe it is time to depart."

With a sigh, Pippin quickly found his own pack and hefted it onto his 
back. He wondered how Sam managed to travel with all the pots and pans 
he was toting about. He’d lifted Sam’s pack once and had been 
astonished at its weight. More than that, it was unwieldy. He was 
surprised that Sam hadn’t gone bouncing down a cliff when the early 
part of the journey had forced them to do some climbing.

"Master Elf? My axe is on the other side of the camp. Would you fetch 
it for me?"

Pippin blinked and turned. Was this what Merry had been talking about? 
Quickly locating both elf and dwarf, he watched with curiosity. 
Legolas was standing completely still, facing the forest and ignoring 
the stares that were now being directed his way. Gimli appeared far 
too casual and blithely hitched his pack up higher on his shoulders. 
He approached the elf expectantly, but before he could take more than 
a few steps, Legolas whirled and stalked to the other side of the 
camp. Picking the axe up and wincing slightly as he was forced to bend 
his left leg to do this, Legolas hefted it experimentally. His 
narrowed eyes darted toward the dwarf and then he focused on the axe’s 
blade as he traced a thoughtful hand over it. Moving back to Gimli, he 
offered the weapon to him—blade first—and sniffed.

"It is not of elvish make. The balance is off."

Gimli raised an eyebrow at this and stared at the proffered axe. "It 
is customary to exchange weapons with the haft, not the blade."

"Is it?" There was a challenging ring in the elf’s voice and Pippin 
felt a shiver race down his spine.

An exasperated sigh then caught the hobbit’s attention and he watched 
Aragorn walk over, yank the axe from Legolas’s hands, and shove it at 
Gimli. After sending dark glares at both of them, the Ranger turned 
away and started into the woods. "There is a crossing we might use," 
he called over his shoulder. "And I would advise we take it now ere 
more rains come and the river rises even higher."

"Still think Legolas is winning?" Pippin whispered to Merry, setting 
out after the rapidly departing Ranger.

"The journey isn’t over yet," Merry returned.

* * * *

"What’s out there, Gandalf? It was here last night, too. What is it?"

The wizard blinked in surprise and looked down, finding that Frodo now 
walked at his side. This was something new. Fording the stream had not 
been as easy as Aragorn had anticipated, and Sam had taken a rather 
nasty dunking. Had he not been holding Bill’s halter at the time, the 
dunking might have been transformed into disaster, but as it was, he’d 
come away sopping wet with only a bump on the head to show for it. 
Frodo had been at his side since then, offering silent support and a 
steadying shoulder whenever the other hobbit stumbled because of his 
shivers. They would need to build a fire when they stopped for the day 
to keep Sam warm, and that was not more than an hour away. So why was 
Frodo up here now?

Rather than speculating on the subject, Gandalf decided to do the 
logical thing and simply asked. "How is Sam and why are you no longer 
watching him?"

"Merry and Pippin volunteered to take over," Frodo answered. "Sam kept 
complaining about the fact that he was supposed to be looking after me 
rather than the other way around, and we were all getting a little 
tired of his gripes. But don’t change the subject," he added, his 
voice taking on an authoritative tone. It was a mark of his burden and 
new responsibility that he could do this, for Gandalf remembered a far 
more submissive, carefree hobbit. "Something is following us and its 
intentions are not for the best," Frodo continued, sending piercing 
glances into the surrounding wood. "What is it? And why can’t everyone 
sense it?"

"It is something that has been following us for some time, now," the 
wizard eventually answered, choosing his words with care. "We would 
have seen to this matter earlier, but circumstances conspired against 
us."

"The flood, you mean," Frodo guessed. "Whatever hunts us is something 
you’ll need warriors to take care of."

"Precisely," Gandalf said, impressed with the young hobbit’s insight. 
His trials had forced his mind open and he now saw with a clearer eye. 
"But if all goes well, I believe that the watches during the day will 
see an end to this menace. Boromir, Aragorn, and Legolas will have 
recovered sufficiently by then that we may lure this creature into 
revealing itself and so destroy it."

The hobbit nodded. "That sounds good, but you still haven’t answered 
my questions. What is it and why can I feel it when some of the others 
can’t?"

The wizard looked over his shoulder at the rest of the company. 
Aragorn was directly behind Gandalf and Frodo, but he didn’t seem to 
be paying attention to their conversation. His keen eyes were fastened 
on the forest to either side of them, and one hand rested on Anduril’s 
hilt. There could be no doubt but that he sensed the Warg. Behind him, 
Gimli tromped forward with what appeared to be careless ease, seeming 
to trust that others would sound an alarm should anything threaten 
their safety. Gandalf knew this to be an illusion, for as a tried 
warrior, the dwarf was quite aware of his surroundings, but his stance 
and manner were far more relaxed than the stance and manner of 
Aragorn. Behind Gimli came Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Bill. Sam was 
shivering while Merry and Pippin talked ceaselessly to him, comforting 
the poor hobbit and reassuring him that they would rest soon. None of 
them appeared to be concerned with their surroundings and even Bill 
seemed fairly light of heart. Behind them came Boromir, looking just 
as alert as Aragorn and perhaps even more ill at ease. Was he starting 
to sense the Warg now as well? As edgy as he was, it was quite 
possible. And behind him came Legolas, bringing up the last of the 
line and scouring the woods with piercing elven eyes. His bow was in 
his hands, and he would stop occasionally to listen.

"Those who have hunted the servants of the Dark Lord can sense our 
current menace," Gandalf eventually said. "And those who have hunted 
similar creatures are particularly attuned to this one. As for you, 
Frodo, that which you bear grants you a measure of new insight. You 
are beginning to sense when evil approaches, for as we journey further 
south, your burden will become more powerful."

Frodo was quiet for a moment and then shivered slightly. "So that’s 
why Sam, Merry, and Pippin can’t tell something’s out there. I 
wondered for a while if it was just me, but then everyone else seemed 
to be a little more cautious. And then when it came to our camp in the 
afternoon and the rest of you took notice…" The hobbit trailed off, 
suddenly aware that he was more or less speaking his thoughts aloud. 
"All right, Gandalf," he said, switching gears. "You’ve told me why I 
can sense it, and I guess I understand that. But you’ve still left one 
question open. What exactly am I sensing?"

"Evil."

"Evil in what form?" Frodo pressed.

Gandalf smiled and chuckled slightly. They were fortunate to have such 
a Ring-bearer as Frodo. His tenacity would serve him well in this 
quest. "It is a Warg, Frodo. A wolf specially bred to serve the Enemy 
and work with the Orcs who dwell in the mountains."

"A Warg?" Frodo asked, paling a bit.

"A single Warg," Gandalf said. "For now, he is without companions, but 
we must act quickly before he signals his pack, if indeed he has one. 
There has been some debate as to his exact nature. But whether he 
works alone or scouts for a greater darkness, he will not be allowed 
to continue past tomorrow."

"Oh." Frodo fell quiet, not certain what he could say in response to 
that, and then he winced and cast a glance over his shoulder. 
"Gandalf, I know we’ve already been delayed, but Sam is…well, I think 
that’s the second time he’s stumbled in as many minutes."

The wizard looked back and grimaced slightly. There was still at least 
a full hour before dawn, but Frodo was right. Sam was beginning to 
shiver violently, and it would be best if he was warmed now. And 
beyond that, it wouldn’t hurt to let Legolas and Boromir have a break. 
Neither had said a word of complaint, but there were signs that their 
injuries were serving as impediments to travel. The elf’s limp was 
almost completely gone, but he seemed a bit unsteady as though his leg 
still pained him. Elven healing or no, the pulled muscle in his thigh 
would be swollen for several days and it would be wise to let it a 
rest. And Boromir’s knee was wrenched badly. Aragorn’s brace made it 
possible for the man to walk and Sam had managed to coax some 
pain-killing tea into him before they’d set out for the night, but the 
tea would have worn off several hours ago and in order to heal, the 
leg really needed to lie still.

"We will stop here for the day," Gandalf announced, gesturing to a 
small thicket off to the side of their trail.

There was a flash of surprise in Aragorn’s eyes at this announcement, 
but he looked over his shoulder at the rest of the Fellowship and 
nodded quickly in understanding. "We’ll need a fire," he said quietly, 
jerking his head in the direction of Sam and then closing his eyes as 
his residual headache from the flood protested loudly. There were 
still times, especially in the darkness, when he seemed to see two of 
everything.

"Agreed," Gandalf said. "Merry, Pippin, and Gimli, the three of you 
will see to gathering dry firewood."

The two hobbits gave obligatory sighs at having been tasked with a 
chore, dropped their packs on the ground, stretched slightly, and then 
disappeared into the underbrush to hunt for firewood that had not been 
soaked by the previous days’ rainstorm. Frodo went back to take Bill 
from Sam who was now so cold he did not seem to know what was 
happening. Aragorn guided the shivering hobbit toward the thicket 
while stripping him of his wet cloak. Gandalf moved after them and 
then stopped, sensing tension behind him.

Gimli was rocking back and forth on his feet and throwing a measuring 
look at Legolas. The elf was gazing quietly into the surrounding 
forest and doing his best to ignore the dwarf. Gimli eventually 
cleared his throat and took his pack off his broad shoulders.

"You know," he began, speaking slowly and deliberately, "I fear all 
this wet and cold has created an ache in my bones. And it didn’t help 
that I was carrying a certain elf about earlier today. But I suppose 
that someone other than the hobbits will have to find firewood, for 
they can’t bring back enough on their own. But who could be trusted to 
go other than myself?" The dwarf clasped his hands together and lifted 
them high above his head, stretching out his back and shoulders. 
"Legolas?"

"You wish me to gather firewood?" The elf’s voice was curt and soft, 
and it sent shivers down Gandalf’s spine. He’d once heard Glorfindel 
use that tone just before relieving an attacking troll of its head.

"If you would," Gimli answered, apparently oblivious to the rising 
tide of wrath in his comrade. "Of course, you are in no way obligated. 
I did bring this chill upon myself by searching for you in the rain 
and the mud."

Legolas tensed and Gandalf took an involuntary step toward them, 
fearful that Gimli had pushed the elf too far. But his actions were 
unnecessary for the prince of Mirkwood quickly bridled his emotions. 
Gracing the dwarf with a deadly elven glare, Legolas dropped his own 
pack and disappeared into the forest, moving silently and with catlike 
grace. Gandalf made a mental note to watch for the elf’s return. Gimli 
might find himself in danger.

"I judged him too harshly," Gimli said, stroking his beard 
thoughtfully and casually strolling by Gandalf. "He’s really quite a 
considerate elf."

Gandalf sighed. It had been his hope that Gimli and Legolas could put 
aside their differences, but it seemed that the flood and the 
subsequent rescue were only making things worse. It would be 
interesting to see if elf and dwarf could work together when it came 
time to hunt the Warg. As the hobbits say, I suppose we will have to 
dig that hole when we come to it, the old wizard thought with a shake 
of his head. But at the moment, I’m willing to throw both Legolas and 
Gimli to the Warg as a peace offering if it means this tension will 
end. And with this last rather macabre thought, Gandalf followed the 
others into the thicket and tried to figure out a way to tell Sam that 
Bill needed to be staked far away from camp during the day.

 

 

*By hobbit reckoning, this was the Fell Winter of 1311.

====================


Part 10


January 5, 3019 (Day)

To say that Legolas was upset would be to severely understate the 
case. The elf was far more than upset. He was raging. He was fuming. 
He was quickly approaching a level of anger reserved almost 
exclusively for Orcs. His bright gray eyes had darkened to the color 
of ominous storm clouds. His searing glance was capable of tearing the 
hide from an oliphaunt. His light feet stomped through the forest as 
might a troop of careless dwarves. And his very presence hummed with a 
fury that sent all good-natured things scurrying for safety.

Of all the members of the Fellowship to find me in the rain, why did 
it have to be the dwarf?! By nature, Legolas was a rather quiet elf, 
speaking only when it seemed his input was needed, but he now felt 
like screaming his rage and his frustration to the mountains. Let the 
spies and servants of the Enemy flock to him. He would gladly fight 
them all if only to assuage his anger.

"By the Valar, a plague upon the dwarves," he hissed aloud, wishing 
that he had paid better attention to his older brothers when they’d 
attempted to teach him the fine art of swearing in Quenya. He’d 
exhausted all the known curses in both Sindarin and Silvan, and he now 
wondered if a good oath or two in the most elegant elvish tongue might 
be able to relieve him of some of his tension.

Choking back a roar of frustration and almost overwhelming anger, 
Legolas balled up his fists and slammed himself bodily into a nearby 
tree, pressing his forehead against its smooth trunk and praying for 
some semblance of sanity to return to his mind. He longed to lock his 
nimble fingers around Gimli’s throat and squeeze until the dwarf could 
no longer clamor for air. He envisioned Gimli’s dark eyes pleading for 
an act of mercy that only the elf could deliver, and he saw himself 
smile serenely in response and then tighten his grip.

"Ah Elbereth," Legolas murmured, still leaning against the tree. 
Aragorn was right. I am beginning to lose control. I play games with 
life, and it is I who owe the life debt.

But the dwarf was coming dangerously close to crossing the fine line 
that defined the boundaries and requirements of a life debt! The gift 
of life was treated with great respect and honor among the elves 
because of the simple fact that they were immortal. They lived forever 
unless another killed them or unless they chose to die by grief. Thus, 
one who saved an elven life gifted that elf with possibly thousands 
upon thousands of years in which to continue to live and roam Middle 
Earth. Such a profound gift demanded some form of grand reward, but a 
life debt to a dwarf…it was unthinkable! What significance did life 
have to a dwarf? They were concerned with nothing but their search for 
gems and minerals. How could they possibly understand the exquisite 
nature of an elven life and how could an elf be bound to one of those 
shrunken creatures?

Firewood, Legolas told himself firmly, pushing away from the tree and 
trying to push his thoughts away, as well. I am here to gather 
firewood. We will need it for Samwise.

Yet who had tasked him with gathering firewood in the first place? 
That dwarf was treading upon thin ground. Legolas was a reasonably 
even-tempered elf with a fair amount of patience as was customary 
among the Eldar, but he did not think he could endure one more 
provocation. He knew his limits, and it would not be long before the 
dwarf pushed him too far. And when the sparks began to fly, it was 
anyone’s guess as to what the outcome would be, for Legolas did not 
think he should be held accountable for any actions he might take 
against the bearded creature. 

But perhaps today would be better. After all, the last few days had 
been difficult for all of them and the dwarf’s obstinate behavior 
might very well be caused by weariness. Perhaps today would witness a 
change in that behavior. Perhaps Gimli would mellow, realizing just 
how far he was testing the limits of Legolas’s patience. Perhaps some 
agreement might be reached as to how to conduct and resolve the issue 
of the life debt. Perhaps the dwarf would simply back off.

"And perhaps he will also learn to fly," Legolas spat caustically, 
shoving his more optimistic side to the back of his mind. He started 
to kneel with the intention of gathering sticks for the fire, but his 
left thigh protested violently and he ended up using a rather awkward 
lunge instead. Another black mark was added behind Gimli’s name on 
Legolas’s mental tally sheet, and the elf gritted his teeth against a 
new wave of righteous indignation. That dwarf was going to pay. 
Legolas didn’t know how and he didn’t know when, but Gimli was going 
to regret ever crossing the youngest prince of Mirkwood.

* * * *

"No, no, no, and no."

Aragorn sighed and rubbed his still-aching head. The current argument 
seemed to have gone on forever, and neither participant was any more 
willing to bend now than he had been when the argument first began. 
Aragorn had to admit, though, that it did make for an interesting 
picture. Gandalf the Gray, tall and bristling with hidden power, faced 
off against one small hobbit gardener, still shivering fiercely with 
cold but refusing to back down.

The Ranger wondered if they should have avoided this conversation 
entirely by simply not telling Sam about the Warg trap. They could 
have waited until the hobbit fell asleep and then quietly taken Bill 
away from the camp. But such a decision might have led to several 
complications, especially if their plan failed and the pony met with 
an untimely death. No, it was probably best that they had told Sam. 
The trick now was to get his consent.

"Sam, I assure you that Bill will be under surveillance at all times," 
Gandalf said, his voice patient and soothing, but it seemed the hobbit 
was no longer truly listening.

"You tell us there’s a wolf out there, and that’s upsetting to be 
sure, but now you tell us that you’ve known about this wolf for days 
and haven’t bothered to let us in on the secret," Sam exclaimed, 
pacing back and forth while waving his arms about in the air. "And 
here I’ve been letting Bill wander for grass with his hobbles on and 
all when there’s something about as might eat him! And what’s worse, 
now you want me to let him wander even further away! Well, I won’t 
have it, Mr. Gandalf. You can say all you like, but you’re not sending 
my pony out into this forest to be eaten by who knows what! I’ll not 
stand for it!"

Aragorn sighed and stretched, wincing at the resulting inevitable pop 
in his back. Sam was certainly justified in his anger. There were 
actually several secrets that some members of the Fellowship had 
kept—and were still keeping—from other members, but in matters 
requiring as much delicacy as the Ring required, sometimes even 
secrecy within the group was necessary. And there had been little 
reason to alarm the hobbits earlier when the Warg proved to be no 
immediate threat. Aragorn shook his head. In any case, none of this 
mattered anymore. The rest of the Fellowship now knew of the Warg and 
also of the plan to lure it into the open using the pony as bait.

"Is there a way we might construct this trap without using Bill?" 
Legolas asked, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

Aragorn noted that this was a marked improvement over the elf’s 
earlier mood when he had returned from gathering firewood. He had 
practically dumped the bundle of sticks on top of Gimli and then 
stormed to the other side of camp, seething with a rage so palpable 
that none had dared approach him for quite some time. After a while, 
Legolas’s anger had cooled to the point that walking near the elf did 
not feel like walking next to Orodruin, but even the innocent hobbits 
could sense that the elf was still very upset. Aragorn was waiting for 
an explosion of some kind, but for now at least, the Legolas had a 
civil tongue in his head and appeared to be somewhat concerned with 
their current situation. He wondered how long that would last.

"And how would we do that?" Gandalf asked the prince. "Are you willing 
to serve as bait?"

"If need be, yes," the elf said easily. "But I do not think he would 
seek to attack me when there is weaker prey about." Legolas threw a 
quick but rather obvious look at Gimli when he said this, but he 
turned away and continued before anyone could say aught. "Rather, I 
wonder about the possibility of using dried meat or something 
similar."

"Remember that this is a Warg, Legolas," Aragorn spoke up, deciding he 
should say something to remind Legolas that he was still here and 
still keeping an eye on him. "He was raised upon the flesh of men and 
elves. He will not settle for old meat, and were it not for the fact 
that this Warg is probably starving, even Bill would be beneath his 
notice."

"Then let’s keep Bill beneath his notice!" Sam exclaimed.

"Would you explain again exactly how you were planning to protect 
Bill?" Frodo suddenly asked. He’d been unusually quiet since the 
announcement that the pony was to be used as bait, and Aragorn 
wondered what thoughts the Ring-bearer had pondered.

"It would involve splitting the Fellowship again, but as there is no 
river nearby, we hope it will not prove as disastrous," the Ranger 
answered with a grim smile. "Legolas will be closest to Bill—probably 
above him, in fact—and will guard him with the bow. For the first 
hour, Gimli and I will be on either side of the pony and hidden in the 
brush, ready to attack should the Warg make an appearance. At the end 
of that hour, Boromir will relieve Gimli and we will watch for two 
hours before Gimli relieves me. After another two hours, I will 
relieve Legolas and borrow his bow and quiver. Two hours after that, 
if the Warg has still not attacked, we will return to camp and resume 
watches as usual for what little remains of the day. In the meanwhile, 
those of you here will have to care for your own safety as the rest of 
us will either be resting or elsewhere."

"No one is going to be elsewhere," Sam said heatedly, his facing 
taking on an expression of extreme stubbornness. It was a rather 
unlikely look for this particular hobbit and had the situation not 
been so dire, it might have been vastly amusing. "Three of you were 
almost drowned in a river only two nights ago," Sam continued, his 
eyes flashing with an inner fire that was so comical it nearly cost 
Aragorn his composure. "I’ll not be trusting Bill’s safety to guards 
who are still recovering!"

"Well, one of them wasn’t swept down a river," Frodo pointed out. 
"You’re fine, aren’t you, Gimli?"

Gimli snorted indignantly. "A dwarf is always fine, Master Hobbit. If 
need be, I could guard this pony on my own."

Aragorn’s sharp ears heard Legolas mutter something highly offensive 
beneath his breath. The Ranger cast a stern glare in his direction, 
but the elf was deliberately not looking at Aragorn.

"Good. And everyone else seems to be recovering quickly. Boromir, 
you’re feeling much better, aren’t you?" Frodo continued.

Boromir raised his brow at the question. "Remember, Frodo, that I have 
served Gondor for many years and have faced hardships much worse than 
what happened two days ago. I swam Anduin with my brother during the 
raid on Osgiliath, and in that adventure, I faced the arrows of Orcs 
as well as the pervasive darkness of the Nameless One and his hooded 
Riders, neither of which were present for my latest river encounter."

"In other words, you’re fine," Pippin summarized. Boromir threw him a 
dirty look.

"And what about you, Strider?" Frodo continued, turning to the Ranger.

Aragorn nodded slowly, hoping that whatever Frodo was doing would 
convince Sam to allow their plan. "I feel much better this morning 
than I did yesterday morning, and I will be able to hold my own in the 
event of an attack. Like Boromir, my experience has included trials 
far more trying than a soaking in a cold river."

"You see, Sam?" Frodo said before turning to the last member of the 
somewhat impromptu trap team. "And Legolas? How are you doing?"

Legolas smiled slightly, pushed himself off the log he’d been using 
for a seat, and stretched. "Elves are quick to heal, Master Frodo. My 
own misfortunes will give me no more trouble. Behold!" And with 
movements faster than mortal eyes could track, the elf had strung an 
arrow to his bow, pulled it back, and sent his bolt hurtling through 
the air. A yelp of surprise and alarm escaped Gimli’s lips and all 
turned to see where the elf’s arrow had flown. Still quivering 
slightly, the arrow had lodged between Gimli’s legs in a tree against 
which the dwarf was been leaning.

For one eternal moment, no one dared move. And then it seemed that all 
the demons of Melkor’s reign were set loose. Gimli’s roar of rage 
could be likened to a wrathful Smaug, and Aragorn immediately threw 
himself at the understandably irascible dwarf to prevent a physical 
confrontation. Boromir joined him in restraining Gimli and between the 
two of them, they managed to keep the dwarf away from the elf. For his 
part, when Gimli lunged, Legolas had remained absolutely still, as 
though awaiting the attack, and had seemed even eager to test his 
recovering strength against the dwarf. He was not taking the offensive 
in turn, but he was most definitely not trying to placate his 
opponent.

Aragorn sighed even as he tightened his hold on Gimli. They did not 
need this. Perhaps Gimli was abusing the life debt, and perhaps 
Legolas was justified in his anger, but needless threats and 
unnecessary risks were foolish, childish, and dangerous. Elven skill 
or no, Legolas’s wrist was sprained and had his grip on the bow 
slipped just a little… Aragorn stopped that train of thought well 
before it arrived at its inevitable station. At least one thing was 
now abundantly clear. They needed to use the pony as bait if only as 
an excuse to keep the elf and dwarf apart and silent.

"Gimli!" Gandalf said sharply, raising threatening eyebrows. "Calm 
yourself, Master Dwarf. And Legolas, that was among your more foolish 
actions."

"But it did demonstrate that I am on the mend, did it not?" Legolas 
said easily, not the least bit inclined to be apologetic. "The arrow 
sailed true, the distance was judged correctly, and no harm came of 
it. We may all rest assured that I am in good health."

"Then allow me to show you that I am also in good health," Gimli spat, 
no longer struggling against Aragorn and Boromir but still tense with 
only partially controlled anger. "If you will stand still, I shall lob 
my axe in your direction and we shall see how our skills compare."

"Silence, both of you!" Aragorn ordered with a dark glare at Legolas 
and a hard shake of the dwarf’s arm before releasing Gimli. "The 
morning wanes and we have still not come to a decision as to our 
activities this day." And we must also make time for another talk, the 
Ranger added mentally, vowing to speak to with both Legolas and Gimli 
individually later in the day. This pointless feud was getting out of 
hand.

On the other side of the camp, while Merry and Pippin had watched the 
proceedings with wide eyes, Frodo had taken Sam aside and was now 
whispering urgently. The other hobbit eventually nodded at whatever 
was being said, though it appeared that he did so with great 
reluctance. "Alright," Sam grumbled as he turned away from Frodo, his 
tone bitter and angry. "Alright, you can use Bill, but if anything 
should happen to him…"

"Nothing will happen to him," Gandalf assured the worried hobbit. 
"Bill will be as safe as you are, perhaps even safer. You have no 
cause to fear for him."

For some reason, the phrase famous last words came to Aragorn’s mind. 
He wondered what that might portend, but he did not voice his thoughts 
aloud. Sam’s consent had been won at great cost, and he did not want 
the hobbit to reconsider. "Thank you, Samwise," the Ranger said, 
moving to Bill’s halter and giving the somewhat nervous pony a 
reassuring pat. "We shall be certain to take care of him. Legolas? 
Gimli?"

Elf and dwarf glanced warily at one another, and then Gimli summoned a 
very friendly and very contrived smile. "Master Elf, I believe that my 
pack is…" Gimli trailed off with a blink and a snort. Rather than 
allowing the dwarf to finish the sentence, Legolas had finally 
hearkened to the old Numenorean saying that discretion was sometimes 
the better part of valor. The elf was now no longer anywhere near the 
camp.

"I will see you in an hour, Boromir," Aragorn sighed, shaking his head 
at the elf’s sudden and rapid departure. "Come, Gimli. Let us 
establish our positions and the finer points of our routine. We have a 
trap to set."

* * * *

Concealed by a wall of leaves, Boromir decided that he’d been in 
council sessions with more action than this Warg trap. At least in 
Minas Tirith, he’d been able to entertain himself by making bets with 
Faramir over which councilor would become hoarse first. Such an 
activity was certainly not smiled upon by Denethor, but it did provide 
Boromir with a motive for paying attention during the meetings. 
Otherwise, he might allow his mind to wander and rely on Faramir to 
summarize the important bits later, for Denethor’s eldest son had no 
patience for petty disputes and political maneuvering, being a man of 
action rather than a man of words. This is not to say that Boromir had 
no interest in council proceedings or was ignorant of what went on. 
There were certain debates in which he was quite active, and his quick 
mind and sharp wit had won him respect from many of the elders in 
Minas Tirith. But as a general rule, Boromir preferred to let Faramir 
sort through the details of whatever domestic dispute or city 
ordinance they were debating while he went back to planning the next 
offensive to launch from Ithilien or Pelargir.

Boromir glanced at the sun and estimated how much time was left to 
this trap. He’d relieved Gimli almost two hours ago, and the dwarf was 
due to return any time now and spell Aragorn for a bit. Then Aragorn 
would relieve Legolas and after that, they only had to wait another 
two hours. If the Warg decided not to accommodate them, they would 
return to the main camp. Secretly, Boromir was of a mind that they 
should return now. He had felt no hint of the Warg and had heard 
nothing other than the occasional slight movement from Aragorn, who 
stood guard on the other side of the clearing. Boromir wasn’t exactly 
certain of Legolas’s location, but he guessed the elf was to his right 
perched high in a large pine. He thought he’d seen movement up there 
earlier, though it was difficult to be certain. And as for the bait of 
this little trap, Bill was peacefully munching on the tender grass 
that had sprouted up in the wake of the rainstorms. He showed no sign 
of fear and gave no indication to suggest that there was a wolf 
nearby.

Perhaps this creature is less a wolf and more a fox, Boromir sighed, 
wondering if they would be forced to do this tomorrow in the event 
that they did not catch their quarry today. This endless waiting was 
certainly not the most tedious task he’d ever undertaken, but it did 
rank near the top. He wondered how Aragorn and Legolas were managing 
to keep so silent, for they’d been here an hour longer than he had. 
Shifting slightly and easing pressure off his still-aching knee, 
Boromir sighed and rubbed his neck. This would probably be easier if I 
hadn’t nearly drowned two days ago. He was on the verge of standing up 
and attempting to talk Legolas and Aragorn out of continuing this 
since it was obviously doing no good when something…changed.

Boromir never would be able to identify exactly what changed. It was 
as though darkness fell over the sun, but there were no clouds in the 
sky. The air seemed to chill, but the temperature had not altered. It 
was like the shadow of the Black Riders who had risen from Minas 
Morgul and driven the forces of Gondor back across Anduin, except that 
this shadow was different. It was not nearly as strong, but it was 
subtle. This was a darkness that would wait until one’s guard went 
down, and then it would advance. Boromir shivered, realizing that this 
was the feeling of an approaching Warg. This was what Gandalf, 
Aragorn, and Legolas had felt earlier. And he now understood a little 
better why both Aragorn and Legolas were willing to devote seven hours 
to the purpose of trapping this creature.

Boromir also noted that he was the not the only one who felt a change 
in the environment. Bill’s head had jerked up, and the pony was now 
watching the surrounding forest nervously. He jerked one forefoot 
against his hobbles as though testing their strength, and then he 
froze, watching and waiting. His nostrils flared wide, and his ears 
flipped about, attempting to track elusive sounds in the underbrush. 
Dark, expressive eyes turned this way and that, searching the shadows 
beyond the clearing but finding nothing.

With silent, slow movements, Boromir loosened his sword in its 
scabbard. He passed a hand over his boot knife, reassuring himself of 
its presence, and then rested his forearm on his sword hilt. The 
tedious game had now changed to a waiting game that Boromir had played 
frequently with the hosts of Mordor. The enemy was close and a 
confrontation was not far away. This was more to Boromir’s liking, and 
despite the circumstances, a smile of anticipation found its way onto 
his haggard face.

Out in the small clearing, Bill snorted once and stomped, clearly 
nervous but uncertain as to what threatened him. Boromir caught a hint 
of subtle movement on the other side, and he tightened his hand on his 
hilt before realizing that the movement was Aragorn. Yet the Ranger’s 
restlessness was warning enough, for the heir of Denethor had come to 
trust the other man, at least as far as senses were concerned. Aragorn 
could see and feel a great deal more than most, and in matters of 
woodcraft, it seemed he rivaled even the elves.

But as alert as Boromir was, nothing prepared him for what happened 
next. Like an evil shadow barely skimming the earth, a bolt of dark 
gray shot from the underbrush only two meters from his position. He 
barely had time to lay his hand to his sword before the Warg was 
flying toward Bill. The pony screamed and reared, but he stood no 
chance against the fury of one of Sauron’s most powerful servants. 
Teeth bared and muscles primed, the bolt of fur and fury raced toward 
the defenseless horse and—

The high-pitched whistle of an arrow filled the air and seemingly in 
mid-spring the Warg jerked to the right with a howl of pain. An elven 
arrow shuddered in its shoulder and the creature turned aside, 
screaming its rage. Another arrow whistled in, but the Warg sprang 
away and leaped from the clearing. The arrow struck the earth next to 
Bill where the wolf had been only moments ago, and for his part, the 
pony reared again in fright and confusion. His hobbles broke asunder 
and he fled, disappearing into the underbrush.

"Valar!" Aragorn swore, emerging from his side of the clearing.

"He is faster than any Warg I have ever hunted!" Legolas exclaimed, 
dropping from his tree and landing in a low crouch.

"Then I thank Eru for the swift reflexes of elves," Aragorn said, 
bending to the ground as Boromir joined them. "You have at least 
wounded him and he leaves a trail of blood. Come! I will follow while 
you race ahead. Listen for the whistles and I will direct you."

Legolas nodded, shouldered his bow, and leaped into the trees, 
vanishing as quickly as the wolf had. Boromir blinked, wondering what 
had just happened and what they were doing now. And what of Bill? 
Surely someone had to go after the pony.

"Boromir, come!" Aragorn’s command shook Boromir from his thoughts and 
he looked at the Ranger with an air of confusion. "Come!" Aragorn said 
again. "Legolas draws ahead and will need to know the direction of the 
Warg. We must keep this enemy from doubling back."

Still not entirely understanding their strategy, Boromir hurried after 
the departing Ranger who was already on the trail of the wolf. His 
mind turned rapidly, but he had not been taught to hunt with elves and 
could not fathom what Aragorn and Legolas now did. Yet he could not 
ask outright, for such a weakness in Gondor’s first captain was 
unthinkable. He would have to gain a knowledge of their plans through 
observation. Pushing the pain from his wrenched knee and cracked ribs 
to the back of his mind, Boromir hastened to catch up.

Aragorn raced before him, hunched over as he followed an intermittent 
trail of blood. A whistle suddenly sounded from ahead, and had Boromir 
not known better, he would not have ascribed it to a man or an elf as 
it sounded too natural. But he suspected it was Legolas and his 
suspicions were confirmed when Aragorn straightened and whistled back. 
The Ranger’s own call was almost perfect in its mimicry of a songbird 
and Boromir felt yet another surge of respect for the man who bore 
Narsil reforged.

"What did you say?" he hissed. This was an acceptable question to ask 
as the whistles were more or less a foreign language to Boromir. It 
showed not weakness on his part but understandable and excusable 
ignorance.

"Legolas related his position and asked for a bearing on the Warg," 
Aragorn answered. "I told him the wolf was moving southwest so far as 
I can read the trail."

"Can he get ahead of this creature? You saw how quickly it moved!"

"He can take a more direct route than the Warg will take, and even if 
he cannot head it in its flight, he can draw close enough to shoot. If 
we are lucky, his pursuit will cause the Warg to circle. Legolas will 
signal us if he feels the Warg is turning and we will break away from 
the trail so that the elf might drive him toward us."

Boromir gave Aragorn a rather skeptical look, trying to imagine 
exactly what his father would say if either he or Faramir presented a 
plan in which one of them would trail a band of Orcs while the other 
tried to outrun them and eventually signal the trailing partner if it 
seemed that the Orcs turned to the right or the left. Glancing back, 
Aragorn saw the look and laughed.

"We have done this several times in Mirkwood. It works consistently so 
long as at least one member of the hunting party is an elf. Do not try 
this with only men for company."

Boromir nodded, filing this new information away as one of the many 
obscure facts he’d learned since traveling with the Fellowship, and 
then jerked his head up. Another whistle was drifting out of the 
trees, and Aragorn acted immediately. Veering left, he took off at a 
sudden run that left Boromir straining to catch up.

"Drift to my right!" Aragorn shouted, looking back over his shoulder. 
"Legolas has managed to turn him and we must cover more ground. We 
cannot let him slip by us."

Slightly irked by the Ranger’s authoritative tone, Boromir 
nevertheless moved forward and began running abreast on the right side 
of the other man, keeping a sharp watch ahead of him. The feeling of a 
slinking menace was now so intense that it seemed as though night had 
come prematurely. He heard Aragorn draw Anduril from its scabbard and 
he pulled his own blade in response. A sudden, sharp whistle not more 
than fifty feet away froze both men and they skidded to a halt, senses 
primed.

Perhaps one second later, the brush parted and a panting, bleeding 
wolf stumbled into view, intent on escaping the archer that stalked 
its back. Together, Aragorn and Boromir surged forward. Sensing the 
attack, the Warg jumped back, narrowly missing Boromir’s thrust and 
ducking beneath Aragorn’s swing. Teeth bared, the Warg lunged with a 
roar and Boromir threw himself to the side. The wolf flew by him, his 
teeth catching part of a sleeve, and then something hissed past the 
man’s ear with a high-pitched whine. The Warg let out a sharp howl as 
an arrow lodged securely in his upper back, Aragorn rushed forward 
with Boromir right behind him, and two swords quickly imbedded 
themselves in the wolf’s sides. With one last roar and a defiant 
snarl, the Warg sagged to the ground and shuddered, eventually lying 
still.

For a moment, nothing happened. It was as though the whole of Arda 
held its breath. Boromir felt rooted in place, and judging from 
Aragorn’s lack of motion, he felt likewise. Together they stared at 
the creature that had haunted the trail of their Fellowship.

The spell was broken when Legolas dropped out of a tree nearly on top 
of them. Glancing curiously at the two men as though puzzled by their 
inaction, he bent over the wolf and retrieved his arrows. "It would 
seem your trap was successful," the elf observed, turning to Aragorn.

"If only such simple measures could always ensure success," Aragorn 
sighed, shaking his head. "Come, let us return. We are all in need of 
sleep and…" He suddenly trailed off and groaned, bringing his hands up 
to rub his temples. "Bill," he whispered. "Bill is still out there. He 
broke his hobbles."

"Sam will have our heads if aught should happen to him," Legolas 
murmured.

"And we cannot carry the bulk of our baggage without him," Boromir 
added, wondering if his headache could possibly become any more 
painful. "Shall we look for him now or alert the others?"

"He may return on his own," Aragorn said, sounding rather skeptical of 
that possibility.

"Or he may not," Boromir said, sounding far more certain than the 
Ranger.

The three stared at one another over the body of the Warg, plagued by 
indecision and doubt, until Aragorn sighed and bent down to wipe his 
sword on the wolf’s pelt. "We must return and tell the others," he 
said quietly. "Gimli is due to relieve my watch soon and he will 
wonder what has become of us if we abandon the clearing to search for 
Bill. Besides, the rest of the company should learn that the Warg is 
dead. It may help their spirits."

"Not Sam’s," Legolas warned. "His first concern will be Bill, and we 
have no way to assure him that all is well with the pony. We have no 
way of knowing that ourselves."

"We have no other choice," Aragorn answered. "I agree that this will 
affect Sam more than any other member of the Fellowship, but I feel he 
has a right to know."

"I do not disagree with you," Legolas said quietly. "I was simply 
reminding you that Bill is more than a mere pack animal. To Sam, he 
has become a friend."

"I know," Aragorn murmured, standing and sliding Anduril back into its 
scabbard. "And not just to Sam." He paused for a moment and then shook 
his head. "Come. Let us return to camp."

Falling into step beside Legolas as they followed the weary Ranger, 
Boromir sighed and took a deep breath, feeling the pull of healing 
ribs. The chase had left him more or less intact, which was something 
of a marvel since he’d been running across unfamiliar ground. His 
knee, also, felt as though it had held up, though a dull throbbing 
pain indicated that he should probably rest it.

Glancing at the elf walking beside him, Boromir wondered if he felt 
any ill effects from the flood. His complexion was paler than usual 
and the man thought he caught a discreet yawn, but other than those 
small signs, Legolas seemed to have completely recovered. If he 
watched closely, there was almost a slight limp in the Legolas’s 
stride whenever his left leg touched the ground, but it was so 
miniscule that it might have been mistaken for the unevenness of the 
terrain. And there was the fact that his left wrist was still tightly 
wrapped, but it did not seem to hinder the elf for he had handled his 
bow without so much as a flinch in camp that morning. Which is more 
than can be said for Gimli, Boromir though to himself with a hidden 
smile. 

So intent was he on examining his companion that Boromir abruptly 
stumbled into Aragorn, who had stopped cold in front of the two. 
Legolas blinked and shook his head slightly, as though bringing 
himself out of a trance, and arched a slender eyebrow at them.

Looking over his shoulder at Boromir with a hint of irritation, the 
tired Ranger sighed and then bent down to the ground, sweeping aside 
some of the foliage as he did so. "What do you make of this, Legolas?"

He yawned. I’m certain of it, Boromir thought, watching the elf 
closely as he knelt rather awkwardly next to Aragorn. And aside from 
being tired, the elf’s leg also seemed to be giving him some trouble, 
for he winced when he bent it beneath him. Perhaps Legolas was not as 
infallible as he seemed.

"Boromir?" Aragorn questioned, inviting the man to join them.

Boromir was not certain his knee was quite up to kneeling, but he 
walked to the side of Legolas and bent down as far as he was able. 
Unfortunately, it was enough to see what Aragorn had found, and a hiss 
escaped him at what his eyes beheld. "It can’t be," he whispered, 
glancing around the forest with deep suspicion. "Shouldn’t we have 
sensed this or seen signs of it earlier?"

"The rain probably washed away many of the tracks, and as for our 
senses, we can only feel their presence, not their numbers," Aragorn 
sighed, running his fingers over the imprint in the soft mud. "It’s 
too large to belong to the wolf we just killed."

"And the ill feel of a Warg has not diminished," Legolas added, 
running a hand over his face in a rather unelven gesture of 
frustration. "It remains as strong as ever with no sign of fading."

"And now we have given it prey to stalk," Aragorn sighed, standing and 
loosening Anduril within his scabbard. "Come. The Fellowship must be 
told that there is a second Warg. And we have a pony to find."


===================


Part 11


January 5, 3019 (Night)

"You what?!"

Merry flinched and turned away from the furious demon that Sam had 
become. Aragorn’s announcement about Bill—coming just after everyone 
had been roused from a rather restless sleep—had probably not been the 
best way to start the late afternoon. They were gratified to hear that 
the Warg would no longer trouble them, but the news about Bill…that 
was something else.

Still, Sam was taking the situation fairly well, at least in a 
relative sense. The raging gardener had not reduced Strider, Legolas, 
and Boromir to an odd assortment of body parts. That was something of 
a victory for Sam’s restraint, and Merry made a mental note to 
compliment him on it as soon as he stopped shouting.

"I knew it. I knew this would happen. But did I listen to myself? Of 
course I didn’t! The Gaffer, he warned me too much about listening to 
myself, but there are times, like as not, when I’m the most sensible 
one around. And now poor Bill’s paying the price. He’s lost in this 
horrible forest and I don’t doubt but what he’s hungry and alone and—"

"Easy," Frodo interrupted gently, approaching Sam with the same 
caution that Bilbo had once used to approach Smaug. "I’m sure we can 
find him without too much trouble. Strider can track just about 
anything, and a pony can’t be too difficult. We’ll find him quickly 
and then we can start our journey. Right?" Frodo turned to the other 
members of the Fellowship for support in this.

"We can certainly not leave without him," Gandalf said slowly, eyeing 
the pile of baggage next to the remnants of their campfire. "If we 
continue on our present course, we will have need of his aid in 
transporting our packs. And there is the fact that he has proven 
himself a loyal friend. Yet there is also a need for haste. The flood 
slowed our journey by at least two days, and the rain added to the 
delay. Time is too precious to be thrown away carelessly."

"You would call a search for Bill careless?!" Sam demanded.

"I said not so," Gandalf returned, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But 
we must watch out time carefully. Aragorn, can you estimate how long a 
search for Bill might take?"

There was a slight pause before the Ranger answered. "I would say two 
hours," he said at length. "But it is difficult to be certain, for he 
could have fled in several different directions once leaving our 
presence, and he may have doubled back or crossed a stream, making it 
more difficult. Beyond that, he could be very near or he could be very 
far. There is simply no way to tell for certain. The three of us did 
attempt to track him before returning to camp, but his trail was lost 
when it led onto a rock shelf and we could no longer follow him."

Gandalf nodded, allowing himself a small sigh before he turned and 
addressed the rest of the Fellowship. "I fear this delays our journey 
yet again, but that cannot be helped now. We shall separate into teams 
and search for Bill while leaving a small guard here with the 
baggage."

The sudden clearing of a throat behind the wizard stopped him and 
Merry frowned as he studied the strange, uncomfortable look on 
Strider’s face. His confusion and curiosity grew when he noticed a 
very similar look on Boromir’s face. Turning to Legolas, he tried to 
read the elf’s expression, but the prince was inscrutable. Typical, 
Merry thought disparagingly. Elves are never any good if you need 
information.

"There is one more thing I feel we should know," Aragorn said, and 
Merry turned to watch the Ranger expectantly. "We did kill the Warg, 
but as we were returning, we came upon another set of tracks."

"Another set of tracks?" Gimli echoed with a raised brow.

"There is another Warg out there," Boromir murmured, folding his arms 
across his chest. "Larger than the first."

"But perhaps that will aid in finding him," Aragorn said quickly 
before alarm could spread, though it seemed that alarm was much faster 
than the Ranger. "His larger size will be more difficult to conceal in 
the underbrush and he will not be as fast or as wary as his comrade 
was."

"There’s another Warg out there?!"

Merry wondered if it was possible for Sam to explode much like one of 
Gandalf’s firecrackers. It certainly looked as though he was about to. 
And while it would make for an interesting sight and something to talk 
about years down the road, Merry couldn’t see it being very healthy 
for Sam. Unfortunately, Merry didn’t know what he could do about the 
situation. He sent a rather urgent look over to Frodo, but the 
Ring-bearer seemed just as baffled. None of them had ever seen Sam 
this upset, and it was taking them all by surprise.

"We should have expected this with an elf on the watch," Gimli 
grumbled.

Merry blinked, froze, and then glanced fearfully at Legolas. He 
supposed that was one way of diverting attention from Sam, but he 
wasn’t sure this was an improvement. The elf had gone completely 
still, one hand clutching his bow so tightly it was turning white. His 
bright gray eyes were closed to the world and his breathing was short 
and shallow. It seemed he was drawn as taut as his bowstring, and the 
slightest touch would snap him in two. Or snap someone else in two, 
Merry thought with a quick look towards Gimli. The dwarf didn’t seem 
to realize just how much wrath was building in Legolas, but Merry 
doubted that his ignorance would continue for long.

"Bill is lost and alone and there’s another Warg out there?!" Sam 
yelled again.

Merry backed away from the Fellowship and tried to make an impartial 
assessment of the current situation. Legolas was still standing as 
silent and resolute as a lone tree, but his breathing was getting 
faster and Merry was reminded of ale casks that are jostled too much 
on their journey to the inn. Eventually, enough pressure builds and 
they break their casings, spilling the contents over everything and 
providing their transporters with an impossible mess. Gimli, who was 
most likely to be the recipient of the impending explosion, didn’t 
seem to sense his imminent demise. Either that or he was confident in 
his ability to deal with whatever Legolas saw fit to send his way. 
Merry wondered if that was a wise attitude. The elf seemed quite 
capable of dealing out death and destruction. As for Sam, that hobbit 
was beginning to turn an interesting shade of red as his anger at 
Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas started to reach dangerous levels. Merry 
had never before seen that particular color on a hobbit’s face, and 
while it certainly did not set him at ease, it was a rather 
interesting and curious thing to look at.

Having finished his assessment of the Fellowship, Merry came to a 
conclusion. They were in trouble. If things didn’t start to resolve 
soon, the company would break apart before they ever crossed the 
mountains. Unfortunately, Merry had no idea what to do in order to 
ease the tension within the group. He didn’t know enough about the 
problems between elves and dwarves to even consider approaching 
Legolas or Gimli, and Sam wasn’t likely to listen to anyone other than 
Frodo at this point in time. And Frodo didn’t seem to be willing to 
step forward, possibly waiting until the storm died before acting. But 
if you wait too long, you might be too late, Merry thought to himself.

"Three teams," Aragorn suddenly announced, breaking the tense silence 
with words before Legolas could break it with an arrow. In fact, Merry 
though he caught a glimpse of the elf’s hand straying to his quiver, 
but Legolas pulled it back before anyone else could notice. "Merry, 
Pippin, and Gimli will guard the baggage. The rest of us will make for 
the rock shelf where Bill's trail becomes lost. From there, we will 
split into two groups. Gandalf, Frodo, and Sam will move east. 
Legolas, Boromir, and I shall go southeast. Those directions shall 
lead us to the easiest trails in this area, and it’s likely that Bill 
will have found his way onto one of them. In the event that we 
discover nothing, we shall meet back here at midnight."

"You left him alone with a Warg!" Sam wailed.

"Three teams it is," Gandalf said. "But I suggest we split our paths 
here so the noise of our travels is less, for Bill might be startled 
by crashing in the underbrush." Aragorn nodded, accepting the wisdom 
in this, and Gandalf turned to the two hobbits now relegated to his 
care. "Frodo, Sam, come with me. If we start now, we should be able to 
find Bill and still get in several hours of travel ere morning."

"Come on, Sam," Frodo said, his voice soft and soothing. Putting a 
tentative hand on Sam’s shoulder, he began to guide the other hobbit 
toward Gandalf as the wizard struck out into the underbrush. "We’ll 
need you on this hunt. Bill knows you and he’ll come to you if he 
feels you’re near. I bet he wants to see you just as much as you want 
to see him."

"Stay alert," Aragorn warned as he started on his own path into the 
forest, taking a more southerly route. Legolas had already 
disappeared, hidden by the shadows of the trees, and Boromir was not 
far behind. "Remember that there is still one Warg left and that he is 
on the hunt."

"Fear not for us," Gimli said. "These good hobbits have a dwarf with 
them, and he shall not fail them as an elf might. Or already has, in 
the case of the pony."

"Legolas!"

Merry cringed upon hearing the sharpness of Boromir’s tone and he 
could only imagine what the elf had tried to do under cover of the 
forest canopy. Catching a glance at the anger, frustration, and 
weariness that raced across Aragorn’s face, Merry decided he was quite 
glad that he was not in a leadership position. The constant feud 
between Legolas and Gimli was making life difficult for all of them, 
but to be the one constantly stepping between the two of them… The 
hobbit shook his head. It was unfathomable to him, and he didn’t even 
want to think about what it had become like since Legolas had incurred 
a life debt. The tension between the two was becoming dangerous, and 
if something didn’t give, both were going to snap.

"You’ve been very quiet this evening," a voice at his elbow said.

Merry jumped and swung around, frowning as he discovered Pippin. "I 
might say the same of you, Cousin Took."

"Everyone else was busy talking, so I thought I’d let them make their 
grand plans without help from me. It’s good practice for when they 
need to make serious decisions and I’m not around to aid them."

Merry snorted and then began to laugh, feeling some of the tension 
drain away. "Don’t let Sam hear you say that. To him, this is serious, 
and if one of those teams doesn’t find Bill, I can’t imagine what 
he’ll do."

"Have no fear, young hobbits," Gimli said, taking his axe out and 
inspecting its sharp edge with a critical eye. "There are no better 
trackers and hunters to be found than the Rangers, and as their chief, 
Aragorn has skills ordinary men cannot even begin to fathom. The pony 
will be found, the Warg will be killed, and we will continue our 
journey."

"I hope so," Pippin said, flopping down onto a large bundle of rolled 
blankets. "Because if they don’t find Bill, we’ll have to leave some 
of this stuff here, which means less food later in the trip."

"You’re impossible," Merry informed him. "But at least one good things 
comes of all this. Let’s eat. It wouldn’t do if the others came back 
and found that we’d starved to death."

"You’re absolutely right!" Pippin exclaimed, a large smile making its 
way onto his face. "And we have all the food right here. Come on, 
Merry, let’s break out some of that spicy meat that Sam’s been 
hoarding."

"Hobbits," Gimli grunted, shaking his head and hiding his own smile. 
If nothing else, it would be an interesting night.

* * * *

Sam stormed behind Gandalf in a furious rage, heedless of all that 
went on about him. His thunderous mind barely registered the fact that 
brambles were tearing at his cloak and that he was actually beginning 
to drift away from Gandalf’s towering form and off onto his own path. 
For the last fruitless hour of searching, he’d replayed the early 
morning conversation over and over again. They’d promised Bill would 
be safe! They’d given their word! Legolas would be right above him. 
Aragorn would be right beside him. Boromir would be right behind him. 
There was nothing to worry about. The pony was as safe as any of them 
were. There was no need for concern or fear. What could possibly 
happen?

"Sam?"

"The worst! And I’m the one as let it happen!"

Frodo blinked and stepped back. "Sam, I…did you know you were 
wandering off the path?"

"Was I? Bill wandered off the path, too, but like as not, I’m the only 
one who cares. I don’t think that…" Sam suddenly stopped and looked at 
Frodo, his face paling. "Oh, sir, I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean to 
talk so and—"

"Sam, it’s all right," Frodo broke in, taking hold of Sam’s arm and 
leading him back toward Gandalf who was waiting for both hobbits with 
an unreadable expression on his face. Had Sam not been so upset, he 
might have seen a flicker of compassion in the wizard’s dark eyes, but 
as it was, he was lucky to even notice that Gandalf was looking his 
direction. "You’re upset and that’s understandable," Frodo continued 
as he coaxed Sam back to the trail. "But if we’re to find Bill, we 
have to stay focused."

"You’re right, Mr. Frodo," Sam sighed, dismissing the fact that Frodo 
had been one of the individuals encouraging him to send the pony out 
into the Warg trap. In the gardener’s mind, his master could do no 
wrong and if there was a fault in the matter of Bill, it lay somewhere 
else. Not with Strider, that was certain. And not with Gandalf either. 
But if they weren’t to blame, then who was? Maybe—

"Sam? Sam, we have to get going."

Sam shook his head, trying to refocus his attention on his 
surroundings rather than his thoughts. His anger was beginning to 
simmer and once Bill was safely with them again, it would probably 
vanish completely, though he would certainly be reluctant to let 
anyone use the pony as bait again! "I’m sorry, sir," Sam mumbled, 
attempting to order his feelings into something slightly less chaotic. 
"It’s just that…I don’t rightly know how I feel about all this. And 
Bill is still out there with that second wolf or Warg or whatever it 
is and—"

"We’ll find him, Sam," Frodo promised, still guiding the other hobbit 
after Gandalf as Sam had not quite come back to himself. "Bill’s too 
smart to wander far away, and he’ll probably come looking for us. We 
just have to be alert enough to meet up with him."

"You’re right again, Mr. Frodo, as usual," Sam sighed. "I’m sorry to 
be such a burden but I—"

"Sam, will you just shut your mouth and start listening for Bill?" 
Frodo laughed, and in his laugh was perhaps the first real hint of 
merriment that had entered his voice for days. "Didn’t the Gaffer tell 
you to stick your foot in your mouth when you opened it? Do that now 
and it will help us a great deal more."

"Are the two of you coming or would you rather wait here until this 
age of the world passes away?" Gandalf demanded, looking sternly at 
the slower hobbits but there was a twinkle of mirth in his eyes that 
took away the sting of his words.

"Coming," Frodo responded, pulling Sam along with slightly more force 
than he’d previously used. "Now Sam, you’ve got better ears than I do, 
so you’ll have to concentrate on listening for Bill. He can’t move 
much in this underbrush without making some noise, right? So you’re in 
charge of listening."

"I can do that, sir," Sam said, thankful that Frodo was giving him 
something that demanded his concentration.

"Good," the other hobbit said, clapping Sam on the back and releasing 
his arm. "Then let’s hurry so we can get in a bit of traveling 
tonight. Gandalf’s right. Time is an issue and we don’t want to take 
any longer than we have to, for both our sakes and Bill’s!"

Sam nodded, feeling his anger begin to drift away and adopting a 
concentration normally reserved for pulling weeds away from delicate 
flowers. As Frodo had charged, he began to listen closely for any 
sounds that might indicate Bill’s direction, and he kept a sharp eye 
out. He was aware of Frodo hovering at his side, a constant presence 
should any comfort be needed again, and he felt a flash of guilt. He 
was supposed to look after Frodo, not the other way around. Sam was on 
the verge of saying something to that effect as well as attempting a 
polite way of asking Frodo to back off when Gandalf uttered a short 
oath.

Sam and Frodo both came to an abrupt halt and looked curiously at the 
gray-clad wizard. Neither had ever heard Gandalf swear before and it 
earned the old wizard their complete and undivided attention. A shiver 
of fear crept down Sam’s back and his stomach began to twist, fearing 
the worst for Bill. Gandalf was staring into the forest, but his eyes 
were unfocused and it seemed he was reaching out with senses beyond 
those of mortals. For a long moment, nothing dared to move. Even the 
trees seemed to hold their breath.

And then Gandalf surged forward, breaking into a job and sweeping 
offending underbrush out of the way with his staff. "Hurry," he 
ordered over his shoulder.

"What is it?" Frodo asked as he and Sam took off after the wizard. 
"Has something happened to Bill?"

"To my knowledge, the pony is still safe. But he will not remain so 
unless we make haste," Gandalf answered cryptically.

Sam gulped and tried to pump more energy into his weary legs. "Hang 
on, Bill," he panted beneath his breath as he tried to follow the 
wizard’s shadow through the darkening night. "You just hang on and 
we’ll find you. No harm will come to you, I promise. Not with Sam 
Gamgee on the job."

* * * *

"Aragorn…"

"I feel it."

Legolas glanced over at the two men in his party and made a mental 
note to ask the Ranger at a later date about the perceptions of his 
Race. He had felt the presence of the second Warg several minutes ago, 
but it seemed that Boromir and Aragorn only now noticed it. To 
Legolas’s mind, there was no appreciable difference between now and 
when he had first sensed the creature, and the elf wondered why the 
delay in noticing the wolf. He was aware that elven senses were far 
more acute than the senses of men, but perhaps there was also in men 
an element of time required for the perception of evil. Legolas had 
sensed it immediately, but maybe a buildup of sensory perception was 
needed for Aragorn and Boromir to recognize a Warg’s approach. It was 
an interesting possibility and one Legolas felt was worth pursuing as 
soon as they had finished with their current task.

"Legolas?"

"Close," he answered, calling to mind the conversation he had 
subconsciously followed while he was considering the factor of time in 
relation to men’s perceptions. "Close and yet not close enough. It 
would seem he is wary of our presence."

"You have no bearing on him?"

"Nothing certain," the prince said, feeling as though he was being 
used as a rather elaborate compass. Still, there was nothing to do for 
that. After all, he did possess the better senses, and at the moment, 
he could best serve the Fellowship by using those senses to find the 
creature that hunted them.

"What of Bill?" Boromir asked, and Legolas could hear a certain 
reluctance in the man’s voice as though he was loath to admit his 
mortal shortcomings. "Can you find any signs of him?"

The elf paused and narrowed his eyes, searching the surrounding 
forest. They had been out here for over an hour now and the rockiness 
of the ground was making it difficult to track the pony. They had come 
upon hoof prints once, but it seemed that as soon as the trail was 
discovered, it disappeared. The area was not good for tracking and 
even Aragorn’s woodcraft had met its match. Yet if they did not find 
Bill soon, it was almost certain that the Warg would. Unable to catch 
find any sign of the pony with sight, Legolas turned his attention to 
his keen elven ears, willing them to hear anything that might remotely 
resemble the sounds of a pony traveling through dense brush. And at 
the edge of his senses, teasing the limits of his elven hearing, he 
finally heard it.

"Due east," he announced, taking the lead and picking out a path 
through the trackless wilderness. He heard Aragorn and Boromir begin 
to follow him, making far more noise than he did as they were forced 
to crash into the brush while he seemed to drift effortlessly through 
it. It was something he had never noticed until Aragorn complained of 
it once in Mirkwood, and since then, it had become a source of 
puzzlement to Legolas. The way was open for travelers if they knew 
where to look and where the limbs of brush would give way. Was it 
beyond a man’s perception to sense this? The elf shook his head, 
realizing just how little he knew about the Race his people had allied 
with from time to time.

"Legolas, stop!" Aragorn suddenly commanded. The elf froze, surprised 
by the authority as well as the hidden fear in the Ranger’s voice, and 
looked back curiously. Aragorn wore a strangely blank expression, and 
he appeared to be listening intently. "The Warg," he whispered. "Where 
is the Warg?"

Legolas blinked, realizing that in the process of musing over the 
differences between man and elf, he’d lost track of their quarry. 
Refocusing his senses while furiously berating himself for this lapse 
in awareness, he abruptly realized what Aragorn had already guessed. 
"His presence is growing stronger as we draw closer to the pony," the 
elf whispered.

"He must be hunting Bill," Boromir stated, brushing past Aragorn and 
hurrying forward. "Come! We have no time to lose."

Filled with a new sense of urgency, Legolas quickly overtook Boromir 
and passed him, breaking into a sprint that threatened to leave the 
two men behind. He felt the pull of healing muscles in his thigh but 
he ignored them. If the Warg reached Bill before they did, they would 
face a world of ill ramifications. The Warg would feed and find 
himself stronger, Sam would never trust any of them again, they would 
be forced to leave much of the baggage behind, and they would lose a 
pony that had become more than a pack animal. To many of the company, 
Legolas included, he had become a dear friend.

The sense of evil was growing stronger now, as were the sounds of a 
pony floundering helplessly through thick forest, and Legolas 
increased his pace, drawing further ahead of the men who followed him. 
The elven prince had led many scouting expeditions and fought in many 
skirmishes along the border of Mirkwood. He had lost friends and 
comrades to the blades of Orcs, but he had never yet lost a companion 
to the teeth of a Warg and he didn’t intend to start now. Swinging his 
bow off his back, he seized an arrow and set it to the string, 
searching the forest carefully as he ran, for the Warg was now very 
close. He could dimly hear the sounds of Aragorn and Boromir as they 
crashed through the brush behind him, and he winced with the knowledge 
that there would be no opportunity to take this Warg unawares. They 
would have to catch him in the open and hope for the best.

A sudden whinny of surprise and alarm reached Legolas’s sharp elven 
ears, and his breath caught in his throat. The thudding of hooves came 
next, and using the sound to create an image in his mind, the elf 
mentally traced out the path of Bill’s flight and altered his course 
slightly, hoping to intercept the pony and so intercept his pursuer. 
If the Warg was hungry enough that he was wholly concentrated on Bill, 
there was still hope for this to work.

Bill neighed again, his voice filled with fear and panic. Legolas 
increased his speed and leaped into the trees, trusting that Aragorn 
and Boromir would be able to follow the pony’s cries much as the elf 
was. Completely at home in the trees, he leaped from branch to branch 
as easily as if he raced across sand. The trees sensed his need for 
haste, and limbs lifted and parted for him as he shot through the 
forest canopy. The dark shadow of the Warg was becoming so strong that 
Legolas could almost follow the creature by its presence alone.

And then the bushes to the side of the elf parted abruptly, making 
room for a frantic pony who burst through in a frenzy of hooves and 
fur. With a snort of fear, the horse raced directly beneath Legolas’s 
position, and right on his tail came a large Warg in hot pursuit.

Legolas was so surprised by the wolf’s sudden appearance that he 
actually failed to shoot upon first sight of the animal. Most Wargs 
kept exclusively to the shadows, even while on the hunt, yet here was 
one taking the direct route in chasing the pony. It was either very 
confident or very hungry. And looking at its gaunt form, large though 
it was, Legolas decided on the latter. With little food in this 
portion of the wilderness, there had certainly not been enough prey to 
satisfy two Wargs, and this particular Warg was now ravenous.

Loosing his arrow as the wolf passed beneath his position, Legolas 
also let out a shrill whistle as a warning to Aragorn and Boromir. If 
the Warg was willing to chase down a large pony without keeping to the 
safety of the underbrush, he would be more than willing to attack a 
man.

As if sensing the imminent attack, the Warg roared and swerved to the 
side. Legolas’s arrow grazed his side and the wolf howled indignantly, 
picking up his pace and circling back to see who had dared attack it. 
Legolas was more than prepared for this response and swiftly notched 
another arrow, drew, and released. Yet again the wolf swept to the 
side, but this time he was not so lucky and the elven arrow lodged in 
his shoulder. Yelping at the sudden pain, the Warg snarled ferociously 
and raced away, knowing it could not outwit a foe in the trees. 
Legolas let one more arrow fly and heard a whine of agony as he hit 
the wolf’s hindquarters, but it did not slow its escape and the 
creature vanished into the forest.

Dropping from the trees and tracking the blood it was leaving, Legolas 
hurried forward with his eyes trained on the ground and his senses 
alert for any disturbances. Traveling quickly, he suddenly skidded to 
a halt and listened intently as voices drifted to his ears. Turning 
his head in the direction from whence they came, he called quickly. 
"Mithrandir!"

"Legolas?" the answering voice called.

"I have found Bill and the Warg. Hurry, for they are both on the run!"

The elf’s sharp ears then heard hobbit voices raised in both fear and 
relief, but he paid them no mind and went back to tracking his quarry, 
easily following the trail of blood. It was then that a loud oath, the 
ring of swords, and the sounds of a struggle came to his ears, and the 
prince hastened forward, fearful of what he would find.

"Aragorn! Boromir!"

There was no answer and the sounds of a struggle died away, leaving a 
cold fear in possession of Legolas’s heart. No longer following the 
Warg’s path, he hurried to the position where he had last heard his 
friends. It seemed certain that they had met with the wolf, and 
Legolas hoped he was not too late in coming to their aid. Furiously 
berating himself for not having killed the creature when it first came 
into view, Legolas passed through the dense underbrush like a wind 
rushing through tall grass.

Bursting through a dense thicket and into a small clearing, he skidded 
to a halt and caught himself on a convenient tree. Aragorn and Boromir 
stood before him, with Aragorn gripping the halter of a panicking pony 
and at the same time trying to wrap a strip of torn cloth around 
Boromir’s left forearm just above the gauntlet. Relief rushed through 
the elf and he allowed himself to sigh as his fears for their safety 
drained away. "When you did not answer, I feared the worst," he said, 
looking pointedly at the Ranger. "Are you well?"

The two men looked up as the elf spoke and an apologetic smile found 
its way onto Aragorn’s face. "We are fine, though not unscathed. 
Forgive me for not answering your call, but Bill’s nerves are not as 
steady as one might like them to be. And you, Legolas, might have 
warned us that this Warg was larger and faster."

"We already knew he was larger, and since I did not succeed in killing 
him, you were to assume that he was faster," Legolas answered with a 
slight shrug, walking over and whispering soothing words to Bill. The 
pony calmed somewhat, but his ears stayed flat against his head and 
wide eyes stayed fixed on the surrounding forest. Realizing it would 
take time for Bill to relax, Legolas stroked the horse’s neck gently 
and turned to examine the long gash on Boromir’s arm.

For his part, Boromir seemed rather embarrassed to be wounded and was 
muttering something about it not needing attention. By contrast, 
Aragorn had him firmly by the arm and was insisting that it did need 
attention and at the very least needed to be bandaged. It was not a 
severe injury and the bleeding had almost stopped, but it looked 
painful and Legolas winced with sympathy. He’d been hurt himself by 
Wargs in Mirkwood, and their bites were slow to heal, even for elves.

"How did this come to be?" Legolas asked, taking Bill’s halter from 
Aragorn so that the Ranger might more easily see to Boromir.

"It was my fault," Boromir answered with a disgusted shake of his 
head. "I had seized Bill and was trying to keep him from bolting. Thus 
I did not see the wolf coming. Aragorn shouted a warning, but in 
trying to calm the pony, I did not move in time. Thankfully, I 
received no worse than this."

"You were distracted by another concern, and I should have better 
guarded your back," Aragorn said. "The fault is equally mine."

Legolas groaned and rolled his eyes, recognizing the start of 
something he and Arwen had come to call the Ranger Responsibility 
Syndrome. It seemed that Rangers as a whole—and Aragorn in 
particular—could never understand the simple fact that it was not 
always their fault when something went wrong. Sometimes the blame 
rested with another while sometimes there was no one to blame and 
things just happened, good or evil. But for reasons unfathomable to 
Legolas, the Rangers couldn’t accept this and insisted on being 
accountable for any wrongdoing in Middle Earth regardless of their own 
involvement or lack of involvement. Judging from their speech, it 
appeared that Boromir also had a touch of this problem.

"Bill!"

Fortunately, they were interrupted before Aragorn and Boromir could 
begin arguing about whose fault it really was. An excited hobbit 
suddenly broke from the trees and wrested Bill’s halter from Legolas. 
The elf quickly stepped back as Sam wrapped his arms around the pony’s 
head and sobbed quietly against the broad neck. With the hobbit back, 
Bill seemed to calm even more and his ears pricked up as he nickered 
gently.

"Oh Bill, I knew you’d be all right. Mr. Frodo said that you were a 
resourceful horse and I wanted to believe him, but in these words you 
can’t be too sure, now can you?"

"I see you have discovered our pack animal," Gandalf commented as he 
arrived at the scene, smiling at the reunion between hobbit and pony. 
Frodo trotted up behind him and grinned broadly upon seeing Sam and 
Bill. His eyes then strayed to Aragorn and Boromir and the smile 
quickly vanished.

"What happened?" the Ring-bearer asked.

"I did not react quickly enough," Boromir answered.

"I failed to guard his back," Aragorn corrected.

"The Warg came this way," Legolas said, glaring at his two companions. 
"And because of his anger, he managed to injure Boromir."

"Where is the Warg now?" Gandalf asked, also well aware of what was 
taking place between the two men.

"We injured him, but he still managed to flee," Aragorn sighed, tying 
off the makeshift bandage on Boromir’s arm.

"He is still alive?" Even as he said it, Legolas realized that this 
was a question he should have asked when he first came upon the two 
men. But he had not felt the menacing presence of the Warg, and a Warg 
does not easily relinquish his prey. Since the wolf was no longer 
attacking—or at least stalking—the pony, Legolas had assumed that the 
fell creature had been killed. It was an erroneous assumption and one 
that would have had the prince’s mentors and trainers shaking their 
heads in dismay, but nevertheless, it had happened.

"He fled west," Boromir answered, flexing his arm and testing the give 
in Aragorn’s wrappings. "I tried to delay him, but this cursed injury 
hampered my movements."

"And he has not returned to hunt Bill?" Gandalf asked, fixing his gaze 
on Aragorn. The Ranger frowned and then his eyes widened.

"He has found other prey."

Legolas cursed, turned, and raced into the forest. His sharp ears 
caught the sounds of Aragorn and Gandalf in hot pursuit while Boromir, 
Frodo, Sam, and Bill took up the rear, demanding to know the reasons 
for this sudden haste. But Legolas did not slacken his pace for his 
friends, for he now knew exactly where the Warg was heading and 
exactly what the Warg was after.

I pray your axe is a better weapon than it appears to be, Master 
Dwarf, and that you are something of a competent warrior, Legolas 
thought, thinking of the poor hobbits left in Gimli’s care. Because 
you will be their only defense when the Warg attacks.

* * * *

With a sigh, Gimli slid his newly sharpened axe into his belt and 
stalked to the edge of camp. Aside from the rather remarkable fact 
that the hobbits had actually stopped eating before the food ran out, 
the evening had been uneventful. Pippin was now dozing quietly, Merry 
was watching the stars and humming softly to himself, and Gimli was 
becoming thoroughly bored.

The others had been gone for almost two hours now, and during that 
time, Gimli had neither seen nor heard the presence of any living 
creature aside from himself and the two hobbits. The forest on all 
sides was peacefully quiet with no sign of tension or darkness that 
would herald approaching danger. In a strange way, it reminded the 
dwarf of guard duty at home in the Lonely Mountain, for very few foes 
escaped the Beorings, even fewer escaped the elven archers in 
Mirkwood, and almost none made it past the vigilant men of Dale. As 
such, the routine guard duty that all dwarves were forced to serve 
from time to time was among the most tedious, boring, and hated chores 
in the entire mountain.

Not that Gimli was quite ready to complain yet. In truth, he was 
actually glad of the respite. They’d not had a quiet evening since… 
The dwarf frowned and tried to remember the last time he did not have 
to watch for an elven prank or a flooding river. Five days out from 
Rivendell, he eventually decided. That was my last night of peace. 
After that, the elf began to cross the line.

Gimli, of course, dismissed the fact that he had also "crossed the 
line," for in his mind, he had only been retaliating. The dwarf firmly 
believed that he had not started the feud and that all fault rested 
with the elf. If he were told that Legolas believed exactly opposite 
this, he would have snorted and mumbled something about elven 
self-righteousness. An impartial figure like Gandalf or Aragorn might 
have labeled both elf and dwarf as the cause of their present 
argument, but here was one thing that both participants had in common. 
Neither was willing to believe that both were to blame.

"How long have they been gone, Gimli?"

From the edge of camp, the dwarf turned around and looked toward Merry 
who was still staring at the sky. "Two hours by my count," Gimli 
answered. "For a scouting party, that is not long. Unless favored by 
fortune, it is likely that they will be gone for some time yet."

"Two hours," Merry murmured to himself. "I don’t know that before 
leaving the Shire, I could have spent two hours simply watching the 
stars. I guess traveling changes a person. Or in this case, a hobbit!"

"Very few things can change one the way an adventure can, and I don’t 
doubt but that you are experiencing the effects of such changes. But I 
would remind you that the first half of these two hours was spent 
eating, and if I am any judge, that is not a great change from your 
usual habits. If given the opportunity, I suspect hobbits would make 
the day one long meal."

"I see nothing wrong with that," Pippin murmured, turning over and 
pillowing his head on his pack. Merry launched a small rock in his 
direction but missed. Gimli chuckled and turned back around to watch 
the forest.

It was very quiet this night. There was little wind and even the 
creatures of the forest were silent as though resting in the peaceful 
stillness. The moon was bright and bathed the trees in a silver glow, 
giving it an almost elven beauty that even a dwarf could appreciate, 
though that dwarf might be reluctant to admit it. Resting one hand 
lightly upon the haft of his axe, Gimli leaned back against the 
slender trunk of one of the trees and sighed. Had anyone else been 
around, he would not have been caught in such a position. But Pippin 
was falling asleep and Merry was still staring at the stars, leaving 
Gimli more or less to himself on the edge of the campsite. And alone, 
he was allowed a chance to relax as he had not done since arriving at 
Rivendell with his father, Glóin. The constant presence of elves since 
that time had always grated on his nerves, and even during moments of 
relative peace, as in the beginning days of the Fellowship, Gimli had 
never felt truly at ease. But with the elf of their company off 
chasing Bill and the Warg with the others…

Gimli suddenly frowned and his grip on the axe tightened. His peaceful 
moment had shattered and something dark had entered the forest. It was 
a change so subtle that had he not been completely relaxed it is 
doubtful that he would have noticed it. He backed up, eyeing the woods 
distrustfully and noting that the peaceful stillness had turned into a 
tense silence. Something waited and something watched. The small camp 
was pondered with malice, and Gimli had a fairly good idea as to the 
origin of this malice.

"Merry, Pippin, on your feet," he said quietly, keeping his voice calm 
and low but still interjecting a note of command that would catch 
their attention. "Ready your weapons and stand near me. Face outwards 
and watch the forest."

To his credit, Merry was instantly on his feet and prodding Pippin to 
do likewise. The other hobbit grumbled, but apparently sensing the 
tension in the air, he asked no questions and gave no complaints. 
Silently, Merry and Pippin joined Gimli in standing near the baggage, 
waiting for the shadow in the woods to manifest itself. Minutes 
dragged by that seemed to stretch into years on end, and eventually, 
it was too much for the hobbits.

"What’s going on?" Pippin hissed. His voice was no louder than a 
whisper, but in the complete stillness it sounded as though he had 
shouted. Gimli and Merry both cringed, turning stony looks on Pippin 
who shrugged sheepishly but still had the cheek to look expectantly at 
Gimli in the hopes of an answer.

With a shake of his head, the dwarf grimaced and turned back to the 
forest. "The Warg," he murmured, becoming more certain of his feelings 
with each passing moment. He had never truly sensed a Warg before, but 
the contrast between now and the relative peace he’d enjoyed earlier 
could not be mistaken. So this is what father meant when he spoke of a 
Warg’s presence, the dwarf reflected. And this must be what set 
Aragorn and Gandalf on edge several days ago.

"The Warg wouldn’t attack us, would he?" Merry whispered. Like Pippin, 
the hobbit’s voice sounded unnaturally loud and Gimli winced.

"If he does, he shall soon have more on his mind than hunger," the 
dwarf promised, his grip tightening on the haft of his axe.

What might have been interpreted as a laugh came from the bushes to 
one side. It was a muffled sort of growl that startled all three, and 
as one they swung toward the sound. A shadow moved beneath the 
moonlight and then vanished. His muscles tensing, Gimli stepped 
forward slowly, inching his way along while all his senses strained 
for a sign of the wolf’s intentions.

"Stay behind me," he whispered to the hobbits. "And be ready."

More minutes dragged by and it seemed as though several ages of Arda 
passed. Once again, it was too much for the hobbits who were novices 
as to the wilds of Middle Earth. Pippin lowered his sword and looked 
at Merry, who shrugged and cleared his throat. Gimli sighed, and 
looked over his shoulder with the intention of sending both hobbits a 
deadly glare, but his fierce expression turned to one of surprise and 
alarm when he caught sight of what was leaping from the darkness 
behind them.

"Down!" he roared, lunging at the hobbits and shoving them to the side 
even as he flung himself to the ground.

The Warg sailed overhead and spun as soon as he hit the earth, his 
gleaming teeth bared in a terrible grimace. A deep gash was bleeding 
along the side of his neck and two Mirkwood arrows jutted from his 
body, one in the shoulder and one in his hindquarters. With ears 
flattened against silver fur, the hound of Sauron snarled and snapped 
his jaws, his tail lashing from side to side and yellow eyes gleaming 
with hatred. Like a nightmare from the twilight, he lifted his head 
and howled, voicing his rage and anger to the empty night and 
summoning all who served Sauron to rally to his aid.

Not about to let the wolf finish his call, Gimli rushed forward with a 
ready axe and a dwarven battle cry. The blade swung down, its sharp 
tip catching the moonlight in its arc, but it met with air as the Warg 
sprang aside. With a growl and a flash of teeth, the creature leaped 
at Gimli, and the dwarf was barely able to bring the haft of his axe 
up to meet the charge. A jaw capable of crushing bone seized the 
sturdy handle and with a suddenness that took Gimli completely by 
surprise, the axe was wrenched from his hands. Only instinct saved him 
from what happened next. Pressing the advantage, the Warg’s teeth 
sought the dwarf’s throat but Gimli threw himself backwards, rolling 
to his feet in one smooth motion and seizing his axe on the way.

But this wolf was faster than any opponent the dwarf had faced before. 
Coming to his feet, Gimli’s eyes darted to the place where the Warg 
had last been only to find it empty. He heard the hobbits shout a 
warning, but he did not turn in time and found himself knocked to the 
ground with the axe flying from his hand. Slightly stunned, he rolled 
to his side just in time to see the Warg leap, jaws gaping and tongue 
lolling. In some detached way, Gimli knew it would be the last thing 
he ever saw and he silently cursed the fate that had led him down this 
road. His ears caught the sound of crying voices, something let off a 
high-pitched whistle, a howl split the night, and then a great weight 
fell upon his chest and the world went red.

Red?

Gimli lay completely still, certain he had perished, and then he heard 
Aragorn’s commanding baritone as well as Gandalf’s curt instructions. 
The weight on his chest was lifted and a damp cloth touched his face. 
Batting hands away, Gimli seized the cloth himself and wiped his eyes, 
realizing as he did so that he was wiping away blood. Frodo’s voice 
sounded from nearby and he was answered by Boromir. The rest of the 
Fellowship had returned. But what had happened to the Warg? How had 
he…

A silent terror suddenly shook the dwarf and he opened his eyes and 
pushed himself to a sitting position, fearful of what he might find. 
The Warg lay to one side of him, its silver form limp and lifeless. An 
arrow protruded from its throat, having pierced the main artery, and a 
pool of blood was collecting beneath the wolf. Afraid to look but 
knowing it had to be done, Gimli glanced to his other side.

The bright, gray eyes of a smug-looking elf met him, and Legolas 
smiled with an infuriating calm, inclining his head slightly. "My debt 
is repaid in full, Master Dwarf. A life for a life. I would advise you 
to see to your appearance, though the sight of you might be enough to 
hold all our enemies at bay."

"Enough of this," Gandalf interrupted, sending a stern glare in the 
elf’s direction. "The Warg has sounded an alarm and we must depart 
this area immediately. All of you, load the baggage quickly. We cannot 
afford to waste time."

"Come then, stunted one," Legolas said. "Despite your condition, we 
must away." So saying, the elf turned, but as he did so, his bow, 
clasped in his left hand, swung around to slam solidly into Gimli’s 
head.

Unprepared for the blow, the dwarf grunted in surprise and put his 
hands out to prevent himself from falling backwards. He heard Frodo’s 
breath catch, he heard Aragorn’s swear quietly, but above all these 
sounds, he heard a quiet chuckle on the part of Legolas. He nearly 
charged the elf then, but the warning glare from Gandalf stayed his 
hand. Promising himself that there would be other opportunities, Gimli 
finished wiping his face free of blood, gathered up his belongings, 
and readied himself to continue the journey. His eyes watched Legolas 
carefully, and his mind began to plot. The elf would not be let out of 
his life debt so easily. Not if Gimli, son of Glóin, had anything to 
say about it. And with this thought firmly in the mind and heart of 
the dwarf, the Fellowship at length moved away from the camp, 
disappearing quickly into the forest so as to escape the notice of any 
spies who might have been summoned by the call of the Warg.

 

 
Author’s Notes: Hey all! First of all, I must express a huge thank you 
for all the reviews I’ve gotten. It means quite a bit to me and I’m 
glad you all seem to be enjoying the story. Second, I will readily 
admit that I don’t update this story as often as I should. However, my 
other stories are currently very demanding and are receiving the brunt 
of my ideas. My apologies for this, but I promise that I am still 
working on this story and am toying with the idea of extending it to 
get them to Moria itself rather than just off Caradhras. No promises, 
though. We’ll see what happens. ;)


==================



Part 12


Author’s Notes—Greetings! I’ve gone back to the combination day/night 
chapters because there are less things happening at this point in the 
journey, but that will change again once we get to Hollin. At least 
the first day in Hollin will be a two-parter, and I suspect everything 
up on Caradhras will be, too. Still debating over extending this to 
Moria, but it’s looking likely. Thanks again for the reviews!!! I 
really enjoy reading them and they keep me motivated.

Also, I must apologize because this chapter is probably a bit rough, 
but I was more or less adrift and just looking for a bridge between 
now and the Hollin chapters, which should be more interesting. Sorry 
again and I hope you enjoy this small offering!

January 6, 3019

When dawn came to the wilderness east of Rivendell, it went for the 
most part unseen. Heavy clouds had rolled back in and ominous thunder 
echoed off mountain peaks. There had been no rain yet, but the threat 
was heavy and most in the Fellowship feared a second drenching was not 
far away. Legolas was dubious, claiming the winds did not feel right 
for rain, and Aragorn shared this view, adding that the direction of 
the clouds would probably not force them to drop their loads of 
moisture. But the hobbits were not so optimistic. Sam, in particular, 
was no longer so trusting of assurances from Aragorn and Legolas, and 
he eyed the clouds distrustfully as though expecting to be assailed by 
rain at any moment. Gimli was also skeptical of claims that rain was 
probably not in the near future, but his reasons had more to do with 
animosity toward a certain elf rather than distrust in keen senses. 
Boromir was acting typical in his refusal to comment on the rain 
debate that had been popping in and out of their discussions as they 
traveled, so none knew how he actually felt on the subject. And 
Gandalf had given his opinion early on that the weather was 
unpredictable near the mountains and that rain or no rain, it did not 
affect their journey and was not worth worrying about. The hobbits 
disagreed with the latter part of this statement.

But so far, the predictions of Legolas and Aragorn had proven true, 
and though ominous, the clouds had held their peace. Gandalf found a 
nice campsite beneath a squat tree that would provide—as the wizard 
put it—adequate shelter for the Fellowship should the clouds prove 
traitorous. Sam had muttered something about the definition of a 
shelter and was seconded by Pippin, but nothing more had come of it 
and the group had settled down, eating breakfast and setting up 
blankets for rest.

"Have we volunteers for watches?" Gandalf asked after a bit, settling 
himself against the base of the tree and lighting his pipe. Their 
watch rotation had been severely disrupted by the rain, the flood, and 
the Wargs, so it seemed logical to simply begin anew rather than 
picking up where they had last left off.

"Legolas and I shall take the first two together," Aragorn immediately 
said.

Gandalf blinked and studied first the Ranger and then the elf. There 
was something in Aragorn’s eyes that would not be gainsaid and it did 
not take long for the wizard to guess Aragorn’s motives. Legolas, on 
the other hand, seemed surprised at his sudden assumption of two 
watches and had turned to Aragorn with a frown, apparently considering 
what might be the reasoning for this. Deciding to force the issue ere 
the elf could unravel the situation, Gandalf turned his attention to 
the prince.

"Does this suit you, Legolas? Are you well enough to sustain two 
consecutive watches?"

A quick flash of irritation moved through Legolas’s eyes but was 
quickly concealed, and the elf nodded slowly. "I am more than capable 
of taking two watches this day, though I fail to see the reasoning 
behind it. I admit that these lands are strange to me, but I sense the 
presence of neither enemies nor unfriendly eyes. Yet if Aragorn 
believes it necessary, I will take two watches with him."

"So be it," Gandalf said, hoping the Ranger would be able to set the 
elf straight on a few issues ere their combined watch had ended. The 
wizard was of half a mind to take Legolas and Gimli aside himself, but 
in his role as a leader, he was reluctant to directly involve himself 
in their conflict. Should the need come to obey his orders quickly and 
without hesitation, they could not be hampered by an elf and a dwarf 
who had come to have resentment toward the mediator of their dispute. 
Aragorn understood this well and had taken upon himself the duty of 
standing between the two ere sparks could fly, but the role was taking 
its toll on him. One way or another, this pointless feud had to end.

"I’ll take the third watch," Merry volunteered. "I don’t sleep very 
well in the middle of the day, anyway."

"I can take the last watch," Sam said. "It will give me a chance to 
start breakfast a bit early and maybe add some flavoring to it if I’m 
not rushed."

"Very well," Gandalf said, puffing away contentedly on his pipe. "Just 
remember that there is to be no fire. Even in the event of a downpour, 
we cannot afford to give ourselves away, especially after the Warg 
revealed our position last night."

Sam grumbled something under his breath but nodded. Legolas seemed to 
catch the muttered words and turned away, hiding a smile. Aragorn 
chuckled and stood, stretching his arms above his head. "Then may I 
suggest that the rest of you take what sleep you can find. We shall 
have to travel quickly tonight, for we must put distance between 
ourselves and whatever spies have been alerted by the Wargs."

"Do you think it will rain today?" Frodo asked, making a pillow out of 
his pack and pulling two blankets up to his chin.

"It is difficult to say this close to the mountains," Gandalf 
answered, resorting to his earlier opinion. "The weather can change 
seemingly at a moment’s notice, and it is beyond our skill to judge."

"But I would say that rain is unlikely," Aragorn added, studying the 
sky. "It is true that the weather here is subject to abrupt change, 
but if things stay as they are, rain should hit further north and 
avoid us."

"Nor is aught that goes on two legs," Sam muttered, nestling himself 
into a collection of blankets.

"What was that, Sam?" Pippin asked curiously.

"Tom Bombadil," the hobbit answered quietly with a yawn that 
threatened to swallow his face. "He said he was no weather-master, nor 
is aught that goes on two legs."

"True enough," Aragorn said with a laugh, taking the hobbit’s censure 
as no more than his just due for losing Bill the day before. "Still, 
in the absence of a master of weather, I fear we must trust to those 
who go about on two legs, folly though such trust may be. And I know 
you may trust me in this. Sleep will best prepare you for any weather 
that may come our way."

"Wise words, Aragorn," Gandalf said, firmly settling himself against 
the trunk of the tree under which they had taken shelter. "I second 
your counsel and wish you all a good night. Or a good morning, however 
you may choose to look at it. Until this evening."

With that, the wizard closed his eyes and wrapped his old, gray cloak 
tighter about himself. He heard restless moving from the hobbits and 
hushed voices that eventually quieted as they, too, drifted off to 
sleep. Gimli’s snores began rising about the same time as well as 
Boromir’s trademark muttering that marked his entry as well as his 
exit into sleep. And as these sounds rose and ebbed about him, Gandalf 
gave himself over to encroaching dreams with the hope that perhaps 
things would look better in the evening.

* * * *

"If you have something to say, Aragorn, perhaps you should say it so 
that we may move on to other things."

The Ranger looked up at Legolas, somewhat startled by the elf’s sudden 
appearance. The rest of the Fellowship had fallen asleep an hour ago 
and Legolas had left camp shortly afterward, saying he intended to see 
if the Warg’s howls from the previous night had drawn Enemy spies. 
Aragorn had said nothing in response to this and only watched in 
silence as Legolas propelled himself into the trees and left, 
vanishing like a shadow into the dark eaves of the forest. He had not 
heard the elf return and had he most certainly not expected him to 
return prepared to confront the topic of Gimli. Aragorn himself was 
still mustering his arguments on the matter and was not quite ready to 
discuss this.

"Did you find aught on your search?" the Ranger asked, hoping the 
change in topic would not be seen as a dismissal of the issue.

"The woods are quiet and evil does not stir so far as my senses can 
determine, but that is not what you wished to speak of when you asked 
me to take a watch with you," Legolas answered, narrowing his eyes. "I 
would hear your words and have done with it, for this waiting gnaws at 
both of us and we are ill watchmen to be so distracted."

Aragorn pressed his mouth into a thin line and he studied the elf. 
After a moment, he sighed and shook his head. "Come. There is no need 
to disturb the others. Let us discuss this elsewhere."

Silently, keeping all thoughts to himself, the elf followed Aragorn 
away from the camp until they had come to a place where they might 
speak without waking the rest of the Fellowship. Finding a log lying 
upon the ground, Aragorn eased himself down, rested his arms on his 
knees, and looked at the elf. Legolas met the look but said nothing, 
content for the moment to only watch and gauge the strength of the 
other much as one opponent would evaluate another.

"It is over, Legolas," Aragorn finally said. "You are even. You owe 
him nothing and he owes you nothing."

"You tell me nothing I do not already know."

"Do you? Then I suppose you did not mean to hit him in the side of the 
head with your bow? Legolas, you insult me. I may not be an elf, but 
my senses are keen in their own right and my intuition has rarely 
failed. Every slight to him will be met with a greater offense to you. 
Can you not see the cycle? Do you not see the danger you invite upon 
us all?"

"Would you have me stand idle, Aragorn? Would you stand idle?"

The Ranger sighed. At least this could be construed as progress of 
sorts. Legolas had not openly refuted the fact that his ongoing feud 
with the dwarf was dangerous. But the elf raised a very pertinent 
question. How did one end something that had already swept beyond any 
hope of control? "You need not acknowledge the presence of the dwarf," 
he finally said, at a loss for any other solution.

"I do not."

"That is not true, and if you think otherwise then your thoughts are 
clouded. Every time you take some action against him, you acknowledge 
that he exists and that his presence is wearisome for you."

"Nay, say rather I remind him that an elf is in this company and will 
not be silent in the face of dwarven arrogance," Legolas said coldly.

"Then what shall we say of elven arrogance?" Aragorn demanded. "Can 
you not let this end where it stands? Must you continue to endanger 
Frodo and that which he carries?"

Legolas’s eyes smoldered and his glance became as a searing brand. "I 
challenge you to name one instant in which I have put this company at 
risk."

"Last night," Aragorn shot back, rising to his feet and advancing on 
the elf. "You followed the Warg back to camp in an effort to kill it, 
yet when you arrived, what did you do? You shot it through a vein in 
its neck. I know where you stood and the heart was open as a viable 
target. The throat was a far smaller target, but that is the target 
you chose. Why? Had you missed even slightly, the Warg would not have 
died so quickly and Gimli might have been mauled or worse."

"The Warg wished to taste of dwarven blood," Legolas answered with 
something akin to a shrug. "I simply reversed the situation. The dwarf 
tasted of a wolf’s blood."

"Legolas!"

"Listen well, Aragorn. You and Gandalf may lead this company, and you 
may be Isildur’s heir, but I have seen more years than you will ever 
behold. I know my limits and I know my skills. Do not doubt them and 
do not interfere in things that do not require your involvement."

Aragorn felt a flash of rage surge through him and he stepped forward 
until he was but inches from the elf’s face. Dark gray eyes met eyes 
sired from a line of stubborn Sindarin princes, and the Ranger exhaled 
slowly, attempting to control his anger. "Arrogant fool," he hissed. 
"You play games with a dwarf on a quest that, for good or ill, will 
change Middle Earth forever. You have complained of your father’s 
stubbornness and greed, yet you fail to see it in yourself. Think, 
Legolas! Your only motivation in prolonging this feud is for the sake 
of your own wounded pride."

A strange look flitted across the elf’s face, but it came and went so 
quickly that Aragorn could not interpret it. Then it was as though a 
door shut, and Legolas become completely unreadable, putting into 
place the impenetrable emotional wall for which elves were famous. 
"Have you any more to say, Aragorn, or have you spoken to your 
satisfaction?"

Aragorn sighed in exasperation. "Whether or not I have spoken to my 
satisfaction depends upon you." He stopped, inviting comment upon 
that, but Legolas remained silent, his gray eyes a void of expression. 
"Make me a promise, Legolas," the Ranger finally said when the 
stillness began to stretch into minutes. "Do nothing that may threaten 
Gimli’s life."

"I have done naught that would threaten the dwarf’s life."

"Do nothing that, if done by a man, would threaten his life," Aragorn 
amended.

"And why should I be bound by mortal standards?"

"Because Gimli is mortal!"

The elf cocked a brow at that, but much to Aragorn’s surprise, he 
eventually nodded. "Very well, then. For your sake and the sake of a 
company, I shall limit my vengeance. I do this as favor to you, 
Aragorn, because of our friendship. But do not press me too far, for I 
have limits."

"As do I," the Ranger said evenly. "But I thank you for this at least, 
though I wish it were more. You cannot see how foolish this is, and 
that grieves me."

"Are we finished?"

"I fear that we are, for it seems you will not see reason," Aragorn 
sighed.

"Then I shall return to the company, for they have been without 
guard," Legolas said, turning and walking away from Aragorn. Left 
alone in the solitude of the trees, the Ranger rubbed his face and ran 
a tired hand through his tangled mass of hair. If it wasn’t one thing, 
it was another. It seemed they would never get over the mountains 
without the Fellowship being divided by Wargs, a pony, or a feud 
between an elf and a dwarf.

* * * *

Pippin yawned, stretched, and rolled over, encountering a rock that 
bore into his side. With a sigh, the hobbit pushed himself up and 
glared at the offending stone, wishing for the soft mattresses of 
Rivendell. The day before, he had slept with a root in his back, and 
the day before that, he hadn’t slept at all because he was out looking 
for Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas. Well, he actually had slept later 
that night, but he’d only managed to get a few hours worth of rest 
before Merry woke him up.

"My mother told me a story once about a hobbit whose face froze like 
that."

Pippin transferred his glare from the rock to Merry. "The Brandybucks 
are full of stories. You probably have one that says if you play 
around on boats long enough you can breathe underwater."

Merry made a show of thinking about that and eventually shook his 
head. "No. If we have a story like that, I don’t think I’ve ever heard 
it."

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Pippin, but my mother also told me that a 
face would freeze like that. I don’t think it’s just the Brandybucks 
who have these stories. Even the Gamgees talk about things like that."

Deciding that the world was against him today, Pippin muttered 
something uncomplimentary beneath his breath and flopped back down, 
careful to avoid the rock as he did so. It was late afternoon near the 
end of Sam’s watch, which mean that within the next few minutes, 
Gandalf or Aragorn would start insisting that everyone get up. Pippin 
wondered who was already awake beside s Merry and Sam, for many of the 
Fellowship seemed to make a habit of rising early. A quick glance 
around the camp revealed Aragorn and Legolas were missing. That was 
normal. Those two usually went scouting sometime during the last watch 
of the day. Frodo was still asleep, which was something of a marvel 
since Frodo usually woke when Sam did, and Sam had taken the last 
watch. Boromir was also asleep but he was stirring restlessly and 
would probably rouse himself in the near future. Gimli was snoring 
softly and didn’t look like he would be doing anything in the near 
future. And Gandalf…it was always difficult to tell with the wizard. 
Sometimes he was truly asleep but sometimes he was merely thinking and 
only appeared to be asleep.

"If you paint a picture, young hobbit, it will last longer."

That answered that question, Pippin thought, turning his eyes away 
from Gandalf. The wizard was awake, he was thinking, and he was in a 
sour mood this morning. He probably hasn’t had a good smoke for a 
while. The hobbit pushed himself off the ground and pulled his pack 
over from where it had been serving as a pillow. "Could you use some 
pipe-weed, Gandalf? I have a few extra leaves saved."

The wizard’s dark eyes flashed his direction, but then his expression 
softened. "Thank you, but no, Pippin," Gandalf said, giving the hobbit 
the barest of smiles. "I shall be fine without it."

Pippin shrugged and stood up, stretching out the kinks in his back. 
Sleeping on roots and stones for a week and a half had not been 
particularly pleasant and he was beginning to pay for it. His spine 
was out of alignment again and he hoped Aragorn would return soon so 
that the Ranger could fix it for him.

"So what’s for breakfast, Sam?"

"It’s not breakfast, it’s supper," Sam answered testily. "I don’t care 
that we all just woke up, the time of day is still supper."

Pippin exchanged an amused glance with Merry and then turned back to 
Sam, who was now searching through the supplies of food. "All right, 
what are we having for supper?"

"Something cold, by all accounts, but I don’t know as we have anything 
left that would taste good that way," the gardener answered, tossing 
one pack aside and moving on to another. "More likely than not, we’ll 
have to start in on that dried meat that Boromir’s been packing. We 
finished the perishable goods off four days ago."

"Do you mean that really spicy meat?" Merry asked, his face paling.

"The really spicy meat that he was carrying in the bottom of his 
pack?" Pippin added, wondering if there was a safe place to hide in 
the immediate vicinity.

Sam blinked, confused by their questions. "That’s it. Although, I 
don’t know as it’s all that spicy. The Gaffer has a recipe for 
potatoes and pork that’s so spicy it will curl the hair right off of 
your feet!"

"I don’t think you want to start in on that meat," Merry said. "It’s 
probably gone bad."

"It was salted and dried, Mr. Merry. I don’t see how it could have 
gone bad."

"Well, we are in the Wilds," Pippin reasoned, estimating the distance 
between himself and the nearest climbable tree. "Strange things happen 
out here and—"

"The two of you didn’t…you wouldn’t…you did!"

"Did what?" Merry asked, backpedaling rapidly.

"Sam?" A bleary-eyed Frodo stuck his head up and eyed the other three 
hobbits. "What’s going on?"

"Mr. Frodo, do you remember that meat I picked out from Rivendell’s 
larders and asked Boromir to carry? That spicy meat that didn’t have 
to be cooked and would do quite well for supper right about now?"

Frodo sighed and buried his head beneath his arms. "Don’t tell me. Let 
me guess. Merry and Pippin ate it."

"We were hungry," Pippin protested, now a safe distance away from Sam. 
"And we were being forced to guard the packs. It was tiring work and—"

"You ate the meat while guarding the packs?!" Sam fumed. "While the 
rest of us were out looking for Bill and hunting a Warg, you were 
eating our supper?!"

"What’s done is done, Sam," Frodo sighed, sitting up and yawning. "But 
I’ll remember this for future reference. Don’t think that the two of 
you will ever guard the packs alone again." The Ring-bearer got to his 
feet, stretched, and clapped his hands together. "So, what are we 
having for breakfast?"

Sam threw up his hands and stomped off, muttering something about 
fetching water. Confused, Frodo watched him go and then turned back to 
Merry and Pippin, his eyes questioning.

"Don’t ask," Merry said. "It’s better that way."

"Right," Frodo mumbled with a frown and a suspicious glance at both 
Merry and Pippin. A rather awkward silence fell, the stillness broken 
only by dwarven snores and Boromir’s quite murmurs. Merry looked at 
Pippin, Pippin shrugged and looked at Frodo, and Frodo rolled his eyes 
and started after Sam, picking up some of the water skins along the 
way.

"That could have been worse," Pippin said after another few minutes of 
silence.

"I suppose so," Merry allowed.

"No, really. Look, we’re both in one piece, they haven’t banned us 
from eating altogether, and it hasn’t rained yet. It could definitely 
be worse."

"Don’t say things like that," Merry scolded. "You’ll just jinx us. 
It’s a wonder the clouds don’t open up right now and soak us."

"The clouds shall do no such thing, Master Hobbit, for their moisture 
is bound for northern lands and Rivendell," an elven voice called. 
Moments later, Legolas stepped out of the forest, followed closely by 
Aragorn. The prince glanced up at the sky and shook his head. "Nay, we 
are too far south to be bothered by these. The winds blow them away 
even as we speak."

"How can you be so certain of that?" Merry asked.

"I have had many centuries to learn of clouds and their patterns 
around mountains," Legolas answered. "And beyond that, the trees speak 
of their departure and sorrow for the lost moisture."

"Trees can be wrong," Gandalf spoke up from the other side of camp, 
pushing himself up on one elbow and also watching the sky. "As I have 
said before, the weather here is subject to swift and sudden change."

"Where are Sam and Frodo?" Aragorn wondered, looking about the camp.

"They went looking for water," Merry answered. "They didn’t leave too 
long ago. They’re not in trouble, are they?"

"I hear their voices," Legolas said. "They are not far and have found 
the stream that runs to our west. All is well with them."

"Legolas, would you follow after them and make certain that everything 
stays well with them? We can ill afford to lose either Frodo or Sam 
through simple mishap or lack of watchfulness."

Pippin couldn’t help but notice the suspicious look Legolas gave 
Aragorn at this request, but after a moment, the elf nodded and turned 
away, disappearing into the woods so quickly that Pippin wondered if 
he had ever really been there. As soon as Legolas was gone, Aragorn 
moved swiftly to Gimli’s side and shook the dwarf, jumping back 
quickly when Gimli started to wake.

"Legolas knows what you do," Gandalf said, pushing himself to his feet 
with the aid of his staff.

"But Legolas is elsewhere, so it matters not what he knows," Aragorn 
responded, moving back in and giving Gimli another tentative shake. 
"Gimli? Gimli it is time to rise."

Pippin wondered if he had missed something in the past few minutes 
because he certainly didn’t know what Aragorn was doing but apparently 
Legolas did and the elf wasn’t even in the camp anymore. Sighing, he 
wandered over to the packs of food and peered into one. It looked 
sadly empty and the hobbit wondered if the Fellowship would be 
stopping to obtain more food soon.

"Sam will skin you alive if he sees you messing with that," Merry 
warned.

"Then you’d better stand watch and see that you warn me, or I shall 
come back to haunt you," Pippin retorted, wondering if someone had 
perhaps lost or forgotten an apple in the dark recesses of one of the 
food packs.

"Pippin! Leave off the food until Sam is able to supervise you," 
Aragorn ordered with a suspicious glance. "And Gimli, I would that you 
should come with me for a moment. There are words I wish to speak."

The dwarf blinked in surprise but he nodded. Standing, he slid his axe 
into his belt, straightened the mail he wore even in sleep, and 
quickly followed Aragorn away from the camp. Curious, Merry watched 
them go and even went so far as to creep the direction in which they’d 
vanished with the hopes of overhearing a whispered conversation. But 
he heard nothing even though he listened intently for some time, and 
he eventually gave up, walking back while his mind continued to study 
the problem. "What do you make of all that, Pippin?"

"Make of all what?"

"All these secret conversations. Aragorn taking Gimli aside like that. 
What do you suppose they’re talking about?"

Pippin shrugged, still roaming through packs of food. "Hopefully, 
they’re talking about finding a nice inn, a tall mug of ale, and a 
full plate of venison. Apart from that, I’d settle if they were 
talking about hunting. I’m ready to eat the clothes off my back."

"I wouldn’t do that just yet," Merry cautioned. "I was talking with 
Legolas and he says it’s likely that we’ll go up into the mountains. 
If he’s right, you’ll want to be wearing those clothes on your back 
rather than eating them."

"So I should starve to death rather than freeze to death?"

"Either way, I doubt anyone will care," Merry said with a shrug and a 
cheeky grin. "Which do you suppose is worse? Starving to death or 
freezing to death?"

"Only a Brandybuck would ask a question like that," Pippin said, 
opening yet another food pack. Success! There is an apple in here. 
Would Sam really miss it, I wonder? Perhaps he doesn’t even know it’s 
here. That must be it or else he would have fed it to Bill. I’ll just 
slip it into my pocket here and—

"Pippin!"

Pippin gulped, sent an incriminating glare at Merry who shrugged 
helplessly, and then turned around to find himself facing the newly 
returned Legolas and Frodo as well as an irate Sam who looked as 
though murder was not far from his thoughts.

"Hullo!" Pippin exclaimed, sending Sam the best innocent expression he 
could muster. "Nice weather we’re having."

* * * *

"Is it just me," Merry panted, "or are we traveling faster than usual 
tonight?"

Frodo glanced over his shoulder at the Brandybuck and flashed him a 
look of sympathy. "I think we’re traveling faster."

"How can they expect us to move this fast on such a meager breakfast?" 
Pippin asked, wiping a brow that was beaded with sweat despite the 
cold night air.

"It’s not breakfast, it’s supper," Sam corrected angrily. "And it 
wouldn’t have been so meager if you and Merry had left well enough 
alone last night."

Frodo sighed, turned his head, and rolled his eyes. Pippin and Sam had 
been arguing about this since the start of the march, which was over 
three hours ago. As soon as Aragorn and Gimli had returned to 
camp—with Gimli looking slightly miffed and Aragorn looking rather 
frustrated—breakfast had been eaten, baggage had been packed, and they 
had set out at a grueling pace. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the 
other members of the Fellowship seemed to be suffering, but to all 
appearances, the hobbits were the only ones beginning to stagger. 
Gandalf strode along without a hint of weariness. Aragorn might have 
been taking a stroll through a garden. Boromir was casually shining 
his shield as he walked. Gimli was taking practice swings with his axe 
in the back of the party. And Legolas was moving even faster than the 
rest of the Fellowship because he was now running periodic scouting 
expeditions ahead of them, looking for any sign that the Warg from the 
night before had attracted other unwanted guests.

Frodo frowned, sending a rather suspicious look at the back of 
Aragorn’s head. There was probably good cause for these new scouting 
expeditions, but Frodo couldn’t help but wonder if they might not also 
be a ploy to keep Legolas and Gimli separated. Neither elf nor dwarf 
had said a word at breakfast—Or was it supper?—but the looks they 
occasionally tossed one another were enough to tan an oliphaunt’s 
hide. At that point, Gandalf had pulled Aragorn aside for a quick 
conference and the result had been that Legolas was more often than 
not somewhere in front of the company rather than with the company 
itself. The general feel of the journey had improved because of this, 
but Frodo wondered how long it could be maintained. Legolas and Gimli 
surely knew what was being done and they wouldn’t stand to be 
manipulated like this for much longer. Beyond that, wasn’t it 
dangerous for one scout to venture into these forests? Legolas was a 
wood elf and he’d had plenty of centuries to hone his fighting and 
tracking skills, but it was still safer with the group than it was 
without the group. And both the flashflood and the Warg had proved 
that no one in the Fellowship was invulnerable.

With a sigh, Frodo hitched his pack higher onto his shoulders and 
decided it did him no good to worry about it. Aragorn and Gandalf knew 
what they were doing and he trusted their judgement. But at the same 
time, Frodo was becoming aware that he saw things more clearly now. 
The reasons for their path or the logic behind stopping at a certain 
location were lost on the other hobbits, but Frodo was beginning to 
sense things that Aragorn and Gandalf sensed. He was noticing things 
that they noticed and feeling things that they felt. The Warg had been 
only the start of this new development, and the hobbit shivered, all 
too aware of the heavy Ring as it slapped against his chest. Frodo 
wasn’t certain if this change was a good thing or not. He hadn’t 
discussed it with Gandalf and he felt a certain reticence to do so for 
some reason he could not fathom.

But why shouldn’t this change be a good thing? After all, if his 
judgement was drawing even with Aragorn’s and Gandalf’s, that was best 
for everyone. The more collective wisdom available to the Fellowship, 
the better. And hobbits had been overlooked for too long. They were 
strong and hardy in their own right. Maybe not in the same way that 
Boromir and Gimli were strong and hardy, but one didn’t have to be 
possessed of infinite endurance or rock-hard muscles to be considered 
a great warrior. Maybe the time had come to prove that hobbits were 
equals. Maybe he should challenge the wisdom of the elves and the 
power of the wizards. Maybe—

Frodo stopped cold and shook his head rapidly. Where in the Shire had 
those thoughts come from?! And as he paused to consider this, it felt 
as though a shadow suddenly fled his mind, leaving him light-headed 
and confused.

"Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo blinked and turned to face a concerned Sam. "Yes?"

"Are you feeling all right, sir? I can ask for a quick break if you’d 
like. We’ve more than earned one in my opinion and, begging your 
pardon, Mr. Frodo, you look like it would do you good. I don’t mean no 
offense but—"

"Yes, Sam, I think I would like a rest," Frodo said, wondering if it 
was just him or if the world was actually shifting beneath his feet. 
"At the very least, I should like to sit down for a moment."

"Mr. Gandalf!" Sam cried, guiding Frodo over to a convenient rock. 
"Mr. Gandalf, there are some of us as are tired and would like a quick 
stop."

Gandalf turned around, a scowl beginning to form on his weathered 
face, but he stopped when he noticed Frodo. "Of course, Samwise," the 
wizard quickly said. "We shall stop here for a bit and wait for the 
return of our elven scout. It will be good to know what obstacles in 
the terrain we might face."

Beside Frodo, Sam grunted and shook his head. "What is it?" Frodo 
asked.

"Obstacles." The gardener sighed and folded his arms. "So far, we have 
several different definitions of what constitutes a shelter and even 
more on how big rations have to be. I wonder what an elf will define 
as an obstacle."

Frodo laughed quietly, feeling some of his previous melancholy drain 
away. "There aren’t a lot of obstacles for an elf, that’s true. But 
I’m sure Legolas will consider hobbits when he evaluates the terrain. 
In fact, why don’t you ask him yourself? I think he’s coming."

Sam looked about but saw nothing. He turned back to Frodo, his 
expression a combination of confusion and concern, but before he could 
say aught, Legolas’s voice called out to the Fellowship.

"I see you are using time to your advantage."

"Not all of us are used to long journeys, son of Thranduil," Gandalf 
answered with a touch of reproach in his voice.

Legolas’s light laugh could be heard and then the elf appeared, 
dropping neatly out of a tree and landing almost on top of Gimli. The 
dwarf jumped, clearly surprised by the elf’s sudden entrance, and then 
a strange look crept over his face. It was almost a look of impatient 
restraint, and not for the last time, Frodo wondered what Aragorn had 
said to Gimli earlier that evening.

"Have you seen or heard aught of the Enemy’s servants?" Aragorn asked, 
watching both Gimli and Legolas closely, and in his glance was a 
warning that even the hobbits couldn’t miss.

"Nay, I have neither seen nor heard anything, but it seems to me that 
the forest is still and watchful. Some evil has been here and its 
influence is slow to depart."

"Could it be the Warg still?" Boromir asked. "I felt uneasy for a time 
even after its death."

"The Warg did not stray this far south," Legolas said. "And the feel 
is not that of a Warg. It is as I said. There is a watchfulness about. 
Nothing directly threatens us, but all things are wary."

"How is our path?" Gandalf asked.

Legolas’s brow furrowed as he called to mind the details of his 
scouting run. "I know not precisely what direction we shall take, but 
there is an area where the trees are dark and the wind speaks of 
shadows. If we turn our course south and west for a mile or so, we 
shall avoid this place."

"We shall also find ourselves in the middle of a marsh," Aragorn 
pointed out.

"I would rather brave the marsh than the darkness," the elf answered. 
"And from what I saw of it, passage did not look particularly 
unpleasant."

"Did you actually test the ground or did you remain in the trees?" 
Gandalf asked.

"I remained in the trees where it is easier to pass unseen," Legolas 
answered rather indignantly.

Frodo sighed as the three continued their debate. So much for 
considering the limitations of hobbits. He remembered all too well the 
trek through the Midgewater Marshes, complete with stinking swamp 
water, hungry midges, and Sam’s Neekerbreekers. A light-footed elf 
might find a marshy area to be at best an inconvenience, but a hobbit 
might sink waist deep with every step and carry the smell of the swamp 
for several days after the fact. I wonder how acute an elf’s sense of 
smell is, Frodo mused. Perhaps I can threaten Legolas with my 
potential stench if he convinces Aragorn and Gandalf to pass through 
the swamp. Turning to consider Legolas and how such an argument might 
be taken, Frodo suddenly found his eyes riveted to Gimli and he 
immediately groaned. Up until now, the night had been so peaceful!

"I don’t see that a little discomfort outweighs passing through a 
region to which evil is drawn," Legolas was saying, clearly uneasy 
about the darkness he had felt.

"Perhaps to you it would be but a little discomfort, yet our pony 
shall be weighed down, it adds several miles to our journey, and we 
shall be wearied because of it," Aragorn argued.

"Better wearied than destroyed."

"We may be destroyed if we are too weary to fight."

"Aragorn, I tell you that this area is—" But Legolas was unable to 
finish his sentence for at that moment he started toward Aragorn and 
Gandalf but found his feet were suddenly entangled by the haft of a 
dwarven axe. To his credit, Legolas managed a rather impressive spin 
even as he stumbled, and by so twisting he recaptured his balance. But 
his eyes spoke of a dangerous anger, and he turned his piercing elven 
glance on the dwarf who now stood behind him.

"My apologies, Master Elf," Gimli said, shrugging and achieving an 
expression of innocence worthy of even Pippin’s praise. "I did not 
look to see where my axe was. You must have tripped over it." He 
stepped forward and bent to pick up the fallen axe, but Legolas was 
swifter and quickly snatched it up.

"Those who know not how to use such weapons should not carry them," 
Legolas hissed.

"You tread dangerous ground, elf," Gimli growled, unconsciously 
shifting into a combat potion.

"Legolas! Gimli!"

Gandalf’s sharp tone caught their attention and the dwarf backed off 
slightly while Legolas’s grip on the axe relaxed marginally. Aragorn 
then moved into view, and an unspoken command passed between the 
future king of Gondor and the youngest prince of Mirkwood. With 
narrowed eyes, Legolas thrust the axe blade first toward the dwarf and 
dropped it. "With an axe so badly balanced as this one, it is more toy 
than weapon."

Gimli seized the axe quickly, but Legolas had already stalked out of 
range and resumed his conversation with Gandalf, Aragorn, and Boromir 
as though nothing had happened. Frodo sighed and shook his head. He 
should have expected this. He’d known the temporary peace was too good 
to last. I suppose I should be grateful that there was a truce at all. 
His mind gradually drifted back to the conversations around him and he 
sighed again at what he heard. Merry and Pippin were debating about 
whether interference from Aragorn and Gandalf nullified a match 
between elf and dwarf, Gimli was muttering angrily to himself, and 
Aragorn and Gandalf seemed to be overruling Legolas as to the choice 
of paths while Boromir stayed on safely neutral territory. What a 
strange collection of travelers we are, he thought. Given our 
differences, it’s a wonder that we aren’t all at each other’s throats.

A suddenly cleared throat interrupted Frodo’s thoughts and he looked 
up as Gandalf turned to face them. "Are we all rested?" the wizard 
asked. Pippin sighed mournfully, Merry mumbled something 
incomprehensible, Sam shrugged, and Frodo nodded wearily. "Good," 
Gandalf said, taking their responses to be enthusiastic in the 
affirmative. "We shall continue due south but we must move quickly. 
Stay alert, everyone. Legolas has warned us that danger may lie on 
this route and we cannot afford to be taken unawares. Come!"

And with that, Gandalf once again led the way into the forest. The 
hobbits struggled to their feet, swung on their packs, and followed 
the rest of the Fellowship.


==========================


Part 13


January 7, 3019

"We were watched."

Aragorn sighed and looked at Legolas, reading much of the elf’s mood 
from his tense stance and the way he kept glancing back at the trail 
they’d followed to reach this campsite. Rather than forcing the 
hobbits and the pony through the marsh—and had we done so, we would 
probably still be floundering in it—the Fellowship had elected to take 
the straighter route despite Legolas’s warnings. It was a risk and 
Aragorn knew well that an elf’s senses were rarely wrong, yet they’d 
truly had no choice. Their food supplies were beginning to run low and 
they could not afford to make a large loop solely for the sake of 
avoiding a place of darkness. But Legolas was right. They had been 
watched.

"Do you sense any following us?" Gandalf asked, leaning against his 
staff and looking back down the trail. His dark eyes seemed ageless 
this morning, and there was great depth in them as they penetrated the 
shadows beneath the trees.

"Nay, not yet. All is silent. But our passage was marked and noted for 
any who would inquire of our whereabouts," the elf said, his face 
grim. "Those who wish to pursue us will not be hard-pressed to find 
our trail."

"Then we shall have to proceed with great caution." Gandalf shook his 
head and then turned around, walking toward the other side of camp and 
moving around the various pieces of baggage that had been dropped.

Sensing somehow that his presence at Gandalf’s side was expected, 
Aragorn followed and reached for his pipe, feeling the need for a good 
smoke. The Ranger’s role as a mediator between Legolas and Gimli was 
straining his friendship with the elf, and the decision to take a more 
direct albeit darker route rather than trudge through a swamp was not 
helping matters either. Striking a quick flame as he sat by Gandalf’s 
side, Aragorn lit his pipe and turned sharp eyes upon the camp, 
watching the unpacking with a somewhat detached academic interest.

"Aragorn, would you watch with me this morning?"

The Ranger frowned, catching a strange note in the wizard’s voice, but 
he nodded, knowing that explanations would be forthcoming in their own 
time. "Of course. How shall we arrange the other watches?"

"Boromir and Gimli shall take them," Gandalf answered quietly. "After 
passing through an area of such darkness, it would be well if warriors 
rather than hobbits watched the camp this day. I suspect Legolas will 
also join them, for he is wary of our surroundings. It will be 
difficult for him to sleep."

"I am not hard of hearing," Legolas said testily from the other side 
of camp where he was now helping Sam unload breakfast as well as 
watching the trail. "If you have words to say to me, I would that you 
speak them directly to me rather than about me in secret 
conversation."

Aragorn sighed and rubbed his head. The elf was not in a good mood 
this morning. "Peace, Legolas. We meant no disrespect and spoke no 
secrets."

"Then if you spoke no secrets, would you tell the rest of us what you 
have been discussing over there?" Boromir asked, apparently sharing 
Legolas’s ill humor.

"The watches," Gandalf answered, and in his voice was an edge of 
irritation. It seemed that the bad mood was contagious. "Gimli and 
Boromir, would you accept the last two watches of this day while 
Aragorn and I take the first two?"

"Of course," Gimli answered, casually inspecting the blade of his axe. 
"Do you want the third or the last watch, Master Boromir?"

"The last," Boromir answered. "I have not been sleeping well late in 
the day and I doubt I shall be able to fall asleep again if I take the 
third watch."

Gimli nodded. "Then the last watch is yours. Is there aught else we 
should know?"

"Is there aught else you are capable of comprehending?" Legolas 
muttered, pulling the last pack off of Bill. Unfortunately, his words 
carried in the still morning air and Gimli overheard the remark. A 
shadow seemed to pass over his face and he took an angry step toward 
the elf, but Aragorn chose that moment to step between them, catching 
the dwarf’s shoulder in a firm grip before any harm could come of 
this.

"If the matter of the watches is settled, I suggest we eat and then 
get what rest we can," Aragorn said, directing a hard glare at Gimli. 
"We shall have need of it, for we may be watched." Fire flashed in the 
dwarf’s dark eyes, but he nodded and moved away. With half of the 
quarreling pair taken care of, the Ranger next directed his attention 
to Gimli’s counterpart and pinned Legolas with stony eyes. For his 
part, the elf met the man’s demanding gaze with the look of an 
offended prince, and Aragorn sighed, recognizing this particular 
expression.

"Breakfast is ready," Sam announced, interrupting the war of wills 
between elf and man.

Legolas shot Aragorn a smile of triumph, but Aragorn shook his head 
darkly. "This is not finished," he whispered, knowing the elf’s sharp 
hearing would be able to catch his muttered words. "We shall speak of 
this again."

Legolas’s eyes narrowed slightly at that, but he made no response and 
instead strode toward the center of camp where Sam had assembled the 
morning’s meal. With a feeling of rapidly growing frustration, Aragorn 
started after him but suddenly found himself checked by a hand on his 
shoulder. Surprised, the Ranger glanced back and found himself looking 
into the dark eyes of the wizard.

"For now, let him be," Gandalf murmured. "We have more important 
things to consider other than their pointless feud."

"Their pointless feud is a danger to the quest," Aragorn pointed out, 
his face twisting with confusion.

"It is, but there are new dangers to be addressed. In light of 
Legolas’s warnings about being watched, I have reconsidered our 
course. The path over Caradhras will be watched."

"We knew that ere we ever set out from Rivendell," the Ranger 
answered, eyeing Gandalf and attempting to discern the reason for this 
hushed conversation. "All ways south shall be watched, some more than 
others. I do not like our current path, but for this Fellowship, there 
is no other way unless we wish to dare the Gap of Rohan."

"There is yet another way that has not been discussed," Gandalf said. 
"The thought occurred to me while we were still in Rivendell, but it 
is a dark way and I have been reluctant to speak of it with anyone 
save Elrond. Yet if the watchfulness of these woods continues to grow, 
I fear we shall be forced to take this darker road."

Lost for a moment, Aragorn stared blankly at the wizard until 
Gandalf’s suggestion suddenly hit him likes a swinging sack of troll 
loot. "You cannot mean Moria!" Aragorn hissed, feeling as though the 
faint sunlight that had managed to make it through the thick cloud 
cover died at the mention of the fell name.

"It does give us a direct path to Lothlórien."

"And to death!"

"Not necessarily. And this way is unexpected. The spies and scouts 
sent to track us will be unable to follow."

The Ranger shook his head in disbelief. "You would risk traversing the 
darkness of Moria’s caverns rather than climbing through the Redhorn 
Gate?"

"We shall be exposed to many unfriendly eyes upon the open passes of 
the mountains," Gandalf pointed out. "At the moment, we have kept our 
secrecy well, but that secrecy may not hold past Caradhras if we elect 
to go that way. If possible, we must reach Lothlórien without 
detection."

"It would also be well if we lived to reach Lothlórien," Aragorn 
protested. A strange feeling was rising into his stomach and flashes 
of foreboding were entering his mind. He could say nothing with 
certainty at this point, but the very mention of Moria filled his 
heart with dread. It was not dread specifically for the Fellowship, 
the Ring-bearer, or even for himself, but grave danger lay in the 
ancient dwarven kingdom. And should they enter, not all would emerge 
unscathed. And if my feelings are any judge, some of us might not 
emerge at all.

"Mr. Gandalf? Strider? Are you coming?"

The interruption prevented Gandalf from responding to Aragorn, and he 
seemed to decide that such a response would do him no good anyway. 
After only a moment of hesitation, the wizard turned and nodded at 
Sam. "I fear if we do not come now, Peregrin and Meriadoc shall finish 
off our breakfast for us."

"We would never eat your food, Gandalf!" Pippin protested with a 
rather guilty look upon his face.

"See that you keep that vow, young hobbit," Gandalf growled with a 
twinkle in his eye and a conspiratorial wink at Aragorn. "For an angry 
wizard is not a sight you wish to behold, and a wizard without food 
can be prone to sudden attacks of fury."

"That is not entirely untrue, either," Aragorn murmured with a slight 
smile.

Gandalf snorted. "Perhaps not, which is why I shall now take what 
breakfast is provided. But I would speak with you further on this, 
Aragorn. We must be certain of our path ere we venture on to it."

Aragorn nodded reluctantly and dutifully followed the wizard over to 
the main group, but a shadow had fallen over his mind now and it would 
not be easily shaken. Doom, it seemed to whisper, and the Ranger 
shivered. His eyes strayed to the mountains, wreathed in cloud and 
darkness, and he shivered again. The peaks kept their secrets wrapped 
in thick shadows, and no clear images came with the now overpowering 
sense of foreboding. But the foreboding was still there, vague as it 
was, and such warnings were not to be taken lightly for one of the 
line of Elendil. And on the edge of awareness, so faint that it could 
have easily been mistaken for a trick of the imagination, Aragorn 
fancied he heard drums…

* * * *

Waiting with absolute silence in the top of a tall tree, Legolas 
closed his eyes and allowed his elven senses to drift into the 
surrounding area, listening to the song of Ilúvatar as plants and 
trees whispered to one another. The sky was still overcast, but 
Legolas could feel the sun above the clouds and he marked its progress 
as he scouted the area around the camp. Something was amiss, but he 
could not quite put his finger on what that something was. The 
previous night’s journey through a dark wood had put his senses on 
edge and it was quite possible that he was overreacting. It would not 
be the first time that such a thing had happened, yet it was better to 
be overly cautious than not cautious enough.

Finding nothing to alarm him in the immediate vicinity, Legolas opened 
his eyes and slipped down the tree onto the ground, watching the 
surrounding foliage for any sign of movement. He felt as though he was 
being watched, but he could not say what was watching him or where the 
watcher was located. It was rather frustrating for the elf as he was 
used to being acutely aware of each and every detail in his 
surroundings, but now he was up against a force he had never 
encountered before. The Fellowship was regarded with a cold menace, of 
that much he was certain. Yet no move was being plotted against them. 
No action was being taken. It was strange, and this strangeness did 
not bode well with the elf.

With his bow in one hand, Legolas made his way forward, calculating 
the easiest route back to camp and guessing at the path that evil 
would most likely choose if an attack were mounted. We should have 
taken our chances in the marsh, the elf sighed, glancing over his 
shoulder in the general direction of camp. Aragorn had been right, 
though. The pony would have been hard-pressed, they would have been 
forced to carry the hobbits for part of the way, and with these 
factors slowing them down, they might have ended up camping in the 
marsh rather than in the thicket where their camp currently lay. And 
who knows how they would have gotten Gimli through the swamp. Though 
it would have been interesting to watch, Legolas added to himself with 
a small smile.

A snapping twig to his right suddenly arrested his thoughts and he 
turned quickly, but it was only a large squirrel scampering a little 
too far out on a tree limb. Focus, Legolas told himself sternly with a 
shake of his heads. Redirecting his attention and firmly disciplining 
his thoughts, the prince of Mirkwood started to backtrack on the 
Fellowship’s trail. He moved as a silent shadow, gliding along the 
path with an inborn grace and agility that the best mortal forester 
could only envy. All senses were primed and alert for the slightest 
disruption in the peace and stillness of the forest. Legolas had been 
a scout and a warrior in his father’s service for centuries, and those 
centuries of experience now served him well as he searched for the 
elusive danger that haunted the footsteps of the Fellowship. He was 
able to track each and every sound, catalogue and identify each scurry 
of fury feet within the underbrush, and sense the hearts of the trees 
in this section of the forest. Yet for all his abilities, his sense of 
foreboding continued to grow but he continued to have no luck in 
uncovering the cause of his growing alarm.

Legolas was several miles away from the camp when he finally stopped, 
unable to find anything that would validate his feelings. In some 
ways, his current sense of malice was very much like the feelings he 
received whenever he ventured far enough to the south that he could 
behold Dol Guldur. The dark fortress where Sauron, the Necromancer, 
had once dwelled,was still an abode of great evil even in the absence 
of its master. There was always an air of wary watchfulness around the 
tower as well as a sense of latent evil lying in wait to strike at the 
first opportunity. 

But this current forest was not Mirkwood, he was nowhere near Dol 
Guldur, and the ancient elven stronghold of Hollin was now only a 
night’s march away. These dark feelings should not be present, yet try 
as he might, Legolas could not rid himself of them. Something 
dangerous was watching them. And yet that something seemed content 
merely to watch.

I suppose I should be thankful for this reprieve, Legolas sighed 
mentally. And yet this unnerves me in ways that even a Warg does not. 
For what reason does this evil wait? Shall it come upon us unexpected 
in some unprotected place? Is it waiting for us to grow unwary? Is it 
a scout only, watching from a distance and informing more dangerous 
enemies of our presence?

The elf didn’t know, and the lack of knowledge disturbed him. 
Something about this place felt wrong. It was not the feel of a Warg, 
for such a presence could not be mistaken by one who had hunted for 
centuries in the Warg-infested forests of Mirkwood. And so far as 
Legolas could tell, this was not the feel of the dreaded Nine. He’d 
encountered one or two of them when Sauron still dwelt in Dol Guldur, 
and he was fairly certain he would recognize the peculiar feeling of 
dread and inevitability that they inspired. There had been no reports 
of spiders in this land, the hearts and intents of the trees were 
harmless enough, and save for the sense of hidden evil, all seemed 
peaceful.

Legolas folded his arms, leaned back against a convenient tree, and 
sighed. It appeared his search would yield nothing, and in light of 
this, it was probably best if he returned to the camp and took what 
sleep he could. Turning keen elven eyes skyward, Legolas quickly 
traced the patterns in the clouds and learned the speed and direction 
of the wind. If the current trend continued, the sky might actually 
clear by morning. It would be a welcome change for the hobbits, but it 
would also increase the company’s visibility. Legolas shook his head. 
There was little he could do about the weather save to report it, but 
they would have to take extra care in choosing a location for camp on 
the morrow, even if they did pass the borders of Hollin.

With this final thought, the elf turned and began making his way back 
to the others. He stayed alert and watchful, but there was still 
naught to be seen nor aught to be heard. It seemed as though the 
entire forest lay waiting for a storm, but this storm would be no 
natural phenomenon. His eyes narrowing as he traveled, Legolas tried 
once again to determine what it was that was setting off his senses, 
but as before, he came up empty-handed. Deciding that whatever it was 
would have to wait until it manifested itself more fully, Legolas 
strung his bow over his shoulder and started on the last mile before 
camp at a quick jog.

Strangely enough, the amount of tension in the air seemed to increase 
the closer he came to the rest of the Fellowship. Coming to a stop and 
frowning, Legolas pondered the signs and pursed his lips. Taking his 
bow back out and allowing his free hand to stray to the haft of his 
silver-hafted knife, the elf began running toward the camp, carefully 
staying in the shadows and silencing the sound of his light footfalls. 
There was no sound coming from direction of the Fellowship, and at the 
very least, Legolas expected to hear Aragorn and Gandalf speaking 
quietly. With his heart in his throat and the fear that somehow he’d 
missed the true danger and it had come upon the others in his absence, 
Legolas burst through the trees and into the thicket.

Aragorn looked up at his sudden arrival, surprise clearly written in 
his eyes. Gandalf flicked a puzzled glance in his general direction 
and continued to puff away on his pipe. The elf stopped, turning first 
to Aragorn, who seemed to have been pacing, and then to Gandalf, who 
was propped against a large boulder.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked.

With a shake of his head, Legolas dropped his hand away from his knife 
and slung his bow over his shoulder. "I thought I felt something 
amiss. My apologies. I did not mean to startle you."

"You are forgiven, of course." Aragorn stopped and glanced warily at 
Gandalf, but the wizard shook his head. With a curt nod, the Ranger 
turned back to the elf and attempted to assume a casual air. "Did you 
find aught of interest in the woods?"

They have been arguing, Legolas realized, wondering what other 
surprises he might find today. He could name only a handful of people 
accounted wise that would argue with Gandalf. Aragorn was among them, 
but he did not dare that road often. "The woods are silent," the elf 
finally said in answer to the Ranger’s question. "Yet I cannot shake a 
feeling of ill intent. As I said earlier this morning, our presence 
was marked and we are still watched. But I could not uncover the 
source of my feelings, nor could I find any sign of spies. It is 
strange, and I am troubled."

"Perhaps we should have braved the swamp," Aragorn murmured.

"Sometimes the darker road is necessary," Gandalf said quietly. 
Aragorn sent him a sharp look, but the wizard did not meet his eyes, 
instead concentrating on blowing a rather complex smoke ring.

They would not be arguing over our last choice of paths, Legolas 
mused. Neither of them is one to dwell over what is past and gone. But 
what is this concerning a darker road? Curiosity was beginning to get 
the better of him, but Legolas was a prince and as a prince he had 
learned by experience that some secrets were best revealed at a later 
date. Deciding this was probably the case, the elf shoved his innate 
desire to know into the back of his mind. "The weather may change 
tomorrow," he mentioned, moving to his own pack and pulling out a 
thick cloak. "If I have read the signs aright, the clouds shall lift 
by morning."

At this news, Aragorn sighed and rubbed his eyes while Gandalf’s brow 
raised with interest. "You are certain of this?" the wizard asked.

Legolas frowned. "As I remember words spoken earlier, none that go 
about on two legs is a master of the weather. I am certain of nothing. 
However, I am fairly confident that if the wind stays constant we 
shall see the sunrise tomorrow."

Gandalf nodded, Aragorn sighed, and Legolas once again wondered what 
they had been arguing about. But it was not for him to enter into 
their discussion, and elves, above all other races, were not ones to 
involve themselves in the dealings of others. This trait was possessed 
to a lesser extent in Legolas because of his youth, but elven 
isolationism was still a part of his makeup. Wrapping the cloak around 
himself, he picked up his bow from where he had propped it against a 
stump and headed back into the forest.

"Where are you going?" Aragorn asked.

"By your leave, I think I shall sleep further up the trail this day," 
Legolas answered. "You may then continue your discussion without fear 
of listening ears, and I shall ensure that evil does not stray too 
close to us. I will not be but a mile away if you wish to scout later 
today." And I will be absent for Gimli’s turn on guard, the elf added 
silently to himself.

"I shall find you during the last watch, then," Aragorn said. "Stay 
safe, my friend. I also feel this shadow."

"Look to your sword, son of Arathorn," Legolas answered as he slipped 
into the underbrush. "I fear we shall need it ere we reach the other 
side of the mountains."

* * * *

Despite Legolas’s fears, the day passed quietly enough and even dinner 
was served without incident. Night was falling now and preparations 
were being made to start the journey again. At least, Sam assumed 
night was falling since it was getting progressively darker, but it 
was difficult to tell because the clouds were thick across the sky. 
Legolas had commented earlier on how the cloud cover resembled camp 
when everyone with the exception of Boromir and the elf began smoking. 
Sam supposed there was no help for that and even less help for 
Legolas, but maybe they could offer Boromir a pipe sometime in the 
near future…

Speaking of smoking, the scent of pipe-weed caught Sam’s attention and 
he turned to see who was indulging, for it was almost time to leave 
and most had already put away their pipes. His eyes scanning the 
group, he eventually stopped on Gimli and blinked. The dwarf had his 
pipe in hand and was puffing away contentedly, looking as though he 
had not a care in the world. Strange. Didn’t Mr. Gandalf just say as 
how we were about to head off? I wonder why he chose now to take a bit 
of a break. About then, Sam noticed something else concerning Gimli 
that seemed rather puzzling. The dwarf’s eyes kept surreptitiously 
straying to a point just the other side of Sam. Curious, the hobbit 
turned to see what had caught the dwarf’s attention and he immediately 
sighed.

Legolas. He should have known the dwarf would be watching Legolas. 
Still, Gimli hadn’t actually done anything, and maybe he was just on 
guard for an elven attack or prank. In any case, it didn’t hurt to 
think positively for a change. Maybe tonight would be different.

At this thought, a cynical little voice in the back of Sam’s head 
started laughing uproariously.

The wind suddenly came up cold and bitter as it bore its way through 
heavy layers of clothing. So much for the warmth, Sam sighed. He 
shivered and gathered himself more fully into a protective crouch, 
wrapping his cloak tightly around his shuddering body. At the same 
time, he thought he caught a snicker from Gimli. Wondering what was 
afoot and whether or not it had anything to do with the fact that 
Strider was mumbling something uncomplimentary beneath his breath, the 
hobbit debated about looking. His Gaffer had always preached about the 
value of ignorance, but Sam was unusually curious for a Gamgee and 
after a bit of internal debate, he decided to risk it.

Lifting his head out of his warmth-conserving crouch, Sam quickly met 
with a rather strange sight. Gimli was sucking his pipe in earnest and 
sending up a steady stream of smoke in the process. Sam couldn’t help 
but wonder at this strange waste of pipe-weed. Why was he doing that? 
What good could that— Oh. Sam sighed and shook his head. The wind was 
carrying the smoke trail directly into the face of Legolas.

Legolas was doing his best to ignore it, and though it was obviously 
affecting him, the elf was doing a commendable job. But as the smoke 
continued to drift his way, his control began to slip. He didn’t turn 
his head or step out of the way, but he did close his eyes and his jaw 
tightened slightly. Sam had the sudden impression that the normally 
unflappable elf was counting to ten.

"Why doesn’t he just move?"

Sam glanced over at Pippin who was also watching the tableau unfold. 
"Because if he moves, he loses," Sam whispered back, surprising 
himself with his insight. "That’s just what Gimli wants him to do, but 
he won’t do it."

"But elves hate smoking," Pippin hissed. "They can’t stand it."

Sam nodded. "That’s why Gimli’s doing it. He knows Legolas hates it. 
But it’s like I said before—if Legolas moves, then Gimli wins."

Merry nudged Pippin with an elbow. "Didn’t I tell you that Legolas 
would win?"

"We’re not done yet," Pippin returned.

By now, everyone in the Fellowship had become aware of what was 
happening, but no one could tactfully do or say anything about it. 
Gimli could easily deny the fact that he was intentionally puffing 
smoke in Legolas’s direction, and Legolas could just as easily say 
that he hadn’t noticed a thing. And it was clear that as long as the 
wind blew, the dwarf would puff on his pipe and the elf would stand 
there in stoic silence. Sam sat back and narrowed his eyes. The feud 
between the elf and dwarf had changed slightly, but Sam was uncertain 
as to the exact nature of the change. Aragorn had spoken to both of 
them, and since then, they had not been so confrontational. But that 
did not mean their slights and insults stopped. Far from it. But when 
something happened, at least they had not come to open blows. Still, 
it would be nice if someone could step in now and try to set things 
right…

Almost as though cued by Sam’s thoughts, someone did step in. Not 
surprisingly, it was Aragorn, and Sam found himself marveling at the 
Ranger’s display of cunning and ingenuity. Without saying a word to 
either elf or dwarf, he casually moved between the two, effectively 
disrupting Gimli’s smoke stream and providing a shield for Legolas.

"One for the elf," Merry whispered. "Gimli loses."

"Your eyes must be faulty," Pippin responded scornfully. "Legolas had 
to be saved by Aragorn. Gimli wins."

"What Age are you from?" Merry shot back. "Gimli failed to make him 
move. The dwarf loses and the Legolas wins."

"It’s a draw," Sam said with a glance at Aragorn who was doing his 
best to look like he was completely unaware that he stood between 
sworn enemies. "If anyone wins, Strider does."

"No," Frodo murmured, his voice so low that the other hobbits had 
difficulty hearing him. "If anyone wins, it is the Enemy that makes 
such fools of us."

Behind Gandalf, Boromir abruptly stood and swung his shield up behind 
him. "Will we tarry here all night?" he asked. "The sun has fallen. Is 
it not time we move?"

"It is time we move," Gandalf replied. It seemed to Sam that the 
wizard was distracted and not just by the antics of elf and dwarf, but 
before the hobbit could get any further with that thought, Gandalf 
shook off whatever mood had fallen over him and got to his feet. 
"Come. By tonight, we must try to reach the borders of Hollin. There 
are still leagues ahead of us."

Exactly what I need to hear, Sam sighed. Why can’t the next stop ever 
be just beyond that second tree? With a tired shake of his head, the 
hobbit hitched his pack up on his shoulders, took Bill by the halter, 
and started off the others as they set out on their journey once more.

* * * *

Drawing his tattered cloak tighter over his shoulders, Gandalf 
shivered and glanced at the sky, watching the clouds closely. "The 
wind from the north is cold, Aragorn," the old wizard noted.

"So it is," Aragorn replied, his face unreadable as he scanned the 
surrounding brush with the practiced wariness of a Ranger.

"It will be colder still in a few days when we begin to climb."

"So it will be."

"If Legolas is correct about the weather, and I feel that he is, we 
shall be highly visible.

"So we shall."

Gandalf sighed and rolled his eyes. He should have seen this coming, 
though he doubted he could have done anything to prevent it. When 
Aragorn did not wish to speak of something, he simple did not speak, 
confining himself to short, concise answers and saying little else. It 
worked beautifully when dealing with simple men such as Barliman 
Butterbur, and strangely enough, it also seemed to work when dealing 
with wiser beings. Even Elrond had yet to devise a way of effectively 
and consistently breaking through Aragorn’s wall of silence.

The two stood some distance away from the others, waiting in the dark 
night while Gimli struggled to untangle his chain mail from a thorn 
bush. It had "accidentally" snagged on some of the thicker branches 
and was now taking the skills of all four hobbits to free. Legolas 
stood a safely neutral distance away and appeared appropriately 
concerned, though laughter danced across his face when he thought no 
one was looking. Boromir was looking on with the air of one who has 
suffered much and will probably not be willing to suffer much more. 
Gandalf grimaced and turned his attention back to Aragorn, deciding to 
move straight to the point and see if he could force the man to words.

"We may avoid many of these problems by taking an alternate route. 
There is still—"

"I know," the Ranger interrupted. "But I beg you, do not speak of it. 
This Fellowship may be split asunder at the very mention of the name."

"We must decide which direction to turn within a few days time," the 
wizard warned, leaning against his staff as another cold breeze swept 
by them.

"Perhaps fate will smile upon us." Aragorn did not sound overly 
optimistic.

"Perhaps. But perhaps it will not. Fate has not often favored us, as 
you know well, Aragorn."

"No, it has not," the Ranger murmured. He fell silent again, his dark 
gray eyes troubled, and Gandalf feared he would be unable to rouse him 
back to words. But Aragorn then shook his head and turned to the 
wizard, his face unreadable. "Gandalf, I do not wish to argue this 
with you. I honor your wisdom and heed your council, as have I ever, 
yet my heart warns against the darker course. There is something in 
those depths…it does not bode well. I feel there are grave 
consequences in choosing Moria as a path."

"You will not even consider it as an option?"

"Reluctantly will I do so, and only at your insistence."

Gandalf grunted and decided to let the conversation go at that. In 
truth, he also favored the mountain passes, though the Fellowship 
would be highly visible to the spies of the Enemy. Still, it was a 
more certain course than the path that led beneath the mountains. And 
yet…

"We will not make Hollin by morning," Aragorn murmured, more to 
himself than to the wizard at his side. "Already we have lost valuable 
time, and the hobbits are weary."

"The night is still young. We may reach it yet."

"Do those two not realize the seriousness of what we do?"

It was not hard to figure out to whom Aragorn referred. "They 
realize," Gandalf answered quietly, watching as the hobbits drew lots 
and Pippin lost. The disgruntled Took muttered words of protest and 
then crawled beneath the thorn bush, grunting with every scratch and 
working quickly to finish freeing Gimli’s chain mail. "It is why they 
are still with us. We will need them, Aragorn. All of them. But the 
Enemy’s reach is long. For countless years has he managed to keep the 
elves and dwarves estranged. Why should this change when we set out to 
destroy the only thing that will ultimately defeat him?"

"My sight does not reach as far as yours," Aragorn said quietly. "I am 
more concerned with our present condition. And I see now a dwarf and 
an elf more intent on playing practical jokes than on destroying the 
Enemy of all that is good. Nor do they realize when these pranks cross 
the line from annoyance to danger."

"Much of what they do they cannot help but do," Gandalf said. Pippin 
was now crawling out from beneath the brush, picking at thorns in his 
skin and complaining loudly to any who would listen. "The elves have 
seen only malice on the part of the dwarves. The dwarves have seen 
only contempt on the part of the elves. Centuries of hatred cannot be 
set aside, no matter how grave the matter. Think of the Council of 
Elrond. Even there, Glóin could not restrain himself."

"You speak wisely as ever, Gandalf," Aragorn sighed.

"Let us hope that my wisdom holds," the wizard warned, looking out at 
their path as Gimli finally shook himself completely free. "And I 
still feel that the darker way must be included in our debates."

"I suppose that all options should be included in our debates," 
Aragorn answered as the rest of the Company moved to join them. "But 
there are some that, to me, seem far better than others."

"And to me as well. But something warns me against Caradhras. I sense 
malice there, and a cold regard for us. We must be prepared to choose 
a different way should the mountains prove closed to us."

"And we shall be prepared should that time come. But let us not speak 
of it yet, I pray you! For now, allow our path to take us where it 
will. And who knows? Perhaps the choice has already been made."

* * * *

Six…seven…eight… By the Valar, do I travel with children?

Boromir instinctively ducked as pebbles nine and ten descended from 
above to smack Legolas in the head. The first few had missed their 
mark, but the last of the barrage had proven surprisingly accurate.

Lore in Gondor speaks of elves and dwarves with tones of great 
respect, but these two have yet to do anything worthy of honor.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Legolas had been the one to kill the 
second Warg two nights ago, and he and Aragorn had shown themselves to 
be a deadly team in tracking and hunting the first Warg. And Gimli’s 
skill with the axe and sharp senses had saved Merry and Pippin when 
they were attacked. Yes, both elf and dwarf seemed capable warriors, 
but once the danger had passed and the Company had enjoyed a temporary 
peace…

Boromir watched as Legolas suddenly bent down and hefted a rather 
large rock in his hand. Turning it over, he examined it as though 
curious as to its design and history. After a while, enduring three 
more pebbles from the assailant behind Boromir, the elf casually 
tossed the rock over his shoulder. Boromir noted that the toss was a 
rather forceful toss and watched it as it sailed overhead until…

Thud.

Gimli’s muted cursings were soft, but it seemed that Legolas heard 
them, for his shoulders stiffened as though trying to hold back 
laughter.

"Legolas? Would you confer with me a moment?"

Hearing the Ranger’s voice with a degree of relief, Boromir hoped 
Aragorn had developed a ploy for keeping the two apart. The animosity 
was beginning to wear on Denethor’s son, though he had to admit that 
if Gimli had not put pipe-weed in the elf’s water so many nights ago 
and caused the Fellowship to divide, Aragorn might not have seen the 
tracks of the Warg. Still, there had to be another way to track a Warg 
without involving the childish antics of an elf and dwarf who should 
know better. Boromir wondered how Aragorn had so much patience in the 
matter.

Aragorn…

Boromir risked a swift glance backwards and watched as the Ranger and 
the elf held a quick consultation. Though he was clearly frustrated by 
their continuing pranks, Aragorn seemed to understand both Gimli and 
Legolas. How was it that a man could know so much about either race? 
Aragorn had probably traveled much, but in Boromir’s mind, it was 
perilous to deal directly with either the dwarves or the elves. The 
dwarves delved too deeply, loved too passionately, and angered too 
quickly. And the elves…anything immortal with powers or senses beyond 
that of a man was to be feared and avoided.

Boromir looked back again. Legolas was nodding at something Aragorn 
had said and was speaking quietly in return. Then the elf turned and 
vanished into the darkness, disappearing so quickly it was as though 
he had never been there. That was another thing Boromir couldn’t 
understand. Legolas was a prince, a son of King Thranduil in Mirkwood. 
He was a younger son, yes, but he was still royalty and as such he was 
accorded honor and respect, even by those of Rivendell. Yet when 
Aragorn spoke, Legolas immediately listened. He held the Ranger in 
high regard and heeded his words. What manner of man could command 
such respect from an elven prince? Who was Aragorn? Elrond had spoken 
of Isildur’s heir, but Boromir had dismissed those words at the time, 
believing the line of kings to be a thing of the past and a lost dream 
of the elves.

Besides, if any group had a right to the throne, it would be the line 
of the stewards who kept and preserved Gondor for years uncounted 
after the death of the last king. As a young boy, Boromir had spoken 
to his father Denethor concerning the throne and the stewards, and if 
he was honest with himself, Boromir still had yearnings for kingship. 
Who was this Ranger of the north to think that he could claim what had 
been protected for centuries by the valiance and courage of the 
stewards? But then again, if the line of Elendil had survived and 
Aragorn truly was heir to the throne…and if Andúril truly was Narsil 
reforged…

"Boromir?"

Boromir started and turned to see the object of his thoughts watching 
him intently. Aragorn looked as though he knew—or at least 
guessed—much of Boromir’s thoughts, but the Ranger said nothing to 
deny or confirm this.

"The others draw ahead, Boromir. Shall we follow?"

Denethor’s son nodded quickly, chagrined at the thought that Aragorn 
had caught him by surprise. Such was the not the way for warriors of 
Gondor, but of late, Boromir’s thoughts had drifted far and wide. So 
much was happening so quickly. He journeyed in the company of elf, 
dwarf, and halflings. A man claiming to be Isildur’s heir conferred 
and counseled with the mysterious Mithrandir. The Ring, long thought 
to have perished from the world, gnawed at his thoughts and made him 
doubt the advice of Elrond HalfElven. What fate led him down this 
course and where would it take him?

"You look as one who seeks counsel," Aragorn said as they moved to 
rejoin the group. "Is there aught I can do?"

"My thoughts are my own," Boromir answered sharply. His tone was 
harsher than he intended, and he marveled at himself. "That is…I have 
much on my mind that does not concern the Company," he quickly 
explained, seeing Aragorn’s look. "I would not wish to burden you with 
my troubles."

Aragorn seemed to accept this and did not pursue the matter, though 
Boromir thought he could detect a flash of bridled curiosity and a 
hint of suspicion in the other man’s eyes. "I have sent Legolas behind 
us," the Ranger offered by way of conversation. "I feel we are being 
observed again, but I can not find the source. Perhaps elven eyes will 
succeed where the eyes of man are foiled. We will cross a stream in an 
hour or so. Legolas plans to meet us there. He will probably reach it 
long before we do and might scout ahead as well."

"You seem to know much of elves," Boromir found himself saying. "Have 
you lived among them often?"

A small smile eased its way onto Aragorn’s rugged features. "I have."

Boromir waited for Aragorn to continue, but the Ranger was silent. 
Sensing that Aragorn would say nothing else on the subject, Boromir 
decided to try a more specific track. "What of Legolas? You seem to 
know much of him."

"We knew each other before this Fellowship was formed," Aragorn said. 
"I gave Gollum into the keeping of his father’s guards, and Legolas 
and the scouts under his command aided me when we first sought the 
creature. We journeyed together for a while and have hunted spiders in 
the southern forests of his father’s kingdom."

"And I gather you also know Mithrandir well?"

"I doubt if any but Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel know him well," 
Aragorn answered quietly. "He and I have been friends for some time, 
but I cannot say much more than that."

"Yet he told you of the Ring long before he told any other," Boromir 
pointed out, unable to keep a note of suspicion from his voice.

The Ranger shrugged. "There was a need to seek for Gollum, and how 
should one persuade another to walk in perilous country save the other 
knows the reason for the journey? I was told by necessity. Had there 
been another way, Gandalf would have surely held his peace. The matter 
of the Ring is a perilous matter indeed. The fewer who know of it, the 
safer are those who still defy the shadow."

Who are you? Boromir was very tempted to simply ask. He doubted the 
answer would be to his liking if Aragorn even deigned to give him one, 
and yet his curiosity continued to grow. Who was this man who held the 
secrets of wizards, the respect of the elves, and the alleged sword of 
Isildur, forged anew? And what did he mean for the future of Gondor?

 

 

 

First of all, I would like to say THANK YOU for all the reviews. 
Second, I would again like to apologize for the delay in getting this 
chapter out. And thirdly, I want to reiterate that this is a book fic, 
not a movie fic. We’re now entering territory where the novel and the 
cinema diverge. Just to remind you, I’m following Tolkien’s original 
story rather than Peter Jackson’s interpretation (though I give him 
full credit for making a WONDERFUL movie).

Finally, I’ve received some questions regarding the purpose of this 
fic, so let me relate what I intended to do when I first set out to 
write this. I’m not sure if those intentions have been realized, but 
at least I tried. ;) Anyway, I intended to flesh out the characters 
and explore the personalities of the Fellowship when they’re first 
getting to know one another. There’s a two-week period that Tolkien 
says absolutely nothing about other than it rained and there were a 
few cliffs (we’re getting to some cliffs, by the way). I decided that 
these two weeks would be perfect for character introspection. It’s a 
transitional period for most of them, and I wanted to explore that a 
little by fleshing the story out through a missing scene fic. A rather 
long missing scene fic, that is. Also, I just wanted to have some 
light-hearted fun and give the characters a chance to vent some of 
their frustration as well as making it entertaining for readers. So 
that’s what I intended. Whether or not I am accomplishing my goal is 
something else entirely.

=================


Part 14


Author’s Notes: I’ll be quick here, but I do have a couple things I 
need to say about this chapter. First of all, this is one of the few 
places between Rivendell and Caradhras where Tolkien stops to insert 
dialogue for the Fellowship, so to honor him and the story, I have 
kept intact everything the characters said during this day and night. 
You can find this dialogue in the 50th anniversary Ballantine edition 
of The Fellowship of the Ring, pages 338-342. I should also note that 
I have added a few lines of my own before and after some of the 
passages, but I have not inserted anything directly into the spots 
that are purely Tolkien’s. As I said before, I’m trying to preserve 
this as a fic that fits within the canon and is solely a missing 
scene.

Second, I know some of you are looking for action, and in that respect 
this chapter will probably disappoint you. In preserving Tolkien’s 
dialogue and the story line, I’ve kept this as a setup chapter that 
builds tension and does a bit of foreshadowing. Sorry about that. But 
you will be glad to know that this changes next chapter, so just hang 
in there. Let the Fellowship have at least a little bit of peace on 
their first day in Hollin! ;)

Third, many thanks for the reviews!!! I’m glad that most of you seem 
to be enjoying this. I read everything you review and I really do take 
the suggestions you give into consideration when I write. It means a 
lot to me when I have valuable input, so thanks again!!!

January 8, 3019

Much to the surprise of most of the Fellowship—with the exception of 
Aragorn and Legolas—the morning dawned bright and clear with no hint 
of the threatening clouds that had loomed over them in previous days. 
The wind had shifted slightly as well, bringing a warm breeze out of 
the south. And though the air was cold due to the lack of clouds, it 
was not the biting cold that the Fellowship had endured when the wind 
lay in the east and blew down at them out of snow-topped peaks.

With a feeling of smug satisfaction, Legolas lifted the hood of his 
cloak as the sun slowly rose above the Misty Mountains. His 
predictions about the weather had borne out and he could not resist 
throwing a victorious smile at Gandalf when the wizard called a halt 
and happened to glance back his way. Gandalf’s eyes narrowed slightly 
but he said nothing and turned back to gaze southward as the rest of 
the Fellowship gathered around them.

They had stopped on a ridge ringed by holly trees, the dark green 
leaves swaying slightly in the southern wind as it ebbed and flowed 
around them. There were a few scattered stones that seemed to indicate 
the presence of a civilization long gone, and Legolas closed his eyes 
briefly as he took his mind backwards over the vast history he had 
learned under the strict tutelage of his elven teachers. The stones 
spoke of elves, and Legolas was curious as to who had lived here once.

"We have done well."

Legolas opened his eyes again and looked up at Gandalf’s voice. There 
was an air of relief about the old wizard that suggested a great goal 
had been accomplished, and Legolas wondered slightly at this. Had 
Gandalf not believed they would make it even this far?

"We have reached the borders of the country that Men call Hollin," the 
wizard continued, his voice soft and thoughtful. "Many Elves lived 
here in happier days, when Eregion was its name. Five-and-forty 
leagues as the crow flies we have come, though many long miles further 
our feet have walked. The land and the weather will be milder now," he 
said with a sidelong look at Legolas that might almost be taken as a 
grudging concession of victory, "but perhaps all the more dangerous."

"Dangerous or not, a real sunrise is mighty welcome," Frodo sighed, 
letting his own hood fall back as Legolas had done and tipping his 
face up into the sunlight.

"But the mountains are ahead of us," Pippin said, glancing around with 
narrowed eyes. "We must have turned eastwards in the night."

"No, but you see further ahead in the clear light," Gandalf explained. 
"Beyond those peaks the range bends round southwest. There are many 
maps in Elrond’s house, but I suppose you never thought to look at 
them?"

"Yes I did, sometimes," the hobbit protested, and Legolas smiled 
slightly at his defensiveness. "But I don’t remember them. Frodo has a 
better head for that sort of thing."

"I need no map," a dwarven voice growled, and Legolas stiffened 
slightly upon hearing him as he always did. But this time there was 
something strange in Gimli’s voice…something that spoke of longing, 
and of a suffering and a hurt that had never fully healed…almost he 
sounded elvish at the moment… "There is the land where our fathers 
worked of old," the dwarf continued, his tone softening with quiet 
reverence. "And we have wrought the image of those mountains into many 
works of metal and of stone, and into many songs and tales. They stand 
tall in our dreams: Baraz, Zirak, Shathûr. Only once before have I 
seen them from afar in waking life, but I know them and their names, 
for under them lies Khazad-dûm, the Dwarrowdelf, that is now called 
the Black Pit, Moria in the elvish tongue."

This last was said with a sharp look at Legolas as though daring him 
to reply, but the elf stood silent. Moria was a delicate subject for 
elves. If Legolas remembered correctly the history he had now dredged 
up from the depths of his mind, there had once been friendship between 
Moria and Hollin. But the dwarves had awakened something deep in the 
caverns of the mountains, and the resulting ruin had been great. What 
exactly had awakened was lost in the sea of time, at least for the 
Silvan and Sindarin elves. Perhaps Elrond and Gandalf knew, but all 
that was remembered in Mirkwood was that the greed for profit and 
trade that came from finding mithril had driven the dwarves to unleash 
a grave peril. Thankfully it had been sealed in Moria, barred from the 
outside world, but it had been one of many things that had begun the 
feud between elves and dwarves. Moria’s downfall would have been a 
good barb to throw at the dwarf and Gimli seemed to be expecting it, 
but in light of Aragorn’s stern warning glower, Legolas decided not to 
bring it up at the moment.

Somewhat surprised, the dwarf blinked and then shrugged, turning back 
to his impromptu geography lesson. "Yonder stands Barazinbar, the 
Redhorn, cruel Caradhras; and beyond him are Silvertine and 
Cloudyhead: Celebdil the White, and Fanuidhol the Gray, that we call 
Zirak-zigil and Bundushathûr. There the Misty Mountains divide, and 
between their arms lies the deep-shadowed valley which we cannot 
forget: Azanul-bizar, the Dimrill Dale, which the elves call 
Nanduhirion."

"It is for the Dimrill Dale that we are making," Gandalf said, 
pointing out the direction for the sake of the hobbits. "If we climb 
the pass that is called the Redhorn Gate, under the far side of 
Caradhras, we shall come down by the Dimrill Stair into the deep vale 
of the dwarves. There lies the Mirrormere, and there the River 
Silverlode rises in its icy springs."

"Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of 
Kibil-nala," Gimli whispered, and Legolas studied the dwarf carefully. 
This did not sound like the stunted creature that had attacked him 
over a lost pipe or forced him to gather firewood because of a 
life-debt. "My heart trembles at the thought that I may see them 
soon."

"May you have joy at that sight, my good dwarf!" Gandalf said, a 
strange light in his eyes. "But whatever you may do, we at least 
cannot stay in that valley. We must go down the Silverlode into the 
secret woods, and so to the Great River, and then…" The wizard trailed 
off, falling quiet for a moment.

"Yes, and where then?" Merry prompted.

"To the end of the journey—in the end," Gandalf eventually finished. 
"We cannot look too far ahead. Let us be glad that the first stage is 
safely over."

He looked at me when he said that, Legolas thought with a flash of 
irritation. Why did he look at me? If this concerns the dwarf, 
Mithrandir should know better than to worry that I might bring harm to 
the Fellowship.

"I think we will rest here, not only today but tonight as well," 
Gandalf was saying when the elf turned his attention back to the 
conversation. "There is a wholesome air about Hollin. Much evil must 
befall a country before it wholly forgets the elves, if once they 
dwelt there."

At this, Legolas frowned and allowed his senses to spread out into the 
surrounding area. Hollin had once been inhabited by elves, but that 
had been long ago and the prince of Mirkwood had not sensed much in 
the way of a lingering elven presence. In fact, the area felt 
strangely vacant and quiet. "That is true," Legolas said somewhat 
cautiously, his senses still searching their surroundings. "But the 
elves of this land were of a race strange to us of the Silvan folk, 
and the trees and the grass do not now remember them. Only I hear the 
stones lament them: deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high 
they builded us; but they are gone. They are gone. They sought the 
Havens long ago."

"Still, perhaps the reputation of these lands shall shelter us," 
Gandalf said.

"Perhaps," Aragorn murmured, speaking for the first time that morning, 
and to Legolas’s ears, he sounded wary and suspicious. Keen Ranger 
eyes swept the area and eventually came to rest upon the elven prince. 
"Legolas, by your leave, I would have a quiet word with you."

"Of course," Legolas answered, stepping away from the company and 
moving down the ridge to ensure a measure of privacy. Aragorn followed 
close behind and the others watched them curiously until Gandalf began 
to issue orders. The rest of the Fellowship soon became engaged in 
setting up camp, and Legolas turned his attention to the Ranger. "You 
are troubled."

"As are you," Aragorn replied. "Gandalf feels this area is safe for 
us, and I have no wish to doubt his wisdom but my own senses say 
otherwise. What of you, Legolas? What do you say of this place?"

"As you have already noted, I am also troubled," the elf said slowly, 
attempting to collect his scattered feelings and make of them an 
understandable picture that could be shared by words. "And the area of 
darkness through which we journeyed on the previous night still 
concerns me. I have not felt at ease since then, and I fear that there 
are more watchful eyes upon us. Yet I have naught to back this 
impression, for I have been unable to find any evidence of spies or 
pursuit."

"And the hobbits will be on watch today," Aragorn murmured, rubbing 
his face. "Legolas, I hesitate to ask this of you as you were up 
yesterday and the day before, but would you—"

"Yes," the elf answered, knowing exactly what the Ranger wanted. 
"Remember, my friend, that I am an elf and require little in the way 
of sleep. Your request is no great burden. Is there any particular 
area that you would like me to scout?"

"I am wary of the paths we have already taken. Would you backtrack 
along our trail and ensure that we are not being followed."

"I can ensure that nothing follows us from the ground, but the air is 
another matter," Legolas answered. "Hawks have soared overhead, and 
their manner is not that of birds hunting for food."

"I know it well, for I have also seen them," Aragorn sighed with a 
glance skyward. He shook his head and then turned dark gray eyes back 
to the elf. "Be careful, Legolas. Something draws near."

"An elf is always careful," Legolas said, taking his bow off his 
shoulder. "I shall return this afternoon unless there is a need to do 
otherwise." And with that, the prince gave Aragorn a quick grin and 
headed back down the trail, feeling the trees close behind him at his 
wish for secrecy.

* * * *

It was Merry who suggested the compromise of calling the morning meal 
supper-breakfast. Sam was not altogether pleased with this, still 
pressing for it to be called breakfast, but he had to concede that 
with the majority of the Fellowship still calling it supper, it was 
impossible to have complete conformity that satisfied Sam’s 
requirements. The compromise was accepted by all present, and the meal 
now known as supper-breakfast was prepared and eaten with a surprising 
amount of peace and even mirth. Pippin was doing his best to annoy 
Boromir while Boromir was responding with jokes and jests, Merry and 
Gimli were having a contest blowing smoke rings, Sam and Frodo were 
discussing the elven languages and laughing over Sam’s halting 
attempts to learn Quenya, and Gandalf was thoroughly enjoying a 
morning of rest.

Unfortunately, it seemed that not everyone in the Fellowship shared 
this sense of peace. Legolas had vanished at Aragorn’s request, and as 
for the Ranger himself, he was pacing back and forth along the upper 
ridge of the dell in which they had established camp. Watching him 
carefully, Gandalf wondered what could be upsetting the man. It was 
true that elves had not lived in this place for many centuries, but 
Hollin was close enough to Rivendell that the influence of the elves 
should not be wholly lost. And Legolas had heard the stones speaking 
of the elves who had once lived here. Surely, then, Hollin could still 
serve as a place of refuge for the Fellowship.

If Gandalf had been completely honest with himself, he would have been 
forced to admit that there was something amiss about this land. There 
was something that felt different. But the wizard was so relieved at 
reaching Hollin without a certain elf and dwarf tearing one another 
apart that he was ignoring the warnings of his own senses. Beyond 
that, didn’t the Fellowship deserve a respite? They had traveled for 
two weeks in fear and adverse weather. Why should they not be allowed 
at least a day in which to rest and recuperate? With this rationale 
running through his mind, Gandalf did his best to ignore Aragorn’s 
pacing, Legolas’s absence, and his own feelings that perhaps all was 
not as it should be. And he managed to do a fairly good job of it 
until Merry suddenly noticed Aragorn’s restlessness and spoke of it 
before the rest of the company.

"What is the matter, Strider?" the hobbit asked, puffing out another 
smoke ring. "What are you looking for? Do you miss the East Wind?"

The Ranger laughed slightly at that. "No indeed! But I miss 
something." He fell silent for a moment, gazing out at the land, and 
then spoke again, his voice quiet and somber. "I have been in the 
country of Hollin in many seasons. No folks dwell here now, but many 
other creatures live here at all times, especially birds. Yet now all 
things but you are silent. I can feel it. There is no sound for miles 
about us, and your voices seem to make the ground echo. I do not 
understand it."

"But what do you guess is the reason?" Gandalf questioned, holding on 
to an irrational hope that Aragorn might be wrong in his foreboding. 
"Is there more in it than surprise at seeing four hobbits, not to 
mention the rest of us, where people are so seldom seen or heard?"

"I hope that is it," Aragorn said, his voice so low it was difficult 
to hear. "But I have a sense of watchfulness, and of fear, that I have 
never had here before."

At this, Gandalf was finally forced to admit to himself that he’d had 
the same uneasy feelings about Hollin. He had also traveled these 
lands often, and Aragorn was right. There was usually an abundance of 
wildlife about, but the wizard had neither seen nor felt any living 
things save for the Fellowship. I have let my relief in being here 
overpower my caution, he sighed to himself. Such a thing should not 
have happened. I can ill afford to drop my guard because I desire a 
rest. It is fortunate that Aragorn did not succumb to such a 
temptation.

"Then we must be more careful," Gandalf finally said aloud in response 
to Aragorn’s warnings. "If you bring a Ranger with you, it is well to 
pay attention to him, especially if the Ranger is Aragorn. We must 
stop talking aloud, rest quietly and set the watch."

"I shall take the last one, for Legolas is due to return then," 
Aragorn said, turning his eyes outward upon the land.

Gandalf frowned but decided he could speak with the Ranger after the 
matter of the watches had been settled. "Then that leaves three to be 
filled," the wizard said, turning his attention to the hobbits. "Are 
there volunteers?"

"I’ll take the first one," Sam offered. "I haven’t watched in a bit."

"Second," Frodo said, chewing on the last of his supper-breakfast.

"And I’ll do the third one," Merry said with a yawn and a stretch. "I 
think Pippin could use the extra sleep."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Pippin demanded.

With the watch rotation set, Gandalf stood and let the hobbits argue 
while he made his way toward Aragorn. The Ranger’s stance was tense 
and watchful, and his eyes were in constant motion as they swept the 
landscape. Gandalf hesitated a moment before intruding, but he did not 
feel that what he had to say could wait. "My apologies for not heeding 
you earlier."

Aragorn flicked a glance to the side and smiled. "I would that Lord 
Elrond were present to hear this."

Gandalf snorted. "Galadriel, Thranduil, and Radagast would also find 
this quite amusing, of that I have no doubt. But I did not speak idly, 
Aragorn. And I apologize for my lapse in caution."

"Had I not traveled this land so often in the recent past, I would 
have fallen prey to that same lapse," Aragorn said, dismissing the 
matter. "We looked for a place of rest and peace, and where better to 
find it than in a land where elves once lived? But I fear that such 
peace and rest are lost to us while we travel with this Fellowship."

"As Elrond said, friends shall be found upon the way when they are 
least looked for. A respite will come, Aragorn. Unfortunately, it 
seems I looked too early for such a thing." He sighed and shook his 
head, mentally berating himself for ignoring the warning signs that 
Aragorn heeded. "I take it that you intend to watch with the hobbits?"

"With Sam, at least," Aragorn confessed. "I trust not this land’s 
silence, and until we have passed a few hours here peacefully, I doubt 
I will be able to sleep."

"See that you do not overtax your strength," Gandalf warned. "You are 
Isildur’s heir and in you the blood of Númenor is strong, but 
weariness is the bane of all men and we will need you alert for 
danger."

"It is difficult to be alert when one is sleeping," Aragorn pointed 
out with a small smile. "How shall we reconcile the need for alertness 
during the day with the need for sleep?"

Gandalf sighed. "You have had your fun, Dúnedain, and I have readily 
admitted that my caution and wariness faltered upon entering Hollin. 
But that does not set my wisdom at naught, nor does it diminish the 
validity of common sense. You cannot keep watch the entire day. There 
are enough light sleepers among us, yourself included, that if the 
watch does go ill, we should still be able to respond effectively to 
any threat."

Aragorn was silent for a moment and then he nodded slightly. "I 
promise you that I shall sleep today, but I still desire to watch with 
Sam. Perhaps when the others are sleeping I may know more of what 
disturbs Hollin. Too many voices intrude on the silence now."

"Very well, then," Gandalf sighed. "I know better than to ask you to 
take any more sleep, for when you are decided, your mind is 
unalterable. I only pray that no trouble comes of this. Remember your 
promise, Aragorn. And to my mind, sleep is more than a quick doze 
during the changing of the watches."

The Ranger laughed quietly. "Fear not, Gandalf. I shall sleep, and it 
will be a sleep that meets even your approval."

"Good," the wizard nodded. "Then I shall leave you and encourage the 
rest of the Fellowship to retire for the day. Wake me if you discover 
aught."

"I shall," Aragorn promised. "Sleep well."

"Sleep well yourself, my friend," Gandalf replied with a hard look at 
the Ranger ere he turned back to the rest of the Fellowship. "And I do 
mean that."

* * * *

Samwise Gamgee was used to peace and quiet. As a gardener, his work 
usually took place away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. 
Secluded by the plants and grounds he loved so much, Sam usually saw 
no other hobbits during the day unless Frodo wandered out for a bit of 
fresh air. At night, Sam would wander down to the Green Dragon for a 
drink and some talk, but he never stayed very long and soon found his 
way home for supper and a soft bed. Such a lifestyle did not lend 
itself to much in the way of social pursuits, and though Sam did not 
go out of his way to avoid others, he did tend to be somewhat shy and 
reclusive during community gatherings. He loved silence, and he loved 
to work without the distractions of mindless babble.

At least, he thought he loved silence, but Sam now realized he had 
never experienced complete silence. As the rest of the Fellowship 
dropped off to sleep, the world became as still as a corpse. The 
occasional popping of the smoldering fire seemed to echo for miles in 
the empty land, and Sam was certain that the sound of his own 
heartbeat would wake the rest of the Fellowship. The hobbit glanced up 
as a restless Aragorn walked past, and the leaves that crunched 
faintly under the Ranger’s feet sounded so loud to Sam’s ears that he 
almost fancied an army was marching by. Over by the campfire, Gimli 
grunted and muttered something in his sleep, and Sam cringed, feeling 
as though the dwarf was shouting their position to all within the 
land. Bill snorted and flicked his tail to the side, and Sam was 
hard-pressed to keep himself still and not leap up in order to silence 
the pony. It was so quiet! Sam had never experienced such a complete 
absence of natural noise, and it was preying upon his nerves like a 
predator that has found fresh meat.

Sam found a small measure of relief when Aragorn ceased his pacing and 
took a seat next to the hobbit. The Ranger was still very alert, Sam 
could tell that, but at least he wasn’t wandering around searching for 
whatever had caused the silence. As long as Aragorn stayed in one 
spot, Sam felt that the danger was still some distance away. But the 
absence of sound still disturbed him greatly, and he could not truly 
relax even with Aragorn sitting at his side. The fact that the 
Ranger’s hand was constantly curled around the hilt of Andúril didn’t 
help matters either.

Still on edge, Sam cast his eyes about and looked for something to 
distract him. Previously, he had been able to watch Aragorn pace, but 
now that Aragorn was seated, Sam needed something else to watch. He 
realized that distracting himself was probably not the best way to 
conduct a watch, but Aragorn was also awake and the silence was 
driving poor Sam mad.

Unfortunately, just as there was no sound, there seemed to be nothing 
of interest to see. He could look at the surrounding holly trees, he 
could watch Merry twitch slightly in his sleep, and he could count how 
many times Boromir scowled at his dreams, but aside from that, there 
was virtually nothing to attract his attention. Beyond the Fellowship 
members, nothing seemed to live in this area. Even the skies were 
devoid of life.

Or were they?

Sam frowned, focusing his attention southward. Something in the far 
distance was moving. It was a dark shadow against the clear blue sky, 
and it seemed to change shape and height as it began to draw closer. 
Sam looked to Aragorn and noticed that the Ranger’s keen eyes were 
also focusing on this strange phenomenon. "What’s that, Strider?" the 
hobbit asked, wincing at how loud his voice sounded in the stillness. 
"It don’t look like a cloud."

Aragorn made no immediate answer but remained intent on this shadow 
that drew nearer. And after a minute or two more, Sam had no need of a 
reply from the Ranger, for the darkness had drawn close enough that 
its true composition was revealed. Birds! Sam realized, his eyes 
growing wide. There must be hundreds of them. But that’s a strange way 
to fly and no mistake. Are they looking for something? A shiver crept 
up his spine when the birds came even closer, wheeling and diving as 
they hovered over the silent land.

A hand suddenly grabbed Sam’s shoulder, and much to his surprise, he 
found himself pulled beneath a holly tree and shoved far back into the 
shade. "Lie flat and still!" Aragorn ordered, pressing himself against 
the tree’s trunk.

The Ranger had acted not a moment too soon. A collection of birds 
broke off from the main group and swung low over the campsite. 
Watching intently at the same time that he tried to hold absolutely 
still as Aragorn had instructed, Sam decided these birds were some 
kind of crow. But never before had he seen such crows as these. They 
were huge, and they flew in formation as though they had been trained. 
Nor did they cry out to one another as crows were wont to do, but they 
soared overhead in absolute silence, further unnerving Sam. A shadow 
fell upon the ground as the mass of birds wheeled past, for so great 
were their numbers that even the sun’s light could not penetrate their 
formation. 

It seemed to take a lifetime, but eventually the cloud of birds turned 
and set off to rejoin the main group. Sam began to relax marginally, 
but at that moment, one of the last birds cawed. Terrified that they 
had been discovered, Sam froze and watched with fearful eyes, yet the 
large crows did not alter their course and continued into the north 
and the west, maintaining their pattern of circles and sweeping dives 
as they went.

Several more minutes crawled by before Aragorn stepped away from the 
tree, and Sam took this as his cue that movement was safe again. But 
the strange birds weighed heavily upon his mind, and when Aragorn 
hastened to the camp and knelt to wake Gandalf, Sam followed closely. 
After such an unnerving experience, he was leery of being away from 
the Ranger and his wood-crafty senses.

"Regiments of black crows are flying over all the land between the 
mountains and the Greyflood, and they have passed over Hollin," 
Aragorn reported quietly when Gandalf woke at his touch. "They are not 
natives here; they are crebain out of Fangorn and Dunland. I do not 
know what they are about: possibly there is some trouble away south 
from which they are fleeing; but I think they are spying out the land. 
I have also glimpsed many hawks flying high up in the sky. I think we 
ought to move again this evening. Hollin is no longer wholesome for 
us: it is being watched."

A creeping cold went down Sam’s spine at this announcement. The 
Ranger’s voice had been firm and certain, leaving no room for doubt. 
But we’ve been watched so often in the past! Sam silently protested. 
Those Black Riders, they watched us all the way to Rivendell. Don’t we 
deserve a break now and then?

"And in that case so is the Redhorn Gate, and how we can get over that 
without being seen, I cannot imagine," Gandalf said with a heavy sigh. 
Sam thought he saw Aragorn wince at these words, but the moment passed 
so quickly that he wondered if he imagined it. "But we will think of 
that when we must," the wizard continued. "As for moving as soon as it 
is dark, I am afraid that you are right."

"Luckily our fire made little smoke, and had burned low before the 
crebain came," the Ranger said, glancing at the hot coals that 
remained from the supper-breakfast meal. "It must be put out and not 
lit again."

"I can do that," Sam volunteered, feeling the need to make himself 
useful. "And I’ll see to it that the fire doesn’t smoke when I’m 
dousing it."

"Thank you, Samwise," Gandalf said, curling one gnarled hand around 
his staff. "Well, what say you, Aragorn? What of our next path?"

"If Caradhras is watched, then it is watched," the Ranger answered, 
and to Sam it seemed as though this was a continuing discussion. He 
wondered if he should be listening in, but at the same time, he 
realized that there was really nothing to be done about it. With the 
surrounding forest in a state of dead silence, the hobbit couldn’t 
help but overhear the discussion.

"There are other paths that may not be as watched."

"We do not know that with any certainty, and against such odds as we 
would face were we to take the darker way, I would rather travel a 
lighter road though all the spies of the Enemy be upon it."

Sam frowned as he started to bury the fire in dirt, taking care that 
no smoke rose to signal unwanted visitors. What was this about a 
darker way?

"That may be what we encounter, Aragorn," Gandalf said with a sigh. 
"Unfortunately, on our present course, I see no help for it. We must 
do our best to escape the watchful eyes above, but we will not be able 
to evade them for long."

"If the watchful eyes above are content only to watch, I shall be 
happy," Aragorn said. "It is what these eyes will tell others that I 
fear, yet if we avoid them for a day or so longer, we shall soon be 
out of reach of any opponent they might set upon our trail."

"But what of the darkness that Legolas felt?" Gandalf asked. "He 
seemed to think that watchful eyes had already found us."

"For that night only they might have found us, but as we have 
discovered no sign that we have been followed, I believe they now know 
not where we are. Perhaps the crebain were sent to solve this 
problem."

"Perhaps," Gandalf sighed.

Sam decided he didn’t like it when Aragorn and Gandalf sounded so 
uncertain. It was far more comforting when they behaved as though they 
knew all the dangers in the world and were more than ready to confront 
them. Of course, Sam also realized that much of this was an act put on 
because of leadership’s necessities, but it was still something of a 
comfort.

"Fear not, Master Samwise," a quiet voice suddenly said from behind, 
and the hobbit turned in surprise to find Aragorn watching him with 
shrewd eyes. "Fear not," he said again. "You travel in a company 
personally selected by Elrond. No matter how dark the path, we will 
find a way to prevail."

"I know," Sam answered, surprising himself with his answer and also 
with the fact that he did know. Somehow, he knew they would make it.

Aragorn smiled and turned away to watch the skies. "Get some rest, 
Sam," he said. "I shall take the remainder of this watch."

"Remember your promise, son of Arathorn," Gandalf warned with a sleepy 
yawn. "There is naught that you can do to prevent the spies."

"I keep my vows, Gandalf," Aragorn answered. "I only look for some 
sign of their movements." The Ranger turned his head and motioned Sam 
toward the hobbit’s blankets. "Rest, my friend. Tonight we shall have 
to travel quickly."

After a moment of hesitation, Sam nodded and moved toward his pack, 
careful not to disturb Frodo as he approached. If Aragorn was willing 
to take the rest of the watch, then he was willing to sleep. He 
wondered, though, if he would be able to sleep, for he was still 
somewhat anxious about the strange crows and the unnerving silence. 
But he needn’t have worried, for only seconds after lying down, Sam’s 
breathing deepened and he fell into a dark and dreamless sleep.

* * * *

Gimli woke late in the afternoon. Somewhat disoriented, the dwarf lay 
still for a moment, curious as to what had roused him from his dreams. 
He was normally a very heavy sleeper, though he could wake if the 
situation called for it. But the situation did not appear to be 
calling for anything, and Gimli frowned, wondering if something in 
Sam’s supper-breakfast had upset his stomach. The hobbit was an 
excellent cook, but as their rations had begun to dwindle, Sam had 
begun to create some rather interesting meals.

However, as he relaxed beneath the afternoon sun, Gimli decided Sam’s 
cooking was not at fault but rather the extreme silence that had 
fallen upon this land was to blame. He had listened to Aragorn when 
the Ranger warned them that all seemed wary and watchful, but he had 
not fully appreciated just how wary and watchful everything was 
because the endless chatter of the hobbits had held the silence at 
bay. Now, though…now the world was quiet as an abandoned mine in the 
darkest hours of the night.

Soft voices suddenly broke the silence, sounding loud in the stillness 
though they were actually quite hushed. Curious, Gimli turned to see 
who might be talking and scowled when he discovered the participants 
of the quiet conversation. Aragorn and Legolas, the dwarf thought 
disparagingly. It seems the elf has returned. Why cannot he simply 
disappear forever when he leaves on these scouting missions? The dwarf 
rolled back over, fully intent on ignoring whatever might be going on 
and returning to the world of dreams, but curiosity overrode disdain 
and he found himself listening to the conversation in spite of his 
prejudices.

"How many did you count?" Aragorn was asking.

"Five companies directly over our position and three more further 
west," the elf said, his voice worried. "Each time they came, there 
were more of them. They know not our exact location, but they have 
narrowed down the possibilities. And with each flock of crebain, the 
danger grows."

"I have already discussed this with Gandalf, and we will be moving 
again tonight. But we are both at a loss as to how these birds might 
be avoided."

Birds? Gimli frowned and shook his head as concern began mounting 
within him. Another being might have scoffed at the idea that birds 
could present a problem to the Fellowship, but Gimli was a dwarf and 
knew far better. The dragon Smaug had been slain thanks in part to the 
services of a thrush and Roäc, lord of the ravens, who spoke the 
tongue of men and dwarves and had long served those of Durin’s line. 
Unfortunately, not all birds were so helpful, and in these forsaken 
lands where crows and hawks roamed free, Gimli seriously doubted that 
the birds passing overhead were possessed of honorable intentions. And 
if memory serves, the crebain are crows out of the far south. It seems 
the elf was right, though I will be dead ere I ever admit such a 
thing. We are being hunted.

"Long have the crebain kept watch over southern Mirkwood where Dol 
Guldur still sits in shadow," Legolas said quietly. "The elves know 
not how to drive them, and even my people who are crafty in the ways 
of the forest cannot forever dodge their searching eyes. They will 
find us, Aragorn. It is now only a matter of time."

"But if we travel quickly, it may be that they will not find us soon 
enough to cause any great harm. The Golden Woods lie on the other side 
of the mountains, and there we may take shelter from any pursuit these 
crows set on our trail."

"That will have to be our hope, but the crebain are capable of causing 
their own mischief," Legolas warned. "And the mountains passes are 
open to any spying eyes. There the danger will be very great."

"Yet what other choice do we have?" Aragorn demanded, and Gimli 
blinked to hear the sudden strain in the Ranger’s voice. Something the 
elf said had alarmed him. "Would you have us travel to the Gap of 
Rohan and tempt the emissaries of Saruman?"

"I know of no course better than the Redhorn Gate," Legolas said. He 
sounded surprised at Aragorn’s reaction, and Gimli wondered what might 
have caused it. "I merely spoke words of warning. We will have to take 
extra care when braving Caradhras. If you do know of another way we 
might journey, then—"

"Nay, in my mind the Redhorn Gate is the best course open to us, 
though I agree that it is fraught with dangers. Yet perilous as it 
might be, there are darker ways into which I will not venture unless 
there is no other choice."

There was silence for a moment during which time Gimli attempted to 
decipher Aragorn’s words. Darker ways? As if this quest was not 
dangerous enough, it seems there has been discussion about taking 
paths not as open as Caradhras. At least I may rest easy in the 
knowledge that Aragorn has opted for the mountain passes.

"Shall we wake the others?" Legolas said at length when the silence 
began to stretch into minutes.

"Yes. We shall be moving this evening, and the Fellowship must be 
informed. I fear that the hobbits will not be pleased with this change 
in plans. Sam knows already and I mentioned it to Frodo when I woke 
him, but I know not if Merry has been told and Pippin has slept the 
day through."

Legolas laughed quietly. "I fear this shall be ill news for the young 
hobbit. He seemed most anxious about spending the night here."

"I will confess to desiring a rest myself, but such things are now 
denied us, it seems. Come. Let us rouse them."

Gimli now realized that he faced an interesting predicament. He could 
feign sleep and pretend to wake when Aragorn came to shake him—he knew 
Legolas would never come within touching distance—or he could sit up 
now and admit to eavesdropping on their conversation. Such a thing 
would not be so bad and he could easily say he had just woken, but 
such an action would imply that he had wished to hear Legolas’s words 
and that he valued the elf’s scouting missions. The dwarf’s pride 
revolted violently against this, and Gimli chose instead to act as 
though he still slept. It was a small deception, but it was necessary 
to maintain his dignity.

The sounds of a waking camp now filled the air, for the moment holding 
at bay the eerie silence of the vacant land. Gimli felt himself 
relaxing at Boromir’s familiar grunts that indicated his journey to 
the conscious world, and he smiled to himself at the sound of Sam’s 
yawn. If the hobbit was not careful, he would swallow his face one of 
these days. During one of Sam’s legendary yawns, his mouth was almost 
capable of doubling as a cave should the need ever arise to take 
shelter.

"Gimli?"

Attempting to appear groggy and sleepy, Gimli blinked his eyes open 
and turned enough to see Aragorn’s face peering down at him. "It is 
time to rise?"

"It is time to break camp and have a bit of supper," the Ranger said. 
"We shall be moving tonight, I am afraid. Events during the day call 
for a change in plans."

"And what events might those be?" Gimli asked innocently as he pushed 
himself into a sitting position.

"Spies of Sauron have been scouring the land," Aragorn told him. 
"During Sam’s watch, crebain were sighted, and Legolas tells me that 
more passed overhead later in the day. We must move, or I fear we may 
be discovered here. Arise, Master Dwarf. Your services are required."

With that, Aragorn moved on to wake Gandalf while Legolas finished 
waking the hobbits. The thought occurred to Gimli that now might be a 
good time to rifle through Legolas’s pack and plant something rather 
unpleasant deep inside—a branch from a thorn bush came immediately to 
mind—but the dwarf dismissed this idea after a moment or two. Now was 
not the time for vengeance, though he promised himself that vengeance 
would come. But with the spies of Sauron about and the entire 
Fellowship on edge, it would not be a wise move at the moment. 
Tomorrow, if naught happens tonight, Gimli promised himself.

"Well if that isn’t a plague and a nuisance!"

Gimli blinked and glanced over at the hobbits to find Pippin getting 
to his feet and angrily confronting both Legolas and Aragorn. The 
dwarf was hard-pressed to keep down his laughter, and he could not 
hide his smile. Legolas and Aragorn—as well as Boromir and Gandalf—had 
recently been on the receiving end of several grueling hobbit 
tongue-lashings, and with a grin, Gimli settled himself down to watch 
this latest one. They always proved to be highly amusing.

"All because of a pack of crows!" the irate hobbit continued, waving 
his arms about. "I had looked forward to a real good meal tonight: 
something hot."

"Well, you can go on looking forward," Gandalf sighed, getting wearily 
to his feet. "There may be many unexpected feasts ahead for you. For 
myself I should like a pipe to smoke in comfort, and warmer feet. 
However, we are certain of one thing at any rate: it will get warmer 
as we get south."

"Too warm, I shouldn’t wonder," Sam muttered with a glance at Frodo, 
rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "But I’m beginning to think it’s time 
we got a sight of that Fiery Mountain and saw the end of the Road, so 
to speak. I thought at first that this here Redhorn, or whatever its 
name is, might be it, ‘til Gimli spoke his piece. A fair jawcracker 
dwarf-language must be."

Gimli snorted and shook his head. Sam was quite out of his depth here 
in the Wilds. They had not traveled even a quarter of the distance 
between Rivendell and Mordor, and dwarf wondered which unfortunate 
soul would have to break this news to Sam. But what was this about the 
dwarf-language being a jawcracker?

"Are you certain that we have to move?" Pippin pleaded, looking to 
Gandalf for help. "Couldn’t we just rest tonight and tomorrow? I 
promise to move twice as fast if we do."

Aragorn made a noise that sounded like a strangled laugh which could 
not quite be stifled, and Pippin turned to glare suspiciously at the 
Ranger. "My apologies," the man said hastily as the corners of his 
mouth twitched. "I…choked on a piece of dried meat."

Pippin scowled, not fooled in the least by Aragorn’s story, and then 
turned his attention back to Gandalf. "Well?" he prompted expectantly.

"Help Sam prepare dinner so that we might move out quickly as soon as 
it is dark," the wizard instructed.

The hobbit threw up his hands and shook his head, muttering under his 
breath as he stomped across camp to where Sam was unpacking some of 
the food supplies. Gimli chuckled and picked up his axe, inspecting 
the blade. Hobbits were always interesting creatures, and life was 
certainly never dull when one was around. For all their pride in being 
completely predictable and doing nothing out of the ordinary, Gimli’s 
experience with hobbits had taught him that nothing they did was 
ordinary. Most hobbits would have been greatly offended by this 
observation, and it must be said that much of Gimli’s hobbit 
experience centered around Bilbo and Frodo, who were not exactly model 
hobbits. But Gandalf would see much truth in the dwarf’s opinion, and 
when pressed, such an opinion would probably hold true for all 
hobbits.

"Aragorn! I cyrch ad!"

Legolas’s sudden shout took them all by surprise, but perhaps more 
surprising was his sudden lapse into Sindarin, indicative of great 
alarm. Gimli shot to his feet, his hands tightening about the haft of 
his axe, and looked at Aragorn, hoping for a translation of some kind. 
He was not disappointed.

"Everyone, beneath the trees!" the Ranger ordered. "The crows are upon 
us again."

The ringing command in Aragorn’s voice had everyone moving even before 
he finished speaking, and the Fellowship was soon hidden under thick 
bows of holly. The land fell completely silent, and Gimli began 
wishing for anything to break the oppressive stillness. Close to his 
position, Boromir shifted slightly and began inching toward the dwarf.

"Lie still!" Aragorn hissed from a few meters away where he crouched 
with Legolas and Merry. To his credit, Boromir stopped, but he turned 
a strange look upon Aragorn that Gimli found strangely disconcerting.

But the dwarf was not given a chance to think further upon this, for 
at that moment a horde of wings descended from above. Flying low over 
the trees, so low that some of the highest branches were struck by the 
crebain, they swarmed over the campsite and then vanished beyond it, 
using the trees to hide their movements. Gimli hissed quietly, his 
eyes searching the sky. There had been almost no warning, and the 
crebain had come and gone so quickly! If the elf hadn’t heard them in 
time to warn the Fellowship…

"They know, Aragorn," Legolas murmured, straightening slightly. "And 
they seek to come upon us unawares. They fly so low that we cannot see 
them until they are nearly upon us."

"Do you still wish to linger here, Pippin?" Aragorn asked, his eyes 
fixed on the sky as he searched for signs of more birds.

"If it’s all right with you, maybe we’d better find a different place 
to camp," the hobbit answered with a slight tremble in his voice. 
"Those were big birds."

"They were indeed," the Ranger murmured. "Legolas, can you hear them 
still?"

The elf nodded. "They maintain their course away from us. Other 
groups, too, I can hear, but they are further north. There are many 
out there, all of them flying low and all of them searching."

"All of you, gather the packs and hide them," Gandalf instructed, 
taking charge of the situation. "We dare not risk the chance that they 
might be seen. Sam, we will take supper beneath the trees. Keep to the 
shadows, my friends, for it seems that the search has begun. We will 
not move until it is completely dark."

* * * *

The night was quiet. Very quiet. Frodo couldn’t remember a night that 
had been so devoid of sound and life. In the Shire, one could always 
hear chirping insects or slight rustlings in the underbrush as mice 
scurried about on foraging missions. And in the Wilds, there were 
owls, foxes, and even more insects that crept about once the sun hid 
her face. But now, there was nothing. Not even a breeze.

Frodo shivered and pulled his cloak more securely over his shoulders. 
He was not cold as the night was actually quite pleasant, but he 
wished for better coverage. He felt vulnerable and exposed to any eyes 
that might glance his direction. The darkness seemed darker, the 
shadows seemed blacker, and there was a watchfulness in the air that 
had Frodo grasping at the Ring that dangled heavily from his neck. The 
temptation to vanish from the world was so great that more than once 
he nearly succumbed. Only the presence of Gandalf and Aragorn seemed 
to keep his impulses in check, and he would often glance at the two 
for courage and strength. They walked as silent sentinels in the 
darkness, but unlike the vacant land of Hollin, their silence was not 
oppressive. Rather, it was the comforting silence of protection, and 
Frodo’s heart would rest easy at the thought that their senses were 
intent on the survival of the Fellowship.

Under Aragorn’s guidance, they had found an old road lain down by the 
elves that once lived in Hollin. The stone path was now partially 
overgrown with plants and brush, but long ago, it had probably served 
as a main thoroughfare. But those days were now gone, and the forest 
was working to reclaim this road. Forgotten were the elves that built 
it, or so Legolas had said, and Frodo sighed, remembering the words of 
Gildor Inglorien spoken when he was still in the relative safety of 
the Shire. The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves 
in, but you cannot forever fence it out. * The hobbit sighed again. 
The Shire seemed so far away now, like a faint memory in the distant 
past. And though he’d had inklings of adventure desires, Frodo felt 
that he might have been perfectly content to fence himself in. But 
fate had not been kind, and a golden trinket from his uncle’s journey 
had come to haunt him, preventing him from fencing in his life and 
living in peace and comfort.

Frodo clutched at the ring beneath his shirt, feeling its smooth edges 
through the thick fabric and cursing its existence. Why couldn’t the 
Ring have stayed with Gollum? At least that creature wanted it. Frodo 
certainly didn’t. And why did Bilbo have to give it to him? Why 
couldn’t he have kept it? For that matter, why hadn’t Gandalf taken 
it? The wizard had known long before Frodo that the Ring was 
dangerous. Or why not the elves? Surely they could keep it safe. Even 
another hobbit might be better suited to bear the Ring! But one thing 
was certain—Frodo wanted nothing more to do with it.

And even as this thought crossed Frodo’s mind, he shook his head and 
seemed to come back to himself. Gandalf had warned him of this. As the 
Ring began to edge its way into his mind, it became a detestable 
thing. Like a predator, it preyed upon his subconscious and he began 
to feel its influence and resent it for its power. For better or 
worse, I am the Ring-bearer," Frodo sighed. I took this task upon 
myself of my own free will, and no one is to blame for that. And with 
that, Frodo released the ring, smoothed out his tunic, and hitched his 
pack higher upon his back. Dawn was not far away now, and he only had 
to struggle a little further tonight.

It had been a remarkably peaceful night even if that peace was 
troubled by the night’s extreme silence. Nothing had attacked them, 
the crows had not flown overhead since the sun sank below the horizon, 
and even Legolas and Gimli had done naught to one another. The uneasy 
feeling of being watched that pervaded the company was probably 
responsible for this latter reprieve, and for that, Frodo was 
intensely grateful. The constant bickering of elf and dwarf was 
wearing on his nerves, and he was of more than half a mind to leave 
them somewhere in the wilderness and let them settle their quarrel on 
their own terms. Hopefully, one would live to catch up with the 
Fellowship later.

Frodo cracked a small smile at this thought, wondering which one would 
survive and in what condition that one might be, but his mirth 
abruptly ended when a deadly chill swept over him like the wings of 
death. He froze, startled, and high overhead, a shadow hid the light 
of the stars for a moment and then vanished.

A soft grunt behind him prompted Frodo to start moving again and he 
sent an apologetic look at Sam, but the feeling of cold evil did not 
leave him and he moved to Gandalf’s side, praying that the wizard 
might alleviate his fears. "Did you see anything pass overhead?" he 
whispered, watching the sky closely.

"No, but I felt it, whatever it was," Gandalf answered. At these 
words, Frodo glanced furtively at the stars, wondering if the shadow 
he’d seen was still out there. Seeming to sense his unease, Gandalf 
turned and gave the hobbit a half-hearted smile. "It may be nothing, 
only a wisp of thin cloud."

"It was moving fast then," Aragorn murmured from his position opposite 
Gandalf, and the chill and wariness in his voice sent shivers up and 
down Frodo’s spine. "And not with the wind."

 

 

I cyrch ad—The crows again

*This was lifted from page 113 of The Fellowship of the Ring, 50th 
anniversary Ballantine edition.


=============================================



Part 15


January 9, 3019 (Day)

For the day’s camp, the Fellowship stopped beneath the shadow of a 
tall, east-facing cliff and took shelter under the holly trees that 
grew thick at its base. Sam grumbled about the repeated use of the 
term shelter in describing this area, but aside from that, camp was 
made with a relative amount of quiet. Unfortunately, peace did not 
accompany this quiet, for all were still troubled by the crows from 
the previous day. Everyone seemed possessed of dark thoughts, and a 
feeling of foreboding had firmly settled upon the Fellowship. Legolas 
did not offer even one song during supper-breakfast. Gimli failed to 
rejoice in the elf’s silence. Boromir’s brooding stillness warded off 
all who might have thought about approaching him. Aragorn was restless 
and could not seem to leave off his constant pacing. Gandalf’s 
flashing eyes stopped all questions ere they could even be considered. 
Frodo periodically clutched at something beneath his tunic, and his 
face would become strangely blank from time to time. Sam had said 
nothing to anyone and had hummed no tunes as he prepared the morning 
meal. Even Pippin was subdued, unloading baggage with the rest of the 
Fellowship and making none of his usual attempts to shirk assigned 
duties.

So where does that leave me? Merry wondered, concluding his 
observations of the dour company. I stand with a plate of uneaten food 
while my mind wanders over my companions. I guess that I’m as upset as 
the rest of them. The plate of uneaten food was especially troubling 
to the hobbit. For as long as he could remember, he had never been so 
distressed that he could not eat. But now, that seemed to have 
changed, and Merry hoped this wasn’t going to become a habit. Eating 
was too important a hobbit custom to be thrown by the wayside because 
of some silly birds. Still, those silly birds have even Gandalf 
concerned, the hobbit conceded to himself.

"I consider this a singular event, Master Hobbit," a voice at Merry’s 
side suddenly observed. "Rarely have I seen one of your kind hesitate 
before eating. Are you ill?"

Merry blinked and shook his head, realizing that he was still holding 
a full plate of food and that his mind had wandered off without him. 
"Just…thinking," he eventually said, turning to Gimli as the dwarf 
watched with concerned eyes.

"A dangerous pastime for hobbits," Gimli remarked with a small smile. 
"Perhaps you should pursue safer things, such as eating. Strength 
shall be needed, for tonight we begin climbing the hills that line the 
base of the mountains. And it will be a cold night. The wind has 
returned to the east."

With a sigh, the hobbit nodded and made a show of at least picking at 
his food. Somewhat sheltered by the cliff face, Merry had not yet 
noticed which way the wind blew. But glancing at some of the trees 
overlooking the cliff, back-lit as they were by the lightening sky, it 
was not difficult to see that Gimli was right. The wind had returned 
to the east and was blowing out of the snow-capped mountains. Which is 
probably why it’s so cold right now, Merry thought with yet another 
sigh. I suppose I should be thankful for yesterday since it was warm, 
but those birds…it’s hard to be thankful for anything when you’re in 
constant danger.

"Merry, you are still thinking," Gimli said, his voice soft but firm. 
"There is a time and a place for that, but this is neither. Eat. The 
food shall warm you and give you strength for the journey. You can 
save your thinking for later today."

"Aren’t you the one who always complains about how much hobbits eat?" 
Merry asked with a forced grin at the dwarf, trying to regain some of 
his usual levity.

"Perhaps, though I think that job is more Aragorn’s than mine," Gimli 
answered, returning the hobbit’s smile. "Now, may I leave you to see 
to my own belongings, or shall I stay and force food down your 
throat?"

"I’m eating," Merry said quickly, taking a bite of some of the sausage 
that Sam had prepared. "And I promise that I’ll finish every last 
bite."

"And I can trust a hobbit to keep such a promise, of that I am sure," 
Gimli laughed. "Then I shall leave you to your duty, Master 
Brandybuck. I think Gandalf and Aragorn are looking for volunteers to 
watch the camp during the day, and I shall add my name to their 
discussion. I have not watched for a while, and if I am not mistaken, 
I should take one of this day’s watches. But I expect you to have 
finished your supper-breakfast and possibly seconds by the time I 
return."

Merry laughed quietly and dutifully turned to his meal. Once he 
actually began to eat, he found that his appetite was swift to return, 
and it was not long before he had cleared his plate and was looking 
around to see if any food had been left. Much to his excitement, 
Aragorn had declined supper-breakfast and Pippin had not yet noticed. 
Seizing upon this opportunity with hobbit alacrity, the Ranger’s meal 
was soon in front of Merry and disappearing with a speed that would 
put even Fatty Bolger to shame. It was not long before Merry was more 
or less full—something that had not happened in days—and the sun had 
just made it over the mountains, adding some warmth to the air. It was 
actually rather pleasant, and the morning began to take on much 
brighter outlook.

Setting his plate aside and patting his stomach appreciatively, Merry 
leaned back against a rock and studied the mountains. They were 
beautiful in a wild and untamed sort of way. Sharp peaks and fields of 
snow were outlined by the sunrise, and to a hobbit’s eyes, the jagged 
spires seemed an impossible obstacle. He wondered where this Gate was 
that Gandalf had been talking about the day before. Redhorn Gate, 
that’s what he said, Merry remembered. It’s probably that mountain 
that looks a little redder than the others. Must be a different kind 
of rock. Perhaps I’ll ask Gimli about it later.

"I see you’re having a nice morning." Pippin flopped down next to 
Merry and sent him an indignant glare. "While I helped unpack the last 
of the luggage, you’ve been watching the sunrise."

"Someone had to make sure the sun came up," Merry answered lazily. "If 
no one watches for it, how can we be sure that it will make it?"

"I don’t believe this," Pippin growled. "I’m enduring hard labor at 
Gandalf’s insistence and you’re waxing philosophic. You Brandybucks 
are a strange lot, there’s no mistaking that. What was that question 
you asked me once? Something about an elf and singing?"

"If an elf sings in a forest and no one is around to hear him, does he 
make a sound?" Merry supplied, closing his eyes and relaxing as the 
sun’s rays soaked through his cloak and warmed his skin.

"Of course he makes a sound."

Merry cracked his eyes back open and watched as Sam joined them in 
enjoying the early sun’s rays. "But how do you know he makes a sound?" 
Merry asked. "No one is around to hear it."

"The elf is around to hear it," Sam answered.

"But how do we know the elf is singing out loud?" Merry responded. 
"Perhaps he’s singing in his head."

"What a stupid question," Sam said at length after considering Merry’s 
words. Pippin nodded in agreement and Merry chuckled.

"I think that question came from old Bilbo, if I’m not mistaken. 
Frodo?" Merry pushed himself off his rock and glanced around for the 
Ring-bearer, quickly spotting him setting up his bed. "Frodo, do you 
remember the question about an elf singing alone in a forest?"

Somewhat surprised at being addressed and even more surprised by the 
question he’d been asked, Frodo looked up blankly and blinked. 
"Pardon?"

"You remember. ‘If an elf sings in a forest and no one is around to 
hear him, does he make a sound?’ Wasn’t that something Bilbo used to 
say?"

Still baffled by the strange conversation, Frodo nevertheless took a 
moment to think about it and eventually nodded. "Yes, that’s something 
he came up with after a rather long walk in the late evening. I think 
he’d met the elves that night, and having elves on his mind, he 
started to…well…I don’t know exactly what he started to do. But that 
question was the result of whatever he did with his thoughts."

"See?" Merry said, turning to Sam and Pippin.

"See what? I still say there isn’t a point to that question. And it’s 
not as if we can’t answer it right now. Legolas! Legolas, if an elf 
sings in a forest and no one is around to hear him, does he make a 
sound?"

Pippin’s query produced a variety of results, and Merry decided that 
Bilbo’s question had been worthwhile if only for seeing so many 
different facial expressions in a relatively short period of time. 
Legolas stared at Pippin as though trying to determine whether or not 
he had been insulted. Aragorn blinked and tilted his head to one side 
with a blank expression that was normal enough for the hobbits but 
quite humorous when seen on the Ranger. Gimli appeared completely 
baffled by the bizarre question, and for once the dwarf was studying 
the elf with a look that did not imply murder. Boromir’s lips were 
moving as he silently repeated the question to himself as though 
trying to make sense of it. And Gandalf was thoroughly and openly 
puzzled, something that almost cost Merry his composure.

"If an elf sings in a forest…" Legolas echoed slowly, watching Pippin 
carefully through narrowed eyes.

"And no one is around to hear him, does he make a sound?" Pippin 
finished, looking at the elf expectantly.

Legolas closed his eyes, shook his head, opened his eyes again, 
studied Pippin, and eventually turned to Gandalf and Aragorn. Aragorn 
shrugged helplessly and Gandalf’s brows drew together in 
consternation. "Peregrin, what is the purpose of such a question?" the 
wizard asked.

"Merry seems to think it’s important for some reason," Pippin 
answered, earning himself a jab in the ribs from the other hobbit.

"I didn’t say that," Merry grumbled, deciding that this had been more 
fun when everyone was looking at Pippin. "I was just talking about 
something that Bilbo had once told me. It’s supposed to be 
philosophical, but it’s not really that important."

Gandalf nodded slowly as if in understanding though his face was still 
curiously and hilariously blank. Legolas frowned and then shook his 
head, apparently deciding that the odd question was beneath his 
notice. With both the wizard and the elf dismissing the matter, the 
rest of the Fellowship returned to whatever they had been doing before 
the interruption. At least, most of the Fellowship resumed their 
previous activities. One did not.

"That is a curious question, Master Hobbit," Gimli said, his voice 
slow and deliberate. "What think you? Does an elf make a sound if he 
sings alone?"

It was Merry’s turn to be startled by the question, and he eyed the 
dwarf suspiciously, wondering if this wasn’t some plot to get in a sly 
jab at the elf. Am I daft? Of course this is aimed at Legolas. But 
what can I do about it?

Merry was spared the pain of answering his last question, though, 
because Pippin decided to speak up. "I say yes," the youngest hobbit 
declared. "If an elf is singing, he has to be making a noise of some 
kind. Otherwise, it isn’t singing."

"And it isn’t as if no one is around to hear him," Sam added. "He can 
hear himself, and I’ve heard tell that trees can hear elven songs. So 
he would have to make a sound or no one could hear him."

"Interesting," Gimli murmured with a quick glance at Legolas. "I would 
have said that an elf makes no sound when alone, for the fear of the 
unknown and of being caught without protection would have prevented 
him from making any noise. Instead, he would creep about in the 
shadows like a thing of cowardice and shame. However, you make a good 
point, Sam. If there is an audience, an elf will perform. He cannot 
help himself, for only by doing so can he maintain the fragile pride 
that arrogance has built for him."

"A dwarf would know much about maintaining a fragile pride, for a 
dwarf is ever cut down with almost each action and each word," Legolas 
said, his voice casual but his eyes hard as the edge of a knife.

Gimli seemed about to respond to that and things might have gone ill, 
for the dwarf’s hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. But 
Aragorn noisily cleared his throat and looked pointedly at both elf 
and dwarf. To their credit, neither continued the discussion, but dark 
glares were certainly not in short supply.

"Now look what you’ve started," Pippin hissed.

"What I started? It was Bilbo’s question. Anyway, you’re the one who 
brought it up."

"Well, you were the one trying to get the sun to rise."

"I didn’t get the sun to rise; it rose on its own."

"Then what was all that about watching to make sure it came up?"

"And it did come up, didn’t it?"

Pippin rolled his eyes, got to his feet, and stalked away, leaving 
Merry to grin widely after him. He’d missed these inane conversations. 
They hadn’t had one for a few days, and it was always fun to get the 
best of Pippin. Most of the time, Pippin had the advantage because his 
mind just seemed to work better when dealing with the abstract and the 
superfluous. But there were a few times, and this was one of them, 
when Merry achieved a victory of sorts. Merry didn’t know if this was 
a good thing or not, but it was certainly fun.

"If everyone has finished unpacking and settling for camp, it is time 
to establish the order of the watches," Gandalf spoke up. "And today, 
those on guard must be especially cautious. I fear we have not left 
the spies behind, and an alarm must be sounded if we are discovered. 
And before we have any discussion on this, both Aragorn and Legolas 
are forbidden from watching today."

Elf and Ranger blinked at this, surprised by both the statement and 
the sudden authority in Gandalf’s voice. "But if the crebain find us—" 
Legolas started.

"Then mortal senses will be just as accurate in determining that as 
elven senses," Gandalf answered. "You have both been up for the last 
few days and it is time to rest. Even elven princes and heirs of 
Isildur must sleep sometime."

Legolas and Aragorn exchanged uncertain glances as though wondering 
what had just happened. For his part, Merry decided that Gandalf had 
just relegated both warriors to the role of children without so much 
as a blink. The wizard’s tone and his words had sounded very much like 
Merry’s mother when she was trying to get him to go to bed. Trying to 
hide a snicker, the hobbit turned away and composed his face, knowing 
that mirth would only exacerbate the situation.

"That leaves, then, only four who did not watch yesterday," Boromir 
observed. "Myself, Gimli, Pippin, and yourself, Mithrandir."

"Then those who will watch have already been chosen. Pippin, you shall 
take the last one. I shall watch first, for I have need of thought. 
Gimli and Boromir, you may decide who shall take second and who shall 
take third."

"Third," Gimli piped up immediately.

Boromir shrugged. "Then I shall take second."

"Good," Gandalf proclaimed, taking out his pipe and lighting it. "As 
for the rest of you, I expect you to all get some sleep. The terrain 
shall become more difficult tonight, and we must all be well rested." 
This last was said with a sharp look at Aragorn and Legolas, something 
that almost cost Merry his composure once again. His mother had 
employed a look very similar to the one that Gandalf now used. And 
just as it had always worked for his mother, it seemed to be working 
for Gandalf. Legolas nodded curtly, his body language indicating that 
he had been highly offended but that he would comply, and Aragorn 
reluctantly inclined his head in acknowledgement of his own defeat. 
Merry wondered how long it had been since anyone had ordered either 
Legolas or Aragorn to bed like that.

"I bid you all a good day, then," Aragorn said. He turned away and 
moved as though to lie down, but then he paused, his eyes sparkling 
with sudden mischief. "Gandalf, I wonder if you would be so good as to 
tuck me in. It has been long since I was lulled to sleep by story or 
song."

"And it will be longer still, for you will get none from me," Gandalf 
retorted as the rest of the company, including Legolas, began to 
laugh. "Go to sleep or I shall send you to sleep myself. That goes for 
all of you," the wizard added with a piercing glance for each member 
of the Fellowship.

"If you’re looking for a song, Sam knows a great one about trolls," 
Pippin volunteered, much to Sam’s chagrin. "In fact, he wrote it 
himself!"

"But Aragorn’s already heard that one," Frodo pointed out with a 
muffled yawn.

"I would not be adverse to hearing it again," Aragorn answered with a 
chuckle as he stretched out on the ground, his head propped against 
his pack.

"Sleep!" Gandalf commanded testily. And this time, his command was 
heeded by all.

* * * *

Like wheeling specks of shadow contrasted by the bright blue sky 
behind them, a group of crebain soared over the silent land, working 
their way steadily northward. Passing swiftly, they would occasionally 
break into smaller groups, and some would dive toward the ground, 
pulling up at the last minute and flashing over several miles of 
rugged terrain before joining their brethren who hovered above them. 
Then a command would be given and the flock would move on to a 
different area, repeating the process several times before they 
eventually vanished from mortal sight far away in the north.

Coming out of a low crouch, Gimli sighed and shook his head. His watch 
had begun peacefully enough, but this was now the second party of 
crebain to fly past since Boromir had woken him. Boromir had mentioned 
that a flock far away in the east, almost next to the mountains 
themselves, had flown by while he stood guard, but there had been no 
other disturbances.

They grow ever closer, Gimli thought with a feeling of helpless 
frustration. His first group had also been quite near the mountains, 
but the crebain he had just tracked had been much closer to the 
Fellowship than to the towering peaks in the east. One breakaway 
scouting party had even come within less than a mile of the ridge 
against which the Fellowship had camped, and Gimli had been on the 
verge of waking the others so that they might seek better cover. But 
at the last minute, the crows had turned and flown back to the main 
group, giving the company a slight reprieve. But how long shall this 
reprieve last? the dwarf wondered grimly. It is as Aragorn has said; 
it is only a matter of time ere we are found.

It had actually been Legolas who’d made that prediction, but Gimli 
would sooner shave his beard than be caught in agreement with the elf. 
As such, his memory obligingly attributed the words to Aragorn, and 
thus all was right with the world. At least, all was right in matters 
pertaining to Legolas, but the same could not be said for matters 
pertaining to the safety of the Fellowship. If the crebain drew 
closer, the company would have to move. Yet movement would easily give 
them away, and where in this land could they find better shelter? 
There was no guarantee that the area further south would provide any 
more protection than their current position. And beyond that, if we 
move we shall have to keep near the road we took last night, for that 
is the path that leads to the Redhorn Gate. Yet the road is easily 
marked from the air, and we shall be easy to see.

Fingering the haft of his axe and wishing that a few of the crebain 
might line up so that he could release some of his impatience, Gimli 
searched the skies and began to pace. Dwarves were not adept at 
skulking and hiding. Open combat was their preferred form of warfare, 
and they cared little for what odds might be stacked against them in 
such a confrontation. But with the Ring-bearer to think of, Gimli had 
forced himself to accept the counsel of Gandalf and Aragorn in moving 
slowly and attracting as little attention as possible. Yet this 
sneaking about was beginning to takes its toll on Gimli, and his hands 
itched upon his axe. At least Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas had 
managed to release some of their energy upon two Wargs. He had not 
even been privileged to do that much, for Legolas had killed the Warg 
that had come upon the dwarf.

Elves always interfere in the affairs of dwarves, Gimli thought 
disparagingly to himself, disregarding the fact that without Legolas’s 
assistance, it was very likely that he would be dead. The dwarf glared 
at the prince of Mirkwood, starting slightly when it seemed as though 
the unblinking eyes turned his direction. It was merely a trick of 
light and shadows, as the wind had come up from the east and shook the 
branches of the tree under which Legolas was sleeping, but it was 
still rather unnerving and did nothing to improve the dwarf’s feelings 
toward the elf. And beyond that, son of Thranduil, I believe it was 
you who had the last say in our little argument, the dwarf mentally 
added, remembering both an encounter with a thorn bush and a brief 
rock-throwing contest that had taken place two nights ago. Surely you 
know that I cannot allow such a thing.

As if in encouragement, the wind came up again and the leaves parted, 
allowing a brief flash of sunlight to rest upon Legolas’s pack, which 
lay a foot or so away from his right side. It was far too perfect, and 
Gimli cast a quick glance in the direction of Aragorn and Gandalf. But 
they slept as soundly as did Legolas, and the dwarf was left to 
rationalize his decisions on his own.

It is harmless enough, and the elf more than deserves it, Gimli told 
himself angrily, disgusted at his hesitation. But even with all the 
odds in his favor and all the desires of his heart pleading for 
retribution, something stopped him. He could not say what it was and 
he could not tell from whence it came, but the dwarf was compelled to 
obey the warnings that filled his mind. Perhaps it was the presence of 
danger. Perhaps it was the words of Aragorn. Perhaps it was a 
combination of these plus other factors. But whatever the cause, Gimli 
stayed his hand and did not act against the elf.

Having made this rather momentous decision, the dwarf went back to 
watching the skies, and he continued to watch the skies for the 
remainder of his watch. After some time, a third group of crows passed 
over, but they came no closer than had the second group and Gimli saw 
little need to wake any of the Fellowship for the event. By the time 
the dwarf roused Pippin for his turn on guard—a task almost as 
difficult as resisting the temptation to act against the elf, for the 
hobbit was a sound sleeper—all was quiet again.

Perhaps a little too quiet, Gimli thought to himself even as he gave 
the bleary-eyed Pippin an encouraging smile and sought his own bed. 
Still, there was naught to be done about that, and the dwarf 
eventually drifted off to sleep, wondering why he had elected to spare 
the elf.

* * * *

Sam didn’t know which was worse—starting preparations on food and then 
packing it all up before it was even halfway done, or having to go 
without food altogether. Merry, Pippin, and Frodo would argue that the 
latter was by far the worst prospect, but Sam had a rather different 
outlook on things as the unofficially designated cook for the 
Fellowship. Preparing food for supper-breakfast was more of an art 
than a duty to the gardener, and being forced to cut the preparation 
short…well, it was an affront to his pride.

The Fellowship was currently creeping along the base of the cliff, 
flitting from shadow to shadow with stealth and fear. The afternoon 
had started out well enough. Legolas and Aragorn had just returned 
from their daily scouting trip, and all was playing out according to 
the normal routine when it happened. Legolas had stiffened, his eyes 
widening and his breath coming quickly. Gandalf had leaped to his feet 
and commanded everyone to take cover under the lowest tree they could 
find. Not a moment later, one of the largest groups of crebain that 
anyone in the Fellowship had ever seen flew overhead, some of the 
birds skimming so close to the ground that feathers snagged on 
branches. The entire event lasted no more than a minute or so, and 
after that the birds vanished. But the company had been decidedly 
shaken and Gandalf had ordered that camp be moved a mile south in case 
the birds circled back for a second look.

And if I’m not mistaken, he said to move a mile south about two miles 
ago, Sam groused, deciding that there were severe differences in the 
way that hobbits and wizards viewed things. For example, the word 
shelter seemed to be an area of much disagreement, as did the word 
obstacle and the phrase just over the next hill.

Fortunately for the disgruntled hobbit, Aragorn’s memory of Hollin led 
them to a thick copse of trees overlooking a steep gorge, and here 
Gandalf decided it was safe to stop. "It is not prudent to move before 
sunset, for eyes from on high shall easily see us should we attempt an 
early start. As such, let us take what rest we can as well as a bit of 
supper." The wizard nodded at Sam, indicating the hobbit should again 
start preparations for the meal.

Wondering how he could explain that one did not simply restart a work 
of art, Sam grumbled and dropped his pack to the ground, rolling his 
shoulders slightly. Beside him, Frodo chuckled and clapped the 
gardener on the back. "I’ll help, if it makes you feel any better."

Sam sighed and shook his head. "It’s not that, Mr. Frodo. I just…" He 
trailed off, still at loss as to how to put his feelings into words. 
It was a rather difficult challenge, particularly when he didn’t make 
much sense to himself, and so Sam eventually gave up. "It’s nothing," 
he said, waving his hand in dismissal. "I’ll just get supper-breakfast 
started."

"And I’ll help," Frodo added with a smile. "Even if you don’t want my 
help, Sam, you’ve got it."

The gardener frowned. "You don’t have no call to be—"

"Sam! Like it or not, you’re stuck with me."

Sam sighed, realizing that as stubborn he was, Frodo could be even 
worse. "All right, but if you get in the way, sir, there’s no 
accounting for what I might do."

"Valar have mercy upon me."

Frodo’s calculatingly dry tone managed to elicit a laugh from Sam, and 
he shook his head. "Right, then, sir. Let’s get this started. Now that 
everything’s packed up, we’d best stick to things as don’t take too 
much preparation. We can have some of those berries that Mr. Merry 
found just before we had to move camp. Strider said they’re fine 
enough for eating. And there are some sausages in my pack that I kept 
near the top. We can have that, too."

"But aren’t those sausages the last of our meat?" Frodo asked.

Sam looked about at the other members of the Fellowship, noticed that 
none of them were paying any particular attention to him, and then 
moved closer to Frodo. "Don’t tell Mr. Merry or Mr. Pippin, but 
Strider’s been keeping some dried meat for me in his pack. It should 
last us another week if we’re careful with it."

Frodo stared at Sam for a minute, and then a smile crept over his 
face. Not long after that, he began to laugh, trying to keep his mirth 
quiet but finding it difficult to do so. "Sam, you will never cease to 
amaze me. A spy, a conspirator, a poet, a camp chef, and now you’ve 
managed to keep a stash of food hidden from both Merry and Pippin. I 
don’t know what to call that, but you’ve earned my respect twice 
over." Frodo backed up and made a bow, much to Samwise’s eternal 
embarrassment.

"What’s going on?" a curious voice called from the side.

"Nothing, Merry," Frodo answered. We’re just talking about food."

"This day is full of surprises," Gimli muttered sarcastically.

"We’ll let you talk about rocks and you let us talk about food," 
Pippin said with a sleepy yawn near the side of the gorge. "Strider, I 
think I can see some more of Merry’s berries down there. Do you know 
of a way to get into this thing?"

"Aside from the direct route?" Aragorn asked with a chuckle. "If 
memory serves, the gorge rises up to our level twenty miles or so 
ahead of us, but unless you wish to travel all that way, backtrack the 
distance, and then make up for it with a faster march later, I fear 
those berries will have to go untouched."

"Besides, I’m sure we can find some more berries along the way," Frodo 
added. "And speaking of food, let’s get this meal started, Sam. I’ll 
dish out the berries while you cut up the sausage. You do trust me to 
hand out berries, don’t you?" Frodo added with a wry grin.

Sam shook his head and decided to ignore the comment, instead digging 
into his pack after the sausage. It took only a moment to find, and 
the next item he discovered was a knife. Testing the blade, the hobbit 
found it to be sharp enough for his purposes but decided that he 
should probably borrow Legolas’s whetstone in the near future. Using a 
small skillet as a cutting board, Sam went to work.

"Need any help?"

"You just stay on your side of the camp, Merry," Frodo ordered firmly 
before Sam could respond. "We’ll ask you if we need any help."

"It will be a cold day in the Southfarthing before we ask," Sam 
muttered beneath his breath, thinking of the spicy meat that Pippin 
and Merry had finished off while the rest of them had hunted for a 
Warg and Bill.

"What did you call these, Aragorn?" Gimli asked, examining one of the 
bright red berries that Frodo was passing out.

"Collameliu. Elrond’s son Elladan has a particular fondness for them, 
and we would often go out to pick them for lunch or as a treat in the 
middle of the night while I was growing up," Aragorn answered, his 
voice soft with memories.

"So it is from Rivendell," Gimli murmured. "’Tis no wonder, then."

"What do you mean?" Pippin asked, leaning over the side of the gorge 
for a better look.

"The elves in Rivendell are civilized. It is no great surprise to 
learn that they have edible food."

Sam stiffened and looked up at this comment. Standing slightly behind 
the dwarf, Legolas’s casual position made it appear as though he had 
not heard the words, but his eyes were dancing with a dangerous fire 
as they glanced everywhere except for at Gimli. "Merry, how did 
Bilbo’s question go?" the elf asked.

Aragorn sighed, Gandalf mumbled something, and Merry looked as though 
he desperately wished to be somewhere else. Not that Sam blamed him. 
He wouldn’t have minded being somewhere else either. "It was about an 
elf singing alone in the forest," Merry eventually said.

"If an elf sings in a forest and no one is around to hear him, does he 
make a sound? Was that not the question?"

Apparently not knowing what else to do, Merry nodded.

"Ah. Interesting," Legolas murmured, leaning back against a tree and 
turning his eyes skyward. "I suppose that the elves will be the only 
ones to ever truly know the answer to that question. But not all 
answers are within our grasp, I fear. For example, we have one 
baffling question among our people that concerns the dwarves."

"Legolas…"

Blatantly ignoring Aragorn’s warning tone, the elf continued as though 
only thinking aloud to himself. "It is strange question, and one for 
which I fear there will never be an answer. How did it go? Yes, I 
think I have it now. If a dwarf mines alone in a cave and is buried 
alive, does anyone care?"

Gimli’s slight rumble indicated that trouble was brewing, but Legolas 
was not quite done yet. Continuing to ignore the looks directed his 
way from both Gandalf and Aragorn, the prince folded his arms across 
his chest and smiled slightly.

"We have another question along much the same line, and I think I also 
remember it now. If a dwarf mines alone in a cave and a rock strikes 
him upon the head, is there a mind inside to affect?"

"To compliment that question, Master Elf, if the king of Mirkwood 
falls out of a tree, will the weight of all the gold that he wears 
drive him into the earth?"

Deciding that supper-breakfast was more or less a lost cause for the 
moment, Sam packed away the sausages and sat down to wait this out, 
knowing it couldn’t last indefinitely. Though they were being ignored 
now, eventually Gandalf and Aragorn would manage to silence both elf 
and dwarf. Or perhaps it would be Boromir who stepped in, for he 
appeared to be extremely uneasy and seemed to have developed a nervous 
twitch. Either way it worked, silence at least, if not peace, would 
return and then the meal could be resumed. But this is the second time 
today that I’ve had to stop in the middle of it, Sam complained 
silently to himself. If it’s not birds, it’s an elf and a dwarf, and 
if it’s not the elf, the dwarf, or the birds, then it’s Gandalf.

"At least the king of Mirkwood is able to rise above the earth," 
Legolas replied coldly, pushing off the tree and assuming a combative 
stance. "I fear that Dáin has not the ability to even rise from his 
bed, much less be able to comprehend the light of day. In this, 
dwarves are much like the servants of the Enemy, unable to endure the 
sun and forced to delve ever deeper into Arda."

"Legolas! Gimli!"

Aragorn’s words were sharp and filled with warning, but elf and dwarf 
seemed to be beyond any of the Fellowship now. Gimli had rounded on 
Legolas, his eyes narrowing and his hands clutching at the haft of his 
axe while Legolas had shifted all his weight to the balls of his feet 
and was moving one hand ever closer to the haft of his elven knife.

"You speak of what you cannot possibly comprehend, elf," Gimli spat. 
"It is for this reason that your people fade. You are too weak to 
endure the darkness and so cannot fight it. Your journeys to the sea 
is in reality the shameful retreat of the elves. You must flee because 
you are not strong enough to stay."

"Your mind is smaller than I first thought," Legolas hissed. "Have you 
ever considered why your kind burrow beneath the ground? Is this not 
the way of the helpless when the hunter draws near?"

"If we are to speak of helpless, than let us—"

But whatever Gimli had in mind to say was to be forever left unsaid, 
for even as the dwarf spoke, a sudden yelp and a terrified scream 
filled the air. As one, the Fellowship swung around and watched in 
horror while Pippin, who had managed to get himself a little too close 
to the edge of the gorge, lost his footing on loose gravel and began 
to fall. Aragorn immediately lunged, Boromir was running, Gandalf 
surged to his feet, Merry, Frodo, and Sam were racing forward, but 
they were all too far away. The only members of the Fellowship with 
any hope of reaching Pippin in time were Legolas and Gimli. Yet even 
they were too far from the hobbit. Both elf and dwarf dove for Pippin 
upon seeing what was happening, and aided by faster reflexes and 
longer legs, Legolas came within a hair’s breadth of seizing Pippin by 
the back of his tunic. But fate seemed to be against them all that 
day, and the hobbit tumbled out of sight.

Frozen in shock, the Fellowship stared at the gorge, unable to 
comprehend what had just happened. But fate was not yet finished with 
them as she had another card to play. Sprawled upon the earth next to 
Legolas, Gimli suddenly stiffened in horror. He shot to his feet, 
almost knocking Legolas over in the process, and then the rest of the 
Fellowship saw what had so alarmed the dwarf. The ground beneath him 
shuddered, and with a wide-eyed look of surprise and fear, he started 
to turn around even as the overhanging cliff broke away beneath elf 
and dwarf, unable to support their combined weight. Legolas scrambled 
backward, Gimli made a desperate lunge, but it happened too fast for 
either one to reach safety. With a groan and the unmistakable roar of 
cascading rocks, the earth crumbled away and Legolas and Gimli 
disappeared.

Another still moment passed, and then Aragorn shook off his shock and 
sprang to the cliff’s new edge. Immediately falling upon his stomach 
so as to more evenly disperse his weight, he eased himself forward and 
peered into the gorge. Sam felt a lump rise in his throat as he 
watched the Ranger, and at his side, Frodo’s face was pale with fear. 
A deadly silence fell, broken only by the clattering of a few more 
rocks that were sent to join their brethren in the base of the gorge. 
Waiting together for a fell pronouncement, all eyes were upon Aragorn 
as minutes ticked away and the sun sank behind the horizon. At length, 
approaching the Ranger with caution, Boromir cleared his throat. 
Aragorn sighed and began to shuffle away from the edge of the cliff, 
his face blank but his eyes filled with torment. A safe distance away 
from the gorge, he rose to his feet, turned to Gandalf, and shook his 
head slowly.

Sam heard Merry’s sharp intake of breath and almost reflexively seized 
the hobbit’s arm to prevent him from doing anything foolish. Frodo 
apparently had the same thought as he grabbed Merry’s other arm, and 
between the two of them, Sam and Frodo managed to keep the Brandybuck 
from rushing to the edge of the cliff. But it was a struggle and one 
that Merry was not willing to give up easily.

"What of them, Aragorn? What did you see?"

It was Boromir’s deep voice that finally broke the tense silence, and 
at his words, Aragorn sighed deeply and closed his eyes. "The gorge is 
too deep. I could not see them. Not in this light."

"We have to go down there!" Merry exploded, still pulling against the 
restraining arms of Sam and Frodo. Sam would not have credited the 
Brandybuck with this much strength, but as Merry slowly dragged both 
Sam and Frodo forward in his need to reach Pippin, the gardener 
quickly revised his opinion.

"Peace, Merry," Aragorn soothed, seeing the trouble that Frodo and Sam 
were having and coming to their aid. Kneeling before the distraught 
hobbit and placing his hands upon the small but tense shoulders, 
Aragorn caught Merry’s eyes and held them. "There is hope yet. The 
sides of the gorge are not sheer, and there is much foliage in the 
bottom to cushion their fall. If all goes well, they shall find their 
way out and meet us where the level of the gorge’s base rises to meet 
our own elevation." Aragorn then glanced over his shoulder at Gandalf, 
looking to the wizard for confirmation.

"I suppose it is our only real course of action," Gandalf sighed. 
"Come, then. We must be off."

"Wait," Sam interrupted, feeling thoroughly confused. "What are we 
doing? We’re not leaving them down there, are we?"

"We cannot reach them from here," Aragorn explained gently. "Our only 
choice is to travel to the mouth of the gorge. Thankfully this ravine 
parallels our path and we shall not be forced to travel far out of our 
way. And the denser brush shall hide us from unfriendly eyes."

"But what if they don’t meet up with us?" Frodo asked hesitantly. 
"What then?"

Aragorn and Gandalf exchanged glances. "We shall cross that bridge 
when we come to it," the wizard finally answered. "Now, let us be off. 
We now must travel even farther, and the Enemy is growing watchful."

 

 

 

Collameliu—A berry that grows around Rivendell and Hollin. My own 
invention, so apologies to Tolkien purists. The name literally means 
"red and sweet."

 

Well, I managed to finish this chapter off in a bout of creative 
energy that is going to cost me dearly on an upcoming midterm. Ah 
well. Sometimes the creative urge cannot be contained. Huge thanks go 
out to everyone who’s supported me and everyone who’s been kind enough 
to leave reviews. This is for you guys!

And to Allyse, nice catch on Moria. I wholeheartedly agree with you as 
per Thranduil’s initial misgivings concerning dwarves, and I will 
readily admit to being slightly sloppy in the last chapter as far as 
historical references went. I was more or less trying to get out 
something with which Legolas would be more familiar and something that 
would more relate to the future of the story rather than its past 
(namely Moria and Lothlórien). But you are absolutely right (at least 
in my opinion) in taking the feud further back than Celebrimbor and 
the Rings. Huge kudos for the obsessive tendencies, because I share 
them with you!!! ;)

====================


Part 16


Author’s Notes: Just as a warning, this chapter doesn’t contain the 
usual levity and light-heartedness that the other chapters do, but I 
felt that Gimli and Legolas needed some special attention. Anyway, 
hope you enjoy this next chapter and once again, huge thanks for all 
the reviews. They are a great source of encouragement!

 

 

 

January 9, 3019 (Night)

As a dwarf, Gimli was accustomed to many kinds of darkness. He had 
entered caverns where the only light was that of a flickering torch. 
He had endured midnight in caves when some mishap caused all lamps to 
go out and it was impossible to see even one’s hand before one’s face. 
He had marched through tunnels aided only by the feeble light of day 
as it hovered in the entrance as though fearful to venture further. 
Darkness and shadows were part and parcel of normal life to a dwarf, 
and Gimli had no particular qualms with this. That is, he had no 
qualms except for once specific type of darkness, and that was the 
darkness in which he now found himself. It was the darkness of 
unconsciousness.

It had taken a few moments for him to realize what had happened, and 
during those few moments of confusion, he had been on the verge of 
panic. The suffocating darkness of the mind had always held some 
nameless fear for the dwarf, though why that was he could not say. But 
now, as memories began to trickle back to him and he remembered the 
painful tumble down the side of the gorge, Gimli calmed a bit. If his 
mind could panic, he would probably be fine after a bit, and with a 
weary sigh, he resigned himself to what he knew had to be endured. 
Gimli did not like being unconscious. It was a sign of weakness, and 
dwarves took such weaknesses with an ill grace. In addition to this, 
Gimli also hated recovering from unconsciousness. The dazed, bleary 
feelings as well as various accompanying injuries never made it a 
pleasant experience, and it would take time for his wounded pride to 
recover.

To make matters worse, Gimli’s recovering senses were beginning to 
pick up a song floating just the other side of consciousness, and it 
didn’t take long for the dwarf to recognize the voice of the 
individual behind the singing. Must that elf be everywhere! he 
demanded. At the very least he could show some consideration for those 
of us who are not yet awake enough to cover our ears. In an attempt to 
ignore the hated song—a song that indicated Legolas was not only awake 
but also awake enough to sing and sing well—the dwarf tried to turn 
his mind to other things. But it is a noted and documented ability of 
elven song to drown out all other distractions, and despite his 
fervent wishes to the contrary, Gimli found himself being pulled into 
the bittersweet melody.

The dwarf knew none of the song’s words and the tune was unfamiliar, 
but there was still something about the melody that captured and held 
his attention. It was as though he drifted through time and space, 
reliving a past he did not know, seeing sights of wonder and glory 
that he had never seen, and experiencing a loss that had never been 
his. Curiosity began a war against pride and disgust, much to Gimli’s 
dismay, and he remembered the words his father had spoken against too 
much inquisitiveness. One of Gimli’s biggest faults lay in his rampant 
curiosity. Not that curiosity was a stranger among dwarves, but Gimli 
possessed it to an unusual degree and it now compelled him to listen 
and seek understanding.

Understanding?! And what am I to understand?! All elven songs are 
alike. They yearn for what they will never have, and then they throw 
their grief into music. Why should I be so intrigued about such a 
thing?

But as usual, Gimli’s curiosity could not be contained, and Glóin’s 
predictions on its dangers continued to bear out. Gimli had now lost 
interest in returning to consciousness and getting to his feet. 
Instead, the prospects of learning the secrets of an elven melody 
seemed far more appealing, and he began casting about for ways of 
casually asking Legolas for the translation of this song. And as his 
mind went about looking for answers, his body drifted closer and 
closer to the world of the conscious. Before he even knew what had 
happened, borne upon the wings of an ancient song from the younger 
world, Gimli was opening his eyes and sitting up.

The song died almost immediately, and shorn of its comforting 
presence, Gimli’s normal personality rocketed back into place. With a 
steely glint in his eyes and a dangerous anger directed at his wayward 
curiosity, the dwarf turned around and surveyed the scene before him. 
Legolas’s own flashing eyes met his, and the dwarf felt his anger 
shift in the direction of the elf. But then he saw the form cradled in 
Legolas’s arms. His anger vanished completely and fear took hold of 
him.

"Pippin?"

The still figure did not move, and Legolas glanced down at the 
motionless hobbit as suspicion and distrust faded from his fair face. 
"He lives, but he took a severe blow to the head," the elf murmured, 
tracing a gentle hand across Pippin’s brow. "He has yet to wake."

"And you thought singing to him would help," Gimli spat, starting to 
fold his arms across his chest. Unfortunately, his movements were 
arrested by a screaming pain from his right shoulder, and the dwarf 
abruptly realized that something was seriously wrong. Glancing at the 
questionable arm, he attempted to move it only to find that he had 
lost all feeling in his hand and fingers and that the limb was 
unresponsive to any commands.

"I notice that you are filled with answers and counsel," Legolas shot 
back while Gimli pondered his shoulder. "My most sincere apologies, 
Master Dwarf, for assuming that an elf would be able to do anything. 
Shall I give the hobbit to you and watch the wonders of your healing 
powers at work?"

The sharp words should have roused great anger in the dwarf, but they 
fell upon deaf ears this day. Part of the reason was that Gimli was 
still focused on examining his shoulder and coming to the rather grim 
conclusion that it had been dislocated. But more than that, the sight 
of a motionless hobbit in the elf’s arms had led the dwarf to ponder 
on the reasons for their fall from the cliff. The conclusions he had 
reached were not good, and a feeling of guilt was beginning to rise 
within Gimli. He should have sensed the disturbance in the earth and 
the weakness in the rock. He was a dwarf. It was in his nature to note 
such things. Yet he had not. His attention had instead been focused on 
arguing with Legolas, and his failure to protect Pippin was beginning 
to prick his conscience. It also occurred to him that had the elf not 
been so focused on their argument, he might have reacted swiftly 
enough to save Pippin and so prevent the fall. Yet even with Legolas 
sharing some of the blame, Gimli could not acquit himself and the 
feelings of guilt continued to rise.

Aragorn spoke truly. In prolonging our own dispute, we placed the rest 
of the Fellowship in danger. Alas that he was right, and alas that we 
allowed it to progress this far.

But despite his thoughts and his realization of what had happened, 
Gimli could not quite find it in himself to set aside his quarrel with 
the elf. Apart from the fact that Legolas was the son of the hated 
Thranduil, he was also insufferably arrogant and would assume that any 
retreat on the part of the dwarf constituted a victory in his favor. 
And such a victory, even if it was only a perceived victory, did not 
sit well with Gimli. Turning to eye the elf, Gimli cast about for 
words to say and eventually began to speak.

"As you already hold the hobbit, I shall not take him from you," the 
dwarf said, retorting to Legolas’s earlier comments. "It would be 
folly to move him overmuch. Instead, I shall give you a chance to 
redeem yourself. You may apologize for allowing Pippin to fall into 
this gorge and then you may carry him as we seek a way out of it."

"Apologize?!"

Had Legolas not been holding the hobbit, he might have attacked the 
dwarf then. The rage in his face caused even Gimli to take a hasty 
step backwards, but at the same time, Gimli realized something. Such a 
remark, though intended to provoke anger, should not have been that 
infuriating. He is ashamed, the dwarf suddenly realized. He is ashamed 
because he knows what I know. He knows that our quarrel led us down 
here.

"I have heard you boast many times that the dwarves are very much 
tuned to the rumblings of the earth and the groanings of stone," 
Legolas was saying when Gimli turned his attention back to the 
conversation. "Should it not have been you who sensed the crumbling of 
the cliff?"

"And what of superior elven hearing?" Gimli demanded, not about to let 
the elf shrug off any blame. "Should not you have heard the first 
pebbles fall?"

"Were not you standing closer to Pippin than was I?"

"Are not you the possessor of superior elven reflexes?"

Elf and dwarf fell silent, both seething with an anger that did not 
ring completely true, and it dawned on Gimli that they were not 
actually upset with one another. Rather they were upset with 
themselves. Yet it seems neither one of us is able to admit it, he 
sighed. By the Valar, how shall we escape the follies of pride!?

Gimli wondered if he should speak of this, but before he could even 
begin to formulate words, Pippin groaned in his sleep and Legolas’s 
attention left the dwarf. Freed from the piercing eyes of the elf, 
Gimli breathed a sigh of relief as though he had just been released 
from a grueling interrogation. Irritated at himself for showing such a 
reaction, the dwarf expectantly waited for some snide comment from the 
elf, but to his amazement, Legolas kept his silence and said nothing.

Feeling rather confused and also rather useless, Gimli glanced around 
and decided to look for his axe. This was actually the first thing he 
should have done upon waking, but his annoyance with the elf had 
somehow taken priority. Such a thing should not be, Gimli sighed as he 
began to wander about, peering into the underbrush. Truly Aragorn had 
reason to fear for us. Yet I wonder if it is not already too late to 
correct what has happened. Too many things lie between us now.

With a shake of his head, the dwarf grimaced and decided to 
concentrate on finding his axe, which seemed a far less daunting task 
than solving the problem of what to do concerning the insufferable 
elf. The axe was with me when I fell. Of that I am certain, he 
thought. Therefore, it cannot be too far from the place where I woke. 
Gimli hesitated for a moment and glanced back at Legolas. It would 
probably not take long for the keen eyes of the elf to locate the 
weapon, but the thought of asking for the prince’s aid made Gimli’s 
skin crawl and he shuddered. Berating himself for even considering the 
idea, he stubbornly poked around the underbrush, firmly ignoring the 
ache from his dislocated shoulder and also trying to ignore the 
presence of the elf behind him.

He eventually found the axe caught in a bush and partially buried by 
rock. It was an effort getting it out, particularly since he was 
limited to the use of only one hand now, but dwarven perseverance and 
stubbornness saw him through. Despite the awkwardness of the task and 
despite the pain from his injury, the axe was eventually secured again 
in Gimli’s belt. Mission accomplished, Gimli stalked back toward 
Legolas and discovered that the elf had resumed his quiet song and was 
now gently rocking the hobbit.

Gimli sighed, partially in annoyance and partially in resignation 
because he found himself once more listening to the music despite the 
clamors of his dwarven pride. There was something strangely comforting 
about it, and it seemed to clear his thoughts. Unfortunately, clear 
thoughts brought with them renewed feelings of guilt and shame as well 
as the realization of some unpleasant facts. He was trapped in a gorge 
with a comatose hobbit and a singing elf. And with his shoulder in its 
current state, he would remain trapped in this gorge with said 
comatose hobbit and singing elf unless he and the elf worked together. 
Neither option was a welcome prospect, but at least the latter notion 
of cooperation offered a way out. Besides that, there was his duty to 
Frodo to consider as well as his duty to the rest of the Fellowship. 
With a murmured oath, Gimli groaned, prepared himself, and then moved 
toward Legolas.

"Master Elf, I have words that I must speak."

The singing stopped and Legolas slowly raised his head, his expression 
guarded and his eyes wary. "Of what would you speak, Master Dwarf?"

He could at least try to make this easier, Gimli groused, forcing 
himself to stop glaring and adopt a more casual expression. "It seems 
to me that we have been caught in a rather unfortunate dilemma."

"Dwarven perception will never cease to amaze me."

Gimli bit back yet another surge of anger, and as he did so, he took a 
good look at Legolas and stopped, startled. Though his tone was 
sarcastic and bitter, the elf’s face was beginning to take on a look 
of grudging acceptance. Somewhat encouraged by this, Gimli pressed 
forward, eager to say what need to be said and so finish the 
discussion. "I hold no great love for you, that is no secret, and you 
hold no great love for me. But we are both bound by duty to protect 
the Fellowship. We must see to Pippin’s needs, and we must rejoin the 
others. In order to do this…" The dwarf trailed off and hesitated, 
wishing he could better read the elf’s face. "In order to do this," he 
eventually continued, "we shall have to work together."

A tense silence fell over them, but after several minutes of a 
searching stare, Legolas dropped his eyes and looked away. "You speak 
as Aragorn spoke," the elf sighed, anger now vanishing from his voice 
to be replaced with something akin to guilt. "And his words are words 
of wisdom. Would that they had been heeded. In this…in this, I fear 
that we are both at fault."

"So it seems that we are in agreement," Gimli reluctantly admitted. 
"Then for the time being, shall we set aside our quarrel?"

"For the time being," Legolas sighed, capturing Gimli with gray elven 
eyes that warned of assuming too much from this temporary truce. Gimli 
met the look with his own warning, and satisfied that the issue was 
settled, Legolas smiled a cold smile and nodded. "We should move soon. 
Pippin needs more care than what we can give, and the road is 
uncertain from here."

"Then let us depart, for a dwarf is always ready."

The elf muttered something in response to that, but it was far too low 
to make out and Gimli decided that knowing what had been said would 
probably only make the situation worse. Firmly disciplining his mind 
and trying to adopt a mental attitude of patience, he turned and began 
walking south, hoping he was moving in the right direction. He would 
trade his axe for a crossbow ere he ever looked to the elf for 
guidance.

He’d gone perhaps twenty steps before he realized that Legolas was not 
following him. Confused, he stopped and turned to find that the elf 
was examining him with the piercing stare that never failed to turn 
his stomach. "Is aught wrong?" Gimli demanded, uncomfortable with the 
intense elven scrutiny.

"Are you able to travel?" Legolas asked, his voice suspicious.

The dwarf frowned and tried to fill his voice with derision. "Is elven 
memory so fallible? I have just told you that a dwarf—"

"I asked not if you were ready; I asked if you were able."

Gimli would never be able to say exactly what forced the words from 
his mouth. Perhaps it was the sight of Pippin cradled in the elf’s 
arms. Perhaps it was the throbbing pain from his shoulder that was 
beginning to blur his sight. Perhaps it was the fact that his entire 
arm below the elbow had now gone completely numb and he feared damage 
to his fingers. Perhaps it was a combination of all these factors. In 
any event, somehow, despite all his dwarven heritage, he found himself 
speaking.

"I believe that my right shoulder is dislocated."

Once spoken, the words could not be retracted. Though his voice was 
soft, he had come to hold a grudging respect for Legolas’s superior 
senses, and he knew that the elf’s hearing had caught his murmured 
phrase. To his credit, he managed to keep his eyes locked onto the 
elf’s, and he watched as something that appeared to be surprise 
flitted through the bright, gray orbs. Then it was gone, replaced by a 
look that Gimli knew all too well. The elf was plotting something.

Realizing he had just severely disadvantaged himself, Gimli shook his 
head in disgust and turned away, intending to continue up the gorge 
and pretend that the last exchange had never happened. But he had not 
gone more than two steps when a sudden hand on his good shoulder 
stopped him. Completely startled, he jumped and started to swing 
around only to find himself stopped by a grip that rivaled the 
strongest iron of the Blue Mountains.

"Sit."

Much to his surprise, Gimli found himself obeying that voice. He 
didn’t exactly know why and his pride was sending up a rather violent 
series of protests, but nevertheless, he dropped to the ground and 
felt the elf kneel behind them. A light touched probed the injured 
shoulder and he could not quite keep back a hiss of pain when Legolas 
began to maneuver his arm.

"I have nothing to give you that might ease your discomfort," the elf 
said quietly, his voice carrying a strange mixture of resignation, 
confusion, and irritation. "I fear this will be rather unpleasant."

"Cease your talking and get on with it," Gimli growled, still trying 
to figure out why he was allowing the elf to help him.

"As you wish."

An arm suddenly wrapped itself around him and he was pulled back 
against a strong chest as the elf braced the dwarf against his own 
body. This was too much for Gimli and he began to pull away, but 
before he could get far in his attempt, his injured arm was suddenly 
yanked down, up, and then slammed back toward his body. With a 
strangled cry, the dwarf lurched forward only to be held upright by 
the elf behind him. For a moment they were frozen thus, still and 
silent, while Gimli wavered between unconsciousness and reality. Pride 
alone prevented the dwarf from swooning as he fought waves of pain and 
nausea, and after a long moment, his pride was rewarded as the world 
ceased to spin so violently.

"Master Dwarf?"

Gimli shook his head, sending up desperate prayers to the Valar that 
the shooting pain would not cause him to lose his supper-breakfast.

"Gimli?"

"My thanks for your aid, Master Elf," he grunted, pushing to his feet 
and extracting himself from Legolas’s hold. Feeling was returning to 
his right arm, and though tender, he could tell that it would now mend 
swiftly on its own. Brushing himself off, the dwarf gestured to the 
trail south, his eyes glinting with warning should the elf say aught 
of what had just happened. "Shall we continue? I do not think our 
companions will wait long for us if they decide to even wait at all."

Something that might have been a smile ghosted across Legolas’s face, 
but it vanished quickly and he nodded, rising to his feet and moving 
back to where he had left Pippin. Gathering the hobbit in his arms, 
the elf rose, turned to the dwarf, and inclined his head. "After you."

"As it should be," Gimli muttered, knowing his comment would be 
overheard and hoping Legolas would react to it so that he might have a 
reason to dislike the elf again. But much to his dismay, Legolas did 
nothing and simply waited for the dwarf to begin. Confused, 
bewildered, and injured, Gimli had no choice but to begin the march.

* * * *

Boromir was beginning to suspect that he was the only member of the 
Fellowship with a firm grasp on reality.

This idea had actually been with him for some time, but the actions of 
his companions this night were doing more to confirm his suspicion 
than had all previous actions on all previous days combined. They 
marched parallel to a gorge, the bottom of which even Aragorn could 
not see, and forsook the clear path of the road that would take them 
to their destiny. And for what? For the sake of an elf, a dwarf, and a 
hobbit who had fallen into the gorge just ere sunset. Boromir would 
have been more than ready to march the length of the ravine had anyone 
else fallen in, but considering the individuals involved in the 
accident, the son of Denethor harbored serious doubts about their 
ability to meet up with the rest of the company. If the elf and the 
dwarf have not already killed each other, they are probably only 
moments away from doing so, he thought sardonically with a shake of 
his head. The only one able to stand between them is Pippin, and I’ll 
wager half my father’s realm that he will only add to the problem.

Unfortunately, Boromir seemed to be the only one who had realized 
this, and so they marched haphazardly along the top of the ravine, 
forging their own path much of the time, in the hopes that they might 
be reunited with their missing companions.

I had judged Aragorn to be of sounder mind than this, Boromir thought 
with a hint of disappointment, glancing over his shoulder at the 
Ranger who had assumed Legolas’s usual place as rearguard. But then, 
Aragorn had grown up trusting in the strength of the elves, a strength 
that Boromir viewed to be naught but a myth of the past. To the men of 
Gondor, any race whose population consisted entirely of walking 
contradictions was a questionable race, a belief that immediately 
downplayed anything the elves might have to offer as well as casting 
doubt upon Aragorn’s judgement in revering them. And the Ranger’s 
judgement was now called into question again because of his belief 
that they would be reunited with their companions. It was an 
impossible dream! Legolas had demonstrated no willingness to let go of 
his quarrel with the dwarf, the stubbornness of the dwarves was 
legendary and Gimli possessed this stubbornness in spades, and 
Pippin’s lack of tact—as well as his uncanny ability to open his mouth 
at precisely the wrong moment—was certainly not going to help. Insofar 
as Boromir was concerned, if elf, dwarf, and hobbit did manage to 
catch up to the rest of them, it would be hard evidence that the Valar 
still played a very active role in Middle Earth.

With a sigh, Boromir turned away from his pessimistic thoughts and 
directed his attention up the trail to Gandalf. The wizard had just 
pushed his way into a small clearing and was stopping, apparently 
deciding that now would be a good time for a bit of rest. Boromir 
readily agreed with him. It was no easy task to forge one’s own trail 
through the thick brush that grew parallel with the gorge, and that 
last march had been longer than usual.

"What are we doing?" Merry demanded, speaking for the first time since 
they’d begun the night’s journey. "We aren’t stopping, are we?"

"Yes, we are stopping, Master Meriadoc, because running ourselves into 
the ground shall not help our friends," Gandalf answered, finding a 
convenient log and easing himself down. "It is doubtful that Pippin 
will be moving any faster than we are, if he is even moving at all."

"Why wouldn’t he be moving?" Merry asked, his voice sharp.

An uncomfortable silence fell until Aragorn shifted slightly and 
sighed. "It was a long fall, Merry. He may have been injured."

"Injured?" The hobbit shook his head emphatically. "Not Pippin. Pippin 
is never injured. He bounces back from everything."

There was yet another uncomfortable silence as the company tried to 
find a response to that. Frodo was the first to do so. "I’m sure 
you’re right. We’ll probably find him waiting for us at the top of the 
gorge wondering what kept us."

"Right," Merry said with a nod. "Then let’s get going."

"Now half a moment," Sam protested, trying to pick brambles and 
cockleburs out of Bill’s mane. "We’ve only just arrived here, and if 
Strider and Mr. Gandalf think that we’re making good time, then that’s 
good enough for me. Besides, I know for a fact that Bill could do with 
a bit of rest. There’s not much here in the way of a path for us, and 
forcing his way through everything is tiresome work for a pony."

"Sam is correct," Gandalf said, addressing his words to Merry. "A few 
more minutes shall provide us with better strength for the end of the 
road, and you will be grateful for that strength when it is needed. 
There are still great distances before us. Sit and rest for a moment. 
You do Pippin no good if you expend your energy worrying."

Merry mumbled something in response to this, but it was too low to 
make out. Nevertheless, the hobbit stalked over to a tree and dropped 
his pack, leaning against the wide trunk while the rest of the company 
spread out and made use of their brief rest.

"You do not believe we shall see them again."

Boromir nearly jumped out of his skin, completely unaware that Aragorn 
had come up behind him. Forcing his face into a mask of calm and 
fighting furiously with the indignation and anger that flared out of 
his surprise, Boromir turned around and cocked his head to the side. 
"Why do you say that?"

"It is plain to see for all who harbor the same doubts," Aragorn 
answered with something akin to a shrug. "You believe that the quarrel 
between Legolas and Gimli shall spiral into something that neither can 
control. You believe that they will never leave the gorge."

Boromir frowned. "Earlier, you expressed hope that we would meet them 
where the floor of the ravine rose to meet our level, yet now you say 
my mind is clear to those with similar doubts. What is your mind on 
this matter, Aragorn? Where do your thoughts lie?"

The Ranger smiled and laughed quietly. "You are your father’s son. A 
neat deflection, that."

Boromir shifted slightly, uneasy with the prospect that Aragorn seemed 
able to read him nearly as well as did Faramir. "You have not answered 
my questions?" he pointed out, uncertain of what else to say.

"True enough," Aragorn replied, apparently content to let the shift in 
conversation stand. "Where do my thoughts lie, you ask? I believe them 
to be equally balanced between hope and doubt. I hope that Legolas and 
Gimli may put their quarrel aside long enough for them to leave the 
ravine with Pippin. I cling to such hope, but hope is not without 
doubt. And in this case, doubt is unusually strong. I believe there is 
a chance that we shall be reunited ere long, but there is also a 
chance that tragedy will come of this." The Ranger sighed and glanced 
toward the gorge, his eyes briefly illuminated by moonlight as the 
clouds above them parted. "It is in their hands now, and I shudder to 
think what that might mean. Hopefully, a need to protect and shelter 
Pippin shall see them through. But that, too, is fraught with peril."

"I cannot say that I know much of elves, for it seems that lore in 
Gondor has strayed from fact concerning the Firstborn. But there are 
many tales in Gondor of the dwarves, and from what I have seen in 
Gimli, these tales contain much truth. Gimli will not suffer a blow to 
his pride if that is what cooperating with the elf will take."

"True, but stronger than pride can be loyalty and honor," Aragorn 
answered. "It is for this reason that I am less concerned with Gimli 
than I am with Legolas. Gimli has bound himself body and soul to this 
Fellowship. He will not forsake us. Legolas, on the other hand, is a 
prince in his father’s realm and has also inherited some of his 
father’s pride. He is a far more difficult individual. However, he is 
also rather protective by nature, and he sees the hobbits as helpless. 
Pippin’s presence might be enough to overcome his stubborn elven 
arrogance."

"But then again, it might not," Boromir said, finishing Aragorn’s 
unspoken thought.

"As I said before, it is out of our hands. We can only go to meet them 
and hope for the best."

"But if the best is but a faint glimmer along the horizon, would it 
not be better to make straight for the Redhorn Gate?"

"The road here is certain enough that both Gimli and Legolas can 
follow it with little difficulty. Even Pippin should be able to pick 
his way out of the gorge and follow our road for several miles after 
that, but by tomorrow night, that will all change. For part of the 
journey, the trail to the pass almost disappears entirely, and only 
one who has traveled it before might find his way. Neither Gimli nor 
Legolas has been in this area. Pippin has never been outside the Shire 
before now." Aragorn sighed and shook his head. "No, we must wait for 
them. And hope is not yet dead. There are reasons to believe that 
Gimli and Legolas might resolve their differences."

"As you say, Aragorn. You know them better than I," Boromir muttered, 
still feeling the cold fingers of doubt clutching at his heart. "But 
the crebain shall return come daylight. If we are forced to wait for 
our companions, we will not be able to wait for long."

"Are we ready to go yet?"

Aragorn sighed and glanced over at Merry, who looked no more rested 
now than he did when they’d first entered the clearing. "A moment 
more, Master Brandybuck," he called. "As Gandalf said, you shall need 
your strength toward the end of this night. We will begin a rather 
steady climb."

"Then shouldn’t we be keeping a steady march?"

"We should be keeping a steady march with intervals of rest," Gandalf 
said. "This is one of those intervals. Peace, Meriadoc. Your anxiety 
does not help us."

"Stopping isn’t helping Pippin or Gimli or Legolas," Merry returned.

"They’ll have to stop, too," Sam broke in, picking the last of the 
cockleburs from Bill’s mane. "It won’t do any good to reach the head 
of the gorge while they’re still in the middle of it. Then we’ll have 
a long wait with nothing to do, and I don’t know as I could take 
that."

"Besides, if we keep with a steady pace, we’ll be able to keep 
moving," Frodo reasoned. "And then the birds will have a harder time 
finding us because we won’t be in the same spot for very long."

"The hobbits echo my words," Boromir murmured to Aragorn. "Listen to 
them. We must keep moving. If we do not find our missing companions 
when we reach the area where the gorge rises, what then? Shall we 
wait? And if so, how long shall we linger? How much danger shall we 
risk for the sake of an elf, a dwarf, and a hobbit."

"I have no answers to your questions," Aragorn said quietly. "It may 
be that we need not worry over such things. Perhaps all will go 
according to plan."

"Fortune is too fickle a mistress to trust that everything will go 
according to plan," Boromir argued.

"Perhaps, but upon occasion, she will reward those who trust in her," 
Aragorn answered. "And since there is naught that I can do to remedy 
the situation, I shall place my faith in her. A fool’s choice, no 
doubt, but a choice that has served me well in the past."

"You, perhaps, but shall it also serve the rest of us?" Boromir asked.

"Who can say? Let us put it to the test." And with that, the Ranger 
smiled and turned away, moving toward Gandalf.

I was right, Boromir decided, watching as Aragorn began speaking with 
the wizard. I am the only one in the company who has a firm grasp on 
reality.

* * * *

For some strange reason, Legolas was utterly fascinated by the 
creature walking before him. He would never admit to this fascination 
and he allowed none of his preoccupation to show upon his face, but 
nevertheless, he was very much intrigued. The dwarf was still 
suffering from a tender arm, but he did not allow this injury to slow 
his progress as he hoisted himself over logs and scrambled across 
loose gravel. It greatly surprised Legolas that Gimli should be doing 
so well, and this surprise had triggered his elven curiosity.

Sure-footed and armed with an inborn grace, Legolas followed the dwarf 
easily enough despite the sleeping hobbit in his arms. Occasionally a 
tricky bit of maneuvering was called for and Pippin would have to be 
shifted about. During these times, Gimli would stop and wait with an 
air of impatience, but he would say nothing and his eyes betrayed none 
of his feelings. This was also a source of great curiosity to the elf, 
who was usually quite good at judging emotions based on facial 
expressions. But the dwarf had become a challenge to read this day, 
and the prince of Mirkwood was quite fond of challenges.

That is how I see him, then, Legolas said to himself, trying to 
account for the fact that he was not feeling his usual irritation 
around the dwarf. I see him as a challenge. When we return to the 
company, I doubt not but what his rough speech and uncouth ways shall 
once again try my nerves and my patience.

His emotions now explained to his satisfaction, Legolas continued to 
divide his attention between Gimli and Pippin. Unfortunately, while 
watching the dwarf was somewhat entertaining, watching the hobbit was 
sobering. Pippin had murmured a few words shortly after their fall 
into the gorge and he had moaned occasionally during the beginning of 
the hike, but for the last two hours, he had been completely silent. 
Legolas did not know what to make of this for he was quite unfamiliar 
with mortal failings. The fall had failed to knock him unconscious as 
it had Gimli and Pippin, and he’d been at a loss as to what to do for 
them. Thankfully the dwarf was hale and walking on his own. Carrying 
the hobbit was tiring, and Legolas shuddered to think of what carrying 
the dwarf would do to him.

Pausing for a moment while Gimli navigated a collection of fallen 
trees and scattered rocks before them, Legolas shifted Pippin in his 
arms and called softly to the hobbit. As before, there was no response 
and the elf was now becoming even more concerned. There was no fever, 
and Legolas assumed that to be a good sign, but if Aragorn was any 
example of a mortal’s ability to recover from unconsciousness, then 
Pippin should have woken long several hours ago. Feeling the 
beginnings of frustration building within himself, Legolas did the 
only thing he could think of. He began to sing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gimli stiffen when the song 
began, but surprisingly enough, the dwarf said nothing and continued 
on his way after a bit. Legolas now followed, carefully scrambling 
over debris but never ceasing his quiet melody. The prince had noticed 
once in Rivendell that elven song seemed to have a soothing and 
quieting affect on mortals. More often than not, after a session of 
music in the Hall of Fire all mortals in attendance would have to be 
roused and sent to bed. Legolas now hoped that his song might reach 
through the layers of unconsciousness and call to Pippin, luring him 
into a safer state of rest and easing his spirits so that his body 
might relax and begin to heal itself. Legolas didn’t know if this 
would actually work, but he could think of nothing else to do.

At length, Legolas made it past the pile of upturned trees and brush. 
He stopped and glanced up at the sides of the gorge, wondering what 
had happened to make these cliffs so unstable. They seemed to come 
across a landslide every mile or so, sometimes more often than that. 
The elf considered asking Gimli about the structure of the rocks and 
whether or not that might be a factor, but he discarded that 
suggestion quickly. It was one thing to travel with the dwarf under a 
flag of truce. It was an entirely different thing to begin asking for 
his opinion.

And so the journey continued in a strained silence. Curiosity once 
again pricked, Legolas began wondering whether or not the silence was 
grating upon Gimli’s nerves. Dwarves were not know for their patience, 
and the tense atmosphere that followed them was probably doing nothing 
for Gimli’s temper. It would not take much to anger him, Legolas 
reflected, thoughts of mischief beginning for form. But fortunately 
for both of them, Legolas shook his head clear of such ideas. Now was 
not the time to be testing a dwarf’s patience. They had companions to 
find and a hobbit to tend.

"How fares Pippin?"

Legolas nearly jumped, completely surprised by the dwarf’s voice. 
Gimli had said no word to him since they left the sight of their fall, 
and in return, Legolas had said no word to the dwarf. But their 
unspoken vow of silence was now broken, and the elf hurriedly 
collected himself.

"He still does not wake," Legolas answered, brushing his hand across 
Pippin’s forehead.

"Strange," the dwarf mumbled. "I would have expected him to be up and 
about by now. If nothing else, hobbits are resilient." Gimli studied 
elf and hobbit for a moment and then frowned. "Set him down."

Legolas felt his pride flare to life. He did not take orders from a 
dwarf, and Pippin had become his charge. Why should Gimli know more 
about the hobbit’s care than he? Because the dwarf is also mortal, a 
voice in the back of his mind scolded. Now put your foolish pride 
aside and set the hobbit down.

With a sigh, the elf reluctantly gave in to common sense and knelt, 
propping the hobbit against him. Gimli knelt beside them and placed 
two fingers against Pippin’s neck, checking his pulse. The dwarf 
waited a moment, grunted, and then ran his hands carefully over 
Pippin’s head. "He was struck behind the ear," Gimli announced after a 
bit. "And his heart rate seems slow to me. We should probably stop 
soon and let him rest without being jostled. Dawn is perhaps an hour 
away."

"An hour and a half, actually," Legolas corrected, feeling a flash of 
irritation at the implication that he was jostling the hobbit about. 
Anger flared in Gimli’s eyes, but he blinked quickly and the rage 
vanished as quickly as it had come. You are controlling your temper 
well this night, Legolas observed, somewhat impressed by the dwarf’s 
restraint.

"An hour or an hour and a half, either way it makes little 
difference," Gimli answered, his voice strained. "I suggest we stop at 
the next likely campsite and wait out the day."

"I can hear a spring of some sort about a mile up the ravine," Legolas 
said with a slow nod, though it pained him to be caught in agreement 
with a dwarf. "If we intend to stop, it would be best if we do so 
there. But I do not wish to spend the entire day motionless."

"It is too dangerous to move during daylight," Gimli argued.

"This gorge provides cover that is not to be found on the levels above 
us," Legolas pointed out. "I believe we could travel without fear of 
spying eyes."

"That is well and good, but if you are proven wrong, we will have 
brought danger upon the Fellowship through our haste."

"If I am proven correct, then we will cause the Fellowship no further 
delay," the elf answered, feeling irritation build within him yet 
again.

Gimli muttered something in his own tongue and seemed about to go on, 
but then he stopped and shook his head. "Let us not discuss this now. 
Later will be soon enough. Come. I would find this spring of yours so 
that we might refill our water skins. And mayhap a cool drink will 
wake the hobbit."

"Mayhap," Legolas allowed. "Continue, then, but bear to the right 
where possible. The sound of water comes from the west."

The dwarf nodded slightly and turned away, soon losing himself in the 
thick underbrush of the gorge. Once again, Legolas gently cradled 
Pippin in his arms and groaned slightly at the effort it took to carry 
the hobbit. While Pippin was not particularly stout, he was still a 
burden and one that was beginning to tell on Legolas’s strength. And 
more than that, he was a burden upon the elf’s heart, for a fear was 
beginning to grow in the prince that Pippin might not wake. He had 
seen head wounds turn fatal, and Gimli had now confirmed his growing 
suspicion that Pippin should have already recovered from this. At the 
very least, he should have opened his eyes by now.

With Gimli temporarily out of sight, Legolas allowed his façade of 
elven invincibility to drop, and he shook his head in frustration as 
his shoulders slumped. There were two things that never failed to 
upset Legolas. One was the feeling that he had lost control of a 
situation. The other was the feeling of helplessness. To an extent, he 
now felt both insofar as Pippin was concerned. He did not have the 
knowledge necessary to treat the hobbit, and his inability to find a 
solution was maddening.

Perhaps hope shall be borne on the light of the dawn, Legolas sighed 
to himself, composing his face once more as he hurried after Gimli. 
But until then, I fear I shall have to live with my doubts and my 
worries. Would that Aragorn were here. The dwarf is useless. But 
then…so am I.

And with this rather humbling thought, Legolas sighed and decided that 
he had done far too much thinking for one night.

====================================


Part 17


January 10, 3019 (Day) 
The Fellowship of the Ring—or rather, what was left of the Fellowship 
of the Ring—stopped for camp a safe distance from the edge of the 
gorge beneath the thick trees and brush that had made forward travel 
an obstacle each and every step of the way. The air was cold and 
winter’s chill grip was felt by all as they huddled beneath cloaks and 
blankets. There was also a hint of snow in the air, or so Gandalf 
thought, and he glanced meaningfully at Aragorn, hoping to resume 
their discussion on which path they might take to cross the mountains.

For his part, the Ranger was studiously ignoring the wizard, wrapped 
in his dark, tattered cloak and puffing away on his pipe with an air 
of contentment that was decidedly at odds with the mood of the rest of 
the company. Valar, but we are a grim lot today, Gandalf sighed, 
surveying the downcast faces. Frodo and Sam were working silently on 
the morning meal, their natural hobbit optimism quiet and subdued. 
Boromir was shining the edge of his shield, which would have been 
normal enough had it not been for the fact that he’d shined it the 
previous evening. There’d been no time for it to collect dust or 
grime. And as for Merry…

The wizard grimaced and turned to look at the hobbit. Merry was not 
faring well. The loss of Pippin was a grievous blow, and he was still 
not thinking clearly. He’d protested adamantly against stopping to 
make camp for the day, pleading that they continue the journey to the 
head of the gorge. Patient explanations on the part of both Gandalf 
and Aragorn had done very little to help him, and it was only after 
Sam and Frodo had stepped in that he finally relented. After the brief 
argument, he’d spoken no words to anyone—which was somewhat 
concerning—and had shown no interest in food—which was completely 
alarming.

I can recall only a few instances in which hobbits have refused food, 
Gandalf thought to himself, his mind scanning his vast memory for 
every tale and scrap of lore that he knew concerning hobbits. And 
considering how much time he’d spent studying them, this was quite a 
bit of information. Yet for all my knowledge, I know of no way to aid 
Merry. Hobbits will refuse food when sick or grieving. Merry is not 
sick—at least not yet, though he will become sick if he keeps this 
up—and he is not grieving for he continues to insist that Pippin is 
alive and miles ahead of us.

Gandalf rubbed his temples and leaned against the rock behind him. Had 
Merry been a Baggins or a Proudfoot or a Hornblower, he would have 
been much easier to distract and cheer. But things were never that 
simple. Merry was a Brandybuck, and as a Brandybuck, his mind worked 
in a manner slightly different from that of other hobbits. He kept his 
concentration and his focus for the most part, and there was a 
practical spin to his thoughts that was difficult to sidetrack. Of the 
four hobbits in the Fellowship, he was probably best suited for this 
journey, yet now he was the one who seemed to be suffering the most.

Although it is clear that we all suffer in our own way, the wizard 
conceded, glancing at Sam and Frodo. Their complete silence was an 
indication of how deeply troubled they were, but at least they had one 
another and were using one another as comfort. Merry, though he had 
the company of friends, was choosing not to take advantage of it. Yet 
another problem with the Brandybucks, Gandalf sighed. Self-sufficient 
and independent to a fault.

"We do learn something from this experience," a voice at Gandalf’s 
side remarked.

The wizard turned a questioning gaze on Aragorn. "And that would be?"

"That we are a Fellowship. Somehow during the course of this haphazard 
journey, we have learned to care for one another."

"I could have wished for a different situation to illustrate this 
principle," Gandalf replied.

"I suspect we would all say the same, but nevertheless, at least we 
may take comfort in this." Aragorn sighed and shook his head. "I 
suppose you shall be dispensing a morsel of your immortal wisdom to us 
soon."

"And what morsel would that be?" Gandalf asked.

"Worry not when worry cannot help," Aragorn answered with a slight 
shrug. "You have repeated it for me often enough, and the 
circumstances seem to warrant another repetition. This group is 
replete with anxiety, yet such feelings are certainly no help to us. 
In truth, I am rather surprised that you have not spoken earlier."

"The thought did occur to me," Gandalf admitted, smiling slightly at 
the fact that Aragorn knew him so well. "And yet there are times when 
withholding wisdom is also accounted wise. There is another morsel of 
immortal wisdom that I have undoubtedly shared with you. Lecture not 
when the lecture will not help. My words on this matter would have no 
affect on Merry, a limited affect on Frodo and Sam, and you and 
Boromir already understand the principle."

"Still, it is unlike you to let such an opening pass."

The wizard arched a bristling eyebrow at this. "And what mean you by 
that?"

"Only that you seem to enjoy inserting your wisdom and opinion at 
every available opportunity as well as opportunities that are not so 
available," Aragorn answered with a small smile.

Gandalf gifted Aragorn with one of his darker glares but decided that 
such a ludicrous notion did not merit a verbal response on his part. 
Instead, the wizard turned his attention back to the Fellowship. Frodo 
and Sam were rolling out blankets, Boromir was still shining his 
shield, and Merry was leaning against a tree muttering angrily.

"I did not think Merry was in the habit of speaking to himself out 
loud," Aragorn murmured.

"He is not," Gandalf said. "If aught has happened to Pippin, I fear 
what it may do to him."

"You have placed great faith in the stamina and resilience of 
hobbits," Aragorn said. "Think you that it shall fail Merry?"

"I hope not, but under the shadow of the Misty Mountains, hopes are 
sometimes but the dreams and wishes of fools. Merry is strong, but 
when he set out on this quest, he did so with the assumption that 
Pippin would make the journey beside him. I do not think that he ever 
considered what would happen should he lose Pippin. The hobbits are 
not warriors. They have not faced the prospect of death as you have, 
Aragorn. Their innocence is falling away now, but as it disappears, it 
takes a piece of them with it."

"I would that they could have remained safe and innocent within the 
Shire," Aragorn whispered. "For years have the Rangers guarded the 
hobbits, and it gave us pleasure to do so. But now it is the hobbits 
upon whom hang either salvation or doom. A strange twist of fate, 
that, and one that none could foresee."

"Indeed," Gandalf murmured. He was silent for a moment, watching the 
camp, and then he turned back to Aragorn. "Have you given any thought 
to our road beyond the end of the gorge?"

"We must follow the main highway," Aragorn said. "There are other 
roads through Hollin, but most are overgrown now. The pony would not 
be able to endure them. Our current path is a great trial for him."

"But soon we shall reach a place where another road diverges from the 
highway and makes for the darker way. Where then?"

Aragorn’s eyes darkened and he looked towards the mountains, silent as 
the stone that he contemplated. "Either way, our path seems cursed," 
he said at length. "I begin to wonder if we should not have simply 
taken Goblin Pass and come down by way of Mirkwood."

"We would have been forced to travel many more leagues, and time is 
not a luxury that we have."

"But shall we sacrifice safety for time?" Aragorn challenged.

"Perils await us on all roads south," Gandalf shrugged. "We must weigh 
our ability to endure said perils against the danger of allowing time 
to slip by, enabling the Enemy to further strengthen his forces. In 
any case, Goblin Pass now lies far behind us. There are only two roads 
to consider unless one counts Gap of Rohan, and I counsel strongly 
against taking Frodo so close to Saruman."

"As do I," Aragorn murmured. He was quiet for a moment and then 
sighed. "You know already my thoughts concerning the darker road, and 
they have not changed."

"The weather is not to be trusted," Gandalf warned.

"Nor is the darkness."

"It is possible that the darkness has been dispelled."

"Then why has Dáin heard no tidings from Balin and those who went to 
retake Moria?"

Gandalf sighed and shook his head. "There are many reasons for 
messages to be delayed. Unsafe roads and mishaps along the way have 
caused many letters to be lost."

"For over a year?" Aragorn asked with raised brows.

"It is possible."

"Then let me put forth the idea that it is also possible that the 
weather shall not prove to be as formidable an opponent as you think 
it will be."

"You are intent upon Caradhras?" the wizard questioned.

"Something dark lives still in Moria," Aragorn whispered, his voice 
taking on a strange note and his eyes growing distant. "There is evil 
deep within the hearts of the mountains, and that evil does not sleep. 
Alerted to our presence and the presence of that which Frodo bears, I 
fear what may happen. There is great danger in the mines, Gandalf." A 
tense silence fell, broken only by the soft swishing of a pony’s tail 
and the sound of cloth rubbing against the rim of Boromir’s shield. 
Eventually, Aragorn shook his head and seemed to return to himself, 
though Gandalf could only wonder where his mind had previously been. 
"I heed your advice, and I hearken to your counsel. But my heart warns 
against Moria. On this topic, I have nothing further to offer you."

Gandalf frowned and drummed his fingers against the comforting wood of 
his staff. Moria was certainly not his first choice of roads, but the 
ancient dwarven stronghold seemed to strangely unnerve Aragorn. Yet 
the wizard was at something of a loss to explain why. "Well, I suppose 
such a decision need not be made today," he finally said. "The weather 
is unpredictable, and mayhap we shall see a change for the best 
tomorrow."

"Mayhap. How shall we arrange the watches?" Aragorn asked.

"I think we will be best served by an early start this afternoon," 
Gandalf said, noting the marked change in subject. "Thus, I suggest 
only three watches. In place of the fourth, we shall take our meal and 
pack our camp. Then we shall once again set out on the road. The brush 
is thick enough here that our travels may go unnoticed."

Aragorn nodded and glanced around at the other members of the 
Fellowship. "Then I wish to take the last watch. Perhaps I can learn 
the movements of our enemies and guide us away from them while 
daylight lasts."

"I will take the first watch, then," Gandalf said. "As for the second, 
I counsel that Boromir take it. He…" The wizard stopped for a moment, 
wondering how to put this into words. "It appears that he needs 
something to do."

The Ranger laughed and glanced toward Boromir, who seemed to sense 
that he was the subject of conversation and favored both Aragorn and 
Gandalf with a dark glare. "I will tell him, then," Aragorn offered. 
"And then I suggest that we all turn in for the day. The hobbits, 
especially could use the rest."

"You will find no quarrel with me on that," Gandalf sighed. "I only 
hope that the hobbits choose to sleep."

"They shall," Aragorn said, a strange light twinkling in his eyes. "I 
have already seen to that." And before Gandalf could ask what he 
meant, the Ranger had moved off and was making his way toward Boromir.

"If you did what I think you did," the wizard muttered to himself, 
"then I have no wish to be present this evening when the hobbits 
wake."

* * * *

With a groan of relief, Gimli knelt and lowered his injured shoulder 
into the cooling balm of a natural spring. The frigid water numbed the 
dull ache that had plagued him since Legolas had popped the joint back 
into place, and the dwarf closed his eyes as his body relaxed now that 
the grip of pain was gone. He had been hard-pressed upon the trail to 
maintain the grueling pace he’d set. His arm had been—and still 
was—quite tender, and pushing thick underbrush out of the way had been 
a telling trial. More than once he’d wished to stop and rest for a 
bit, but the knowledge that Legolas was behind him pushed the dwarf 
ever onward.

Gimli glanced behind him into the brush where he had last seen Legolas 
tending to Pippin. He would have to take care that the elf did not see 
him in such a vulnerable position or he would never hear the end of 
it. The dwarf was reasonably confident that Legolas had no intention 
of leaving Pippin’s side, but one could never truly tell with elves. 
They could change their loyalties and their minds upon the flip of a 
coin, or so Gimli had been taught.

Sighing, the dwarf shook his head and slowly got to his knees, drying 
his shoulder as best he could with his cloak. The ache began to return 
as the numbness faded away, but it felt somewhat better. The swelling 
was also slightly abated, too, which was a great relief. The arm would 
be more serviceable come evening when they set out again.

Laboring to his feet, Gimli picked up the water skins he had come to 
fill and headed back to where they had chosen to camp for the day. Or 
rather, it was where Legolas had chosen to camp for the day, insisting 
that water was a target for unfriendly eyes and they would do well to 
stay at least a stone’s throw away from the stream. Gimli had 
reluctantly agreed with the logic but was silently fuming that these 
thoughts had not first occurred to him. He was no stranger to the open 
road and had endured his share of hardships on journeys, but he had 
been so relieved to stop and rest that his mind had not been clear.

I have relaxed my guard once, Gimli thought to himself. It shall not 
happen again, especially while I travel with an elf. Apart from the 
obvious embarrassment of being upstaged by Thranduil’s son, Gimli did 
not trust Legolas and half-expected the elf to turn on him ere they 
could rejoin the others. His mind knew it was a rather implausible 
prospect and he was coming to have a rather grudging respect for the 
elf’s abilities, but his heart and his prejudices had been formed long 
ago by elders and teachers who hated the elves with a deep and abiding 
passion. He could not throw such beliefs to the wind despite all 
Aragorn’s assurances to the contrary. And Legolas’s own behavior had 
certainly not helped.

Finding the elf and Pippin was certainly not a problem, even though 
Legolas had found a good place to hide during the day. The sounds of 
an elven song led Gimli directly to them, and he wondered if he should 
point out that Legolas’s singing might very well draw other, less 
welcome ears toward their position. But even as he considered the 
idea, he discarded it. Though the dwarf might be loath to admit it, 
Legolas was a capable warrior and knew well the perils associated with 
traveling in the wild. He would cease his song when it became 
dangerous. And more than that, Gimli was actually coming to like the 
singing…

The dwarf shook his head furiously and ducked under the fallen log 
that blocked the entrance to their secluded camp. Glóin would have 
choice words to say if he knew that his son had developed a fondness 
for elven song. Moreover, I do not like it, Gimli told himself firmly. 
I enjoy it merely because it is a distraction from the silence. An 
irksome little voice in the back of his head laughed uproariously at 
this, but Gimli studiously ignored it. The elf was still as annoying 
and troublesome as ever. That would never change no matter how much he 
might sing; Gimli was sure of it.

"How is he?" the dwarf asked as he dropped the water skins next to the 
elf.

"Still no change," Legolas answered, a slight note of frustration 
coloring his voice. "Master Dwarf, unless you can do more for him, we 
must break camp this afternoon and reach the top of this ravine. I 
fear any delay will hamper Aragorn in his efforts to heal Pippin."

"We have already discussed this, Master Elf," Gimli said, sitting 
himself down as far away from Legolas as possible without actually 
leaving the shelter of the camp. "It is not safe for us to travel 
during daylight—"

"But within this ravine, it may be feasible," the elf shot back. "At 
the moment, it is more dangerous for Pippin to remain here."

"But Pippin’s fate is not what must be considered," Gimli answered, 
hating himself for saying it but knowing it was the truth. "It is 
Frodo whose safety takes priority, and if we endanger him, all is for 
naught."

"We will not endanger the rest of the company if we take care," 
Legolas insisted, his eyes flashing. "The birds are our primary 
concern, and I can see them long before they see us."

"But you are carrying the hobbit and your attention is divided," Gimli 
argued, feeling anger build within himself. "One slip and the entire 
mission is ruined!"

"There will be no such slip," Legolas said coldly.

"You cannot guarantee that, elf."

"I believe you are merely afraid, dwarf."

Gimli rumbled ominously deep within his chest and rose to his feet, 
eyes darkening as he glared at Legolas. "Choose your words with care, 
son of Thranduil, or you will have more than an injured hobbit to care 
for."

"This hobbit would not have been injured were it not for your 
arrogance," Legolas shot back. "In this, you have inherited more from 
your father than just stupidity."

Anger flaring into a roaring fire, Gimli shot to his feet, his hands 
clenching and unclenching at his sides. "And you are so lacking in 
nobility that I cannot even be sure it was Thranduil who sired you, 
though you have clearly inherited his short-sightedness. Perhaps it 
was your father who was less than scrupulous. Was your mother truly 
the queen of Mirkwood, Master Elf?"

Pippin apparently forgotten, it was now Legolas’s turn to leap to his 
feet, gray eyes the color of storm clouds as one hand moved toward the 
knife on his hip while the other unconsciously shifted Pippin out of 
the way, situating him on the elf’s other hip. "For that you shall 
suffer dearly, dwarf," the incensed prince hissed. "Your miserable 
life is not payment enough for the words that you have uttered."

Gimli’s hands fastened themselves upon his axe as he shifted his feet 
into a combative stance, but even as he did so, a tiny warning bell 
went off in his head. With his heart yearning for blood and his hands 
itching for violence, Gimli almost ignored it, but for some reason, he 
stopped. And as he did so, other warnings began to go off. Dwarven 
senses acutely tuned to the murmurs of Arda had begun to clamor for 
attention, and with a shiver, Gimli lowered his axe and took a step 
backwards. Distanced now from the elf, who had traded his expression 
of anger to one of puzzlement, Gimli took a deep breath and closed his 
eyes, trying to determine what it was he felt.

There! That is what I sense! But why should I…oh great Mahal! Not 
again! Gimli’s eyes snapped back open, all grievances with Legolas 
forgotten as one terrifying command overtook his mind and subsequently 
his voice. "Run!"

Not pausing to see if Legolas obeyed, he grabbed the water skins and 
tore out of the camp like a thing possessed, racing up the bottom of 
the ravine as fast as his legs would carry him. And above him came the 
telltale sounds of a crumbling cliff-face. Rocks and boulders groaned 
as they ground against one another while dust splayed down into the 
ravine until the air was choked by it. Coughing heavily, Gimli slowed 
his mad dash as sight became impossible and wondered how close he was 
to the slide. He considered stopping as it was now nearly impossible 
to continue forward, but a hand suddenly seized his good arm and he 
was jerked onward.

"Do not stop, Master Dwarf," a muffled voice ordered. "Safety lies 
ahead of us."

Pride roared to life, but Gimli’s common sense shoved it aside. 
Legolas was right. This was no place to stop, and if he wanted to see 
another day, he would have to trust to the superior senses of the elf. 
But how can even he penetrate this dust? Gimli wondered as he heard a 
hacking cough and felt a shudder from the hand that gripped his arm.

Still, Gimli have very little choice in the matter and was dragged 
inexorably onward, stumbling over unseen obstacles and brushing 
against trees, boulders, and whatever debris Legolas was guiding him 
through. Rocks were rolling about his feet now, and several times he 
stumbled only to have the elf haul him upwards again. The roar of the 
slide indicated that the brunt of it was almost upon them, and Gimli 
started to speak but was interrupted when he was jerked sideways and 
pressed against a firm rock wall.

"Lie still," Legolas ordered, and Gimli felt the elf press Pippin 
against him. "We are—" The elf was interrupted by a series of violent 
coughs, and then all sound was drowned out by the noise of rocks 
filling the ravine.

The dwarf hugged Pippin close, pushing him against the rock that 
sheltered them and placing his own body between the hobbit and danger. 
Pebbles and sharp rocks skittered about them, but the main barrage was 
diverted to either side of them. Apparently Legolas had found a rise 
and a sheltering boulder to hide behind, though there was still the 
danger that an errant rock could leap the protective barrier and crash 
down upon them. Sending up a prayer to any Valar that would listen, 
Gimli squeezed his eyes shut and waited for disaster to strike.

But fortune had decided to favor them this day, and after several 
minutes of mind-numbing cacophony. The noise died away and silence 
fell, broken only by the sound of a few stray rocks bouncing their way 
down the new cliff-face. Scarcely daring to believe that they had been 
spared, Gimli blinked his eyes open and sneezed. Managing to stifle 
the coughs that tickled his throat, he glanced about and sighed in 
relief as he noticed the dust was settling. Beside him, Legolas was 
curled up in a tight ball with his hands over his head and his breath 
coming hard. A rockslide was probably not something the elf 
encountered often, and Gimli felt a flash of amusement as he noticed 
that Legolas was trembling slightly.

"Master Elf?" he questioned, glancing to his right as another rock 
tumbled past.

The elf stopped shaking and slowly lowered his hands, raising his head 
tentatively to eye the situation. "It is over?"

Gimli nodded and eased himself away from the large boulder that had 
saved them, coughing as he did so. There was still much dust in the 
air, and he and the elf would do well to leave the area as soon as 
possible. "Are you injured?" he asked, noticing that Legolas was slow 
to right himself.

"I am unhurt," the elf replied, his voice curt.

"Then come," Gimli said, picking Pippin up and trying to situate him 
in a way that required no support from his injured arm. "We must find 
clearer air, and this disturbance will have been heard for miles."

"It seems we are moving sooner than either of us expected to," Legolas 
murmured, stepping to Gimli’s side and taking Pippin from him. "Your 
shoulder still bothers you," he said in answer to the dwarf’s dark 
glare. "Allow me to carry the hobbit. We travel faster this way."

Pride once again warred with common sense, but as before, common sense 
won out and the dwarf reluctantly nodded. Turning, he began picking 
his way through the rocks that now littered the ground, treading 
carefully lest one turn underfoot and cause a sprained ankle. The last 
thing he needed was another injury.

"Gimli?"

The dwarf stopped and turned around, surprised. Legolas rarely used 
his name when addressing him. "Yes?" he asked, his eyes suspicious.

"Our…disagreement almost prevented you from sensing the rockslide," 
the elf said, his voice strained. He coughed and then shook his head, 
blinking at the dust. "I do not wish for that to happen again. And I…I 
thank you for warning me."

Now thoroughly surprised, Gimli stared while grasping vainly for some 
kind of answer. It had obviously taken quite a bit for Legolas to say 
that, and he could keenly sense the elf’s discomfort. "You are 
welcome," he murmured at length, noticing that he was on the verge of 
another series of coughs. Gimli hesitated then, unsure of his next 
words, and ultimately blundered forward. "Thank you for guiding me."

Legolas gave a terse nod, his eyes not meeting the dwarf’s. "We are 
even, then, but let us take care to see that we meet with no more 
distractions."

"Agreed," Gimli said, wondering at himself. "If that is all, Master 
Elf, let us continue. This dust is not good for Pippin." And with 
that, unable to look at Legolas any longer, Gimli turned back around 
and resumed the journey. If nothing else, this side trip into the 
ravine was proving…interesting.

* * * *

As the last sounds of falling rocks died away, Aragorn pursed his lips 
and shook his head. That had not sounded good, and the Ranger could 
only imagine how much dust and debris now filled the bottom of the 
ravine. Judging from the noise, the slide had taken place about a mile 
back, and Aragorn hoped that Legolas, Gimli, and Pippin had been well 
beyond it. But if they had been hampered by injuries… Aragorn 
grimaced. He did not want to think about the implications.

Beside the Ranger, Boromir let out a slow breath. Like Aragorn, the 
noise had roused him from a restless slumber, and he now watched as 
dust rose out of the ravine, clouding the sky and blocking sight. "If 
they were caught in that, I do not think much of their chances," 
Boromir murmured, sounding as though he spoke more to himself than to 
anyone else.

"We must hope that they avoided it," Gandalf said, leaning against his 
staff and staring into the dust as though it might show him their lost 
comrades. "To think otherwise is only to invite doubt and despair."

"Is not doubt an integral part of prudence?" Boromir asked.

Aragorn sighed, sensing the beginning of the debate that had taken 
place late last night. He did not want to argue this again. There was 
nothing to be gained from it, for the hobbits—and Merry 
especially—would allow no other course to be taken so long as they 
retained an inkling of hope that Pippin survived. And beyond that, 
Boromir’s words stirred the haunting doubt in Aragorn’s own heart. For 
the moment, his uncertainty was balanced by his hope, but it was a 
tenuous balance at best and more pessimism on Boromir’s part might 
well tip the scales.

"What would have us do, Boromir?" Gandalf asked. "We may well 
entertain doubts, but of what use are they? We are bound by the duty 
of friendship to seek our lost companions. Think you that you are 
capable of persuading Merry, Frodo, and Sam to turn another direction? 
Can you find it in your heart to turn aside yourself?"

"I do not counsel abandoning them," Boromir said, his tone becoming 
angry. "I am not one to leave a comrade by the wayside, and I am 
insulted you thought otherwise."

"Peace, son of Denethor," Gandalf said, waving his hand in dismissal. 
"It was but a challenge, not a reflection of my thoughts. I have no 
doubt but what you are a man of loyalty, for such are the teachings 
and policies of Gondor even at the end of its glory. Yet you have no 
answered my question, Boromir. What would you have us do? You counsel 
prudence and remind us that doubt exists, but you have not stated your 
purpose for doing so."

"I would look further ahead than simply the ravine’s end," Boromir 
answered, slightly mollified. "You know as well as I, Mithrandir, that 
there is little chance of ever seeing our comrades again. If they are 
not waiting for us when we arrive, how long shall we wait for them? 
And even if they do survive to climb out of the ravine, what makes you 
think that they shall expect our coming? Perhaps they shall head for 
the main road and resume the journey, thinking that we did likewise."

"Legolas will not make that assumption," Aragorn said, reluctantly 
deciding to involve himself in the conversation. "He knows we will 
make for a likely rendezvous. At the very least, I will be waiting for 
them. As his friend, I owe him no less. Indeed, I owe him a great deal 
more."

"That is well and good, but what of Frodo? What of that which he 
bears? Shall It also tarry, waiting for companions we might never see 
again?" Boromir shook his head, his mounting frustration evident. "We 
cannot separate, for we are already few in number. We cannot leave 
some behind to wait while others go ahead. Yet judging from the feel 
of this company, you would have use wait out the rest of the Age. 
Gondor is strong, but even she will not last that long."

"Your fear is misplaced," Gandalf said. "We will not wait long. An 
hour perhaps, or two. After that, we shall depart on our road."

Aragorn blinked and stared at the wizard. "An hour would require them 
to be keeping time with us, and would assume they had no injuries or 
problems to delay them. Surely we must give them more time than two 
hours!"

"To my mind, more than an hour is far too much," Boromir said. "We 
carry the fate of the world, Aragorn. We cannot tarry for an elf, a 
dwarf, and a hobbit."

"That elf, dwarf, and hobbit are bound up in our fate," Aragorn shot 
back, feeling the bite of anger and trying to force it back.

"Aragorn, if our friends escape the ravine but we have already left 
the area, then Legolas and Gimli should be able to find us," Gandalf 
interjected. "Both are capable trackers. If they escape the ravine and 
find us waiting for them, so much the better. And Boromir, two hours 
is not so great a time to wait for lost comrades. It will give our 
hobbit friends a chance to rest before we begin climbing into more 
arduous terrain, and it will be necessary for their morale. Your 
concern is admirable, my friends, but both of you must realize that 
sacrifices are required. We will not tarry less than an hour, yet we 
shall not prolong our wait for more than two hours." The wizard stared 
at both Boromir and Aragorn for a moment and then nodded, apparently 
satisfied with what he saw. "Now that this is settled and behind us," 
both Aragorn and Boromir made faint sounds of disagreement at this, 
but Gandalf studiously ignored them, "I counsel rest. There is still 
an hour left to my watch, and you would be wise to use that hour well, 
Boromir, ere it is your turn."

"So long as keep in mind that Frodo and the mission are of paramount 
importance," Boromir said darkly with a glance at the hobbits. His 
brow furrowed and he frowned, shaking his head. "It is beyond me how 
any creature can sleep so soundly. Surely the rockslide would have 
roused them."

At this, Aragorn discovered that he could not quite keep back a short 
laugh, and he smiled helplessly when Boromir turned a questioning gaze 
upon him. "They need sleep," the Ranger explained with a shrug. "Their 
thoughts will be clearer if they are well rested."

"They will not easily forgive you for this," Gandalf warned.

"A Ranger is used to being disliked, and I am no exception to this," 
Aragorn answered, his mind flashing back over a long lifetime of 
trying experiences. "The disapproval of the hobbits will be no great 
concern."

"You drugged them," Boromir surmised, his eyes narrow.

"Merely something to aid their slumber," Aragorn said. "Fear not, 
though, for it is not potent enough to hinder them should we need to 
move during the day for any reason."

"I wondered how it was that Merry was sleeping," Boromir muttered.

"You should follow his example," Gandalf said, pulling out his pipe 
and searching his pack for pipe-weed. "We have far to travel, and your 
strength will be needed in the days ahead."

"You seem to have taken a keen interest in our sleeping habits," 
Aragorn noted, though he did move toward his bed where his cloak 
served as both mattress and blanket.

"Perhaps I am simply weary of ill-tempers caused by lack of sleep on 
your parts," Gandalf retorted.

"And what of irritable wizards?" Aragorn asked.

"If you continue this conversation, you might very well create one."

The Ranger laughed quietly but did not press the issue, choosing 
instead to lie down and follow the counsel he had been given. In any 
case, he was not truly in the mood for banter, and he sensed that 
Gandalf felt the same. Their mirth was forced, and their hearts were 
elsewhere. Tonight will tell, Aragorn sighed, closing his eyes and 
forcing his mind and body to relax. I pray you remember my words, 
Legolas and Gimli, for if you do not work together, you sacrifice not 
only yourselves but also Pippin.

* * * *

He was first aware of a gentle rocking motion, something so soothing 
that for a long time, he made no effort to collect any more 
information concerning his surroundings. It was such a comfort to 
simply lie still and be rocked as vague memories of home and family 
awoke, memories so distant that they seemed to come from another 
lifetime. But his attention span was shorter than most, and it wasn’t 
long before Peregrin Took decided that he was bored with simply 
rocking back and forth. So he moved on to bigger and better things.

It didn’t take him long to discover that, while bigger might be the 
case, better was certainly not. His next discovery was a feeling of 
dust and grit clogging his mouth, his nose, and his eyes. This was 
coupled by a pounding headache that would have surely been heard by 
everyone in not only the Great Smials but the entire West Farthing. 
The ringing in his ears was shrill enough that it stood a good chance 
of drowning out the voice of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins should the two 
sounds ever compete. The rocking motion was no longer as pleasant as 
it had been before, because it seemed to exacerbate his headache. In 
addition to that, his stomach had decided to join the party by 
announcing its intent to send whatever contents it had hurtling up his 
throat and out his mouth. Pippin quickly came to the decision that 
things would have been best had he simply been content with the 
initial rocking motion. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do 
about that now.

"Pippin?"

The outside voice rang through his head like a siren, echoing back and 
forth until finally dying away. The hobbit moaned pitifully, wondering 
just how bad things were going to get, and then the voice sounded 
again.

"Peregrin Took?"

If Pippin wanted that voice to stop, he was going to have to respond 
to it in some way. Otherwise, it would probably keep calling him until 
his brains assumed the consistency of one of Sam’s stews. Putting all 
his hobbit endurance and tenacity behind this single objective, Pippin 
concentrated and eventually his eyes fluttered open.

The world that met him was strange and disorienting. The sky above 
might have been blue in color, but Pippin couldn’t tell as dust hung 
thick in the air. He heard a muffled coughing sound and then his body 
decided to follow his suit. By the time his lungs finished expelling 
the fine particles that had collected in them, Pippin was ready to cut 
his throbbing head off.

"So he is awake."

The voices—and Pippin had eventually recognized that there were two 
distinct voices speaking from time to time—were softer now and didn’t 
hurt his head so much. But the hobbit was having trouble placing 
himself and could not recall exactly what had happened. Thus, he 
needed to speak to these voices and have them explain things, so he 
tried to hold his vision steady and focus on nearby objects.

This proved to be more of a challenge than it should have been. 
Pippin’s sight was strangely blurred, and looking at any one thing for 
a long period of time made him dizzy. On top of that, the world seemed 
to have developed a crazy spin, and at times, the hobbit was certain 
that he was upside down.

"Pippin, can you speak to us?"

The voices were getting louder again, and Pippin detected a note of 
growing concern. This wouldn’t do. If they became too concerned, they 
would undoubtedly start shouting, and the hobbit didn’t want to 
imagine what that would do to his head. Concentrating as much as was 
possible given the pounding behind his eyes, Pippin refocused his 
energy and his determination, tried to make his mouth move in a 
semi-coherent manner, and finally managed to spit out a rather garbled 
sentence.

"What happened?"

Pippin felt a chest move with a silent sigh of relief and abruptly 
realized that someone was carrying him. That explained the rocking 
motion. "You were hit on the head during the rockslide that took us 
into the ravine," someone said. "How do you feel?"

Well that’s a silly question, Pippin scoffed. How do you think I feel? 
But he didn’t voice these thoughts out loud, for the small amount of 
tact that occasionally graced Pippin’s mind had decided to make an 
appearance. Instead, he started running back over his last moments of 
consciousness as gaps began to fill themselves in. Ah, he thought. Now 
I remember. A rockslide. That makes sense, then. I think. It would 
explain my head and—wait a minute… What rockslide?

"Pippin?"

"Still here," the hobbit mumbled, noting that it was becoming easier 
to speak. "How…how long was I unconscious?"

"A day and a half," the rougher of the two voices answered. "I feared 
you might never open your eyes again, Master Hobbit. It seemed that—"

"Pippin, can you see me?"

Unfortunately, Pippin was trying to answer that question himself. The 
blurry world was still tilting precariously to the side as though at 
any moment all of Arda might slip into the sea, and to make things 
worse, there was at least two of everything. Pippin could now tell 
that figures were hovering above his body and that one of these 
figures was still holding him, but he couldn’t tell anything beyond 
that. He didn’t know how many people were around, who they were, what 
they were doing, or where they were. Still, there’s probably only two 
people here, because only two people have spoken, but that’s no 
guarantee.

"Pippin?" the softer voice prompted again.

"I…what happened?"

"I already answered that question, Pippin. In return, please answer 
mine. Can you see me? Do you know who I am?"

Pippin decided that he was at a severe disadvantage and that it was 
terribly unfair for this voice to be exploiting that. Apparently the 
owner of the voice could still see. He couldn’t and was now being 
forced to admit it out loud. "No to both questions," he finally said, 
wincing as shame crept over him.

A rather uncomfortable silence fell, and then the gruff voice spoke 
again. "We should continue. The dust here is still thick."

"Wait!" Pippin interrupted just as he felt the rocking motion begin 
anew. "Wait, where am I? Who are you? What happened? When did—"

"I am Gimli, Master Hobbit. As for what happened and where you are, 
you hit your head while falling down a ravine and now travel in the 
company of myself and the elf," Gimli answered. "We are still in the 
ravine and are hoping to reach the top soon where we shall rejoin the 
rest of the Fellowship. It is currently sometime in the middle of the 
afternoon."

"Oh," Pippin murmured, his mind clicking away with this latest 
information. "No one else is around?"

"Nay, I fear you are forced to endure our company," Legolas answered, 
his hand gently sweeping Pippin’s hair away from his forehead. "Do you 
feel ready to travel again, my friend? Or shall I wait until you are 
better prepared?"

"No, you can go," Pippin answered. "The sooner we get out of here, the 
better."

"Tell me if your sight improves," Gimli instructed. "Aragorn shall 
wish to know all the details of your injury."

That’s assuming I ever see Strider again, the hobbit thought 
despairingly. He couldn’t think of a worse pair to be caught with, and 
he was slightly amazed that they hadn’t killed one another already. 
Probably waiting for me to wake up so Legolas can put me down. Gimli’s 
too honorable to attack while the elf is carrying me. I guess I’ll 
just have to play sick until we get out of this canyon, or ravine, or 
whatever it is. And that won’t be too hard to do, he added as a wave 
of nausea swept up from his stomach. He shivered slightly and hoped he 
hadn’t been fed anything recently.

"Are you well, Pippin?" Legolas asked, apparently having felt the 
hobbit tremble.

"Fine," Pippin mumbled, wondering for the first time if he really was 
fine. But it didn’t really matter, after all, because no matter what 
his condition, there wasn’t a lot that could be done about it right 
now. So in true hobbit fashion, Pippin shoved all questions regarding 
his health to the back of his mind and ignored them. "Let’s go. I 
don’t want to spend any more time down here than I have to."

"Believe me, young hobbit, when I say that I heartily share your 
wish," Legolas whispered, and with this rather unnerving statement, 
the world began to rock and the journey began once again.

 

 

Mahal—Dwarven name for Aulë


=====================


Part 18


Author’s Notes: Just to warn you all, this is, without a doubt, the 
LONGEST chapter I have ever written! So for those of you who like it 
short and sweet, my apologies. To others who like it long (I’m 
thinking of you, kneidinger), enjoy!

 

January 10, 3019 (Night)

Merry was not a happy hobbit.

He had not intended to sleep during the day, thinking he could 
encourage the others to make an early start by staying awake and 
serving as a reminder that three members of the Fellowship were still 
missing. But a great drowsiness had come over him even as he 
positioned himself on the outside of camp, and before he knew what had 
happened, he was being shaken by Aragorn and told to rise for supper. 
Or supper-breakfast. Or whatever it was being called now.

Confused and bewildered, Merry had obeyed almost automatically, but he 
could only manage a few bites before worry for Pippin swiftly closed 
back in. Leaving his meal unfinished—a blaring klaxon that all was not 
right with the hobbit—and packing his things quickly, he had stalked 
to the edge of camp and tried to look expectant in the hopes that this 
would encourage others to follow his example. It was then that the 
soft conversation between Frodo and Sam came to his ears, and after 
hearing that they, too, had fallen asleep far too quickly for their 
own liking, it did not take long to figure out what had happened.

Aragorn had been immediately confronted by all three hobbits, and when 
the Ranger admitted that he had slipped something into the hobbits’ 
water skins, Merry had come very close to screaming. Fortunately, he 
remembered their need for secrecy before the wail of frustration could 
escape, and instead of screaming, he gave Aragorn his darkest glare 
and stalked back to the edge of camp. It would be a long time before 
he trusted the Ranger again. It would be an even longer time before he 
let him anywhere near his food. That is, when he started eating food 
again…

"Merry? Will you be all right?"

The hobbit looked up in surprise, not having realized that he had 
acquired company. "I’m fine," he said tersely, glancing at Frodo and 
then looking away again.

Frodo made a faint noise of disbelief and stepped in front of the 
other hobbit, forcing him to meet his gaze. "You’re not fine. Even 
Bill can sense that! But that wasn’t really my question. I asked if 
you will be fine."

Merry scowled. "How am I supposed to know that? Don’t tell me that you 
can now read the future."

Frodo sighed and shook his head. "I’m not trying to be your enemy, 
Merry; I’m trying to be your friend. But I can’t help you unless 
you’re willing to help yourself. And that’s why I asked if you’ll be 
all right later. But if you’ve already decided that you won’t be, then 
I can’t do anything for you."

"You’re not making any sense," Merry said stubbornly, attempting to 
keep his sour mood.

"Yes, I am, and you know it. So stop fighting me and figure out the 
answer to my question. Will you be all right?"

For a long time, Merry glared at Frodo and hoped that the force of his 
glare would send the Ring-bearer somewhere else. But when Frodo showed 
no signs of moving, Merry eventually gave up and looked away, sighing 
softly. "I don’t know," he murmured. "I don’t know whether or not I’ll 
be fine."

"At least you haven’t ruled out the possibility," Frodo said, gently 
placing a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. "That’s good."

"He’s down there somewhere," Merry whispered. "I know it, but I don’t 
know how to find him. And if he doesn’t make it out…"

"He will," Frodo whispered. "You just have to believe that. If you 
think anything else, it only hurts. You just have to believe that 
Pippin will come out with Legolas and Gimli and that we’ll be able to 
go on from there."

"But how can I?!" Merry demanded. "You saw the way Gimli and Legolas 
were ready to attack each other. Why should that be any different down 
there? And what if Pippin happens to get in the way? They’d never hurt 
him intentionally, but they’re both bigger than Pippin and if things 
get ugly…" Merry trailed off, unable to go on.

"I’ve met elves before, and I’ve also met quite a few dwarves," Frodo 
said. "And you know what? They’re actually very similar. Both are 
stubborn, both are proud, but both are loyal. Very loyal. They’ll 
protect Pippin, Merry. I’m sure of it"

"How can you be so certain?" Merry asked.

Frodo shrugged. "Because if I’m not, then I’m too worried to think. 
This is the only way to keep myself sane." A noise from behind then 
caught Frodo’s attention, and glancing over his shoulder, he grinned 
at what he saw. "How are you doing, Sam?"

"Whatever Strider gave me that knocked me out this morning didn’t 
agree with my stomach, I can tell you that much, Mr. Frodo," Sam 
grumbled as he made his way over to the other two hobbits.

"That’s another thing," Merry muttered. "I don’t like the idea of 
Strider drugging us. Maybe it was for our own good, but—"

"He should have said something, I know," Frodo interrupted, his tone 
quiet and soothing. "I’m upset, too, but thinking back on it, I don’t 
know as I’d have found any other way to get to sleep. And I know I 
would have refused if Strider offered to give me something. So it was 
really the only way for us to rest. What about you? Would you have 
taken something to help you sleep?"

"I wasn’t going to sleep," Merry confessed.

Sam frowned. "Why not? It was a nice day and I wouldn’t have minded 
enjoying it, but I don’t see as how staying awake for all of it would 
help find Pippin. I’m worried about him, too, but there’s nothing we 
can do except keep moving up the ravine."

"I don’t know exactly what I was thinking," Merry sighed. "And I still 
don’t. I just know that I’m worried and that I don’t like standing 
around with nothing to do."

"It will be all right," Frodo assured him, giving his shoulder a 
squeeze. "I don’t like this any more than you do, but right now, the 
only thing for us to do is sit sight and endure. Right, Sam?"

Sam nodded. "Mr. Frodo and I had a good long talk about this yesterday 
before we stopped for camp. It’s no use thinking about what might 
happen or what could be happening because we don’t know what really is 
happening. And until we know, there’s nothing we can do about it."

"I can’t just stop worrying!" Merry said, his frustration rising. 
"This is Pippin we’re talking about. I don’t see how you can just—"

"We’re also worried," Frodo said quickly. "But we’re not letting it 
get to us because we can be more useful if we stay calm. And that’s 
what you have to do, Merry. During the Old Forest, you were the only 
one who really didn’t panic. At least not until Old Man Willow. You 
have to be like that now. You have to be strong."

"But I knew the Old Forest," Merry whispered. "I knew what kind of 
dangers there were. Or, rather, I thought I knew. But this…this is so 
different!"

"It’s not different at all, Mr. Merry," Sam spoke up. "I was worried 
in that nasty Forest of yours, but if you were scared, you didn’t show 
it. And that helped. Now look at Gandalf and Strider and Boromir. 
They’re worried, too, but they’re also calm. And they know what’s 
going on better than we do. It will be okay, Merry, you just have to 
trust them."

"Strider was the one who drugged us," Merry pointed out sullenly.

Frodo sighed and shook his head. "So talk to him about it. Ask him 
exactly why he did it. I’m sure that he’ll tell you, and he’ll 
probably even apologize again, too."

"It wouldn’t do any good," Merry muttered. "It’s already done. He made 
us sleep."

"Well, if it’s already been done then why are you so upset?"

"You don’t understand, Frodo," Merry snapped.

"Merry, Pippin is also my friend. And he’s Sam’s friend. Gandalf, 
Strider, and Boromir all consider him a friend. They’re doing 
everything in their power to get us to a place where we can meet back 
up with Pippin. And we’ll find Legolas and Gimli there, too. What more 
can you ask, Merry? What more do you want us to do?"

Merry sighed wearily and rubbed his face. "I’m sorry, Frodo. I guess 
I’m just letting my worry go to my head. I don’t mean to be a problem, 
but…I don’t know what else to do."

"It’s okay to be worried," Frodo said softly. "Just don’t let it 
control you."

With a nod, Merry let out a deep breath and straightened. "Thanks," he 
whispered.

"That’s what friends are for," Frodo said, smiling slightly. He then 
turned back to the camp, keeping one hand on Merry’s shoulder. "I 
think we’re ready to go," he called, addressing his words to Gandalf, 
Boromir, and Aragorn.

"Bill is loaded and prepared?" Gandalf asked.

"Everything is set," Frodo answered, "and we’re all anxious to start 
over here."

Merry blinked and stared at Frodo. "You were waiting for me? You mean 
that the entire time we were talking we could have been traveling?"

"Not at first," Frodo shrugged. "Sam was still loading Bill."

"But after he came over here and joined us, we could have left?!"

"No, because you weren’t ready."

Some very choice words immediately came to mind as Merry struggled to 
control his growing rage, but the understanding in Frodo’s eyes and 
the compassion coming from Sam stopped his voice ere he could speak. 
Knowing he’d been defeated and deciding it was probably for the best, 
Merry allowed a rueful smile to spread across his face and shook his 
head. "Thanks again."

"As I already said, that’s what friends are for," Frodo answered as 
they began walking. "And you’re more than welcome."

* * * *

Legolas had finally admitted to himself why he was really in such a 
hurry to get out of the ravine. And in reality, it had very little to 
do with Pippin’s head injury, the desire to rejoin the Fellowship, or 
even Gimli’s company. Those were all influential factors, to be 
certain, but the true reason was something that went much deeper and 
touched upon the very essence of who Legolas was. The real reason for 
his insistence that they escape the ravine was because he felt he had 
lost control.

The sounds of yet another rockslide had echoed up the ravine in the 
late afternoon, and Gimli had casually mentioned that the cliff walls 
were extremely soft and highly susceptible to erosion. The ravine 
itself was the result of a river now gone that had cut into the rock 
and worn it away. Gimli suspected that the ravine had been widening 
ever since its formation because of the nature of the rocks that 
formed it. This was all somewhat interesting to Legolas, but it 
clearly illustrated for him the problem that had haunted him ever 
since falling into the gorge. He was not attuned to the rocks as Gimli 
was. At times he could hear them sigh or whisper of the elves who once 
dwelt here, but other than that, the world of Arda herself was closed 
to him. Gimli, on the other hand, had a sense for the cliffs and the 
boulders. He had felt the morning’s rockslide ere the first pebble had 
even begun to roll. Were it not for the dwarf’s senses, they might 
have all been buried, and this troubled Legolas deeply.

The elf was used to knowing his surroundings. He was used to having an 
awareness of the danger that threatened himself and his companions. 
But trapped in this ravine and caught between unstable walls, that 
sense was gone. He could not anticipate the occurrence of a rockslide 
as Gimli could. He could not look ahead and see the next threat coming 
from afar. To a large extent, his safety was now dependent upon the 
dwarf, and this dependency was severely threatening the elf’s sanity. 
Legolas felt that he had to escape the confines of the ravine soon or 
fall prey to the effects of madness!

Unfortunately, their journey had now come to a grinding halt. A recent 
rockslide, which Gimli had estimated to be about two days old, had 
blocked the path, and a tumble of piled boulders loomed above them, 
creating a cliff face of debris that could not easily be surmounted. 
Determined not to lose hope so quickly, Gimli had gone left while 
Legolas had gone right, each searching for a path that might take them 
around the wall. But neither had met with any success, and now both 
stood together again, staring at their newest obstacle as though the 
heat of their combined glares might melt the rocks and form of them a 
road to freedom.

Still cradled in the elf’s arms, Pippin blinked glazed eyes open and 
tried to turn his head. "Why have we stopped? What time is it?"

"The sun is setting," Legolas murmured, deciding to ignore the first 
question for now. "Rest. It will be dark soon."

"What’s happening?" Pippin persisted, squirming slightly. "Where’s 
Gimli?"

"Here," the dwarf answered absently, kneeling next to a large boulder 
and pressing his hand against it.

"What’s going on? Why aren’t we moving?" the hobbit demanded.

"A small delay," Legolas reassured him, hoping to reassure himself in 
the process. But the situation was desperately hopeless. Legolas was 
carrying Pippin and Gimli was still suffering the aftereffects of a 
dislocated shoulder. On his own, the elf might have been able to 
manage this sheer wall of boulders, but with a dazed hobbit to look 
after and an injured dwarf to consider, the task of moving forward was 
nigh unto impossible.

"I have no rope," Gimli announced after a lengthy pause. "What of 
you?"

"None," Legolas answered quietly, eyeing the rocks much as one would 
eye a dangerous adversary. "If any of the Fellowship thought to bring 
rope, it would have been Sam."

"He didn’t," Pippin muttered. "He was complaining about it the night 
we left."

"Then we shall have to find something that might serve as rope," Gimli 
murmured. "For that is the only way we shall manage to get Pippin over 
this."

Legolas frowned and wondered how a rope was going to help them. There 
was no one at the top of the pile to aid them, which mean that someone 
would have to go up there, a tricky prospect at best. And though 
Legolas was fairly confident that he could manage the climb, he did 
not think he could brace himself firmly enough to haul both a hobbit 
and a dwarf up after him. Though if I could leave the dwarf behind…

"Straps," Gimli suddenly said, interrupting the elf’s thoughts. 
"Straps for baggage and quivers. They shall have to do, for we have 
naught else. Yet length shall be a problem. Pippin, can you stand?"

Legolas felt the hobbit move experimentally in his arms. "Maybe," he 
eventually answered. "I’m still dizzy, but the world isn’t spinning so 
fast anymore."

"It would be unwise for you to climb in your current condition," 
Legolas said quietly, his words directed to Pippin but pitched so that 
they would carry to Gimli.

"I said nothing of climbing," Gimli replied rather tersely, correctly 
interpreting Legolas’s warning. "I asked if Pippin was able to stand."

"Not for very long and I’d probably need something to lean against," 
the hobbit confessed with a soft sigh.

"That can be arranged," Gimli murmured, now speaking more to himself 
than to anyone else. "I found a place just to the east where it 
appears that some of the rocks began ricocheting back off the far wall 
of the ravine. The pile is more jumbled there and because of this, 
there are ledges and outcroppings where one might stand. And these 
places are close enough that it might be possible to pull Pippin up 
into one and then ascend to the next with enough rope for there to 
still be some slack."

"If we sacrifice the straps, how shall we pull up our packs?" Legolas 
asked.

"The main concern as I see it, Master Elf, is to get Pippin over this 
obstacle. Baggage is of secondary importance."

"Nevertheless, this baggage contains food, supplies, and weapons, 
Master Dwarf," Legolas answered, his voice growing cold. "It is not 
lightly left behind. Aside from being needful for our journey, should 
it be discovered it would be an obvious indication that we had passed 
this way. It might also reveal clues as to who and what we are."

Gimli was quiet for a moment, his dark eyes boring into the elf’s, and 
then he grunted slightly. "Then we shall find a way to leave nothing 
behind," he said. "Once Pippin is safely over, the rope will no longer 
be needed and the baggage can be retrieved."

"Time consuming," Legolas pointed out with a shake of his head. "And 
time is of the essence."

"Have you a better idea?" the dwarf demanded.

Unfortunately, Legolas didn’t. Nor was it likely that he would 
suddenly find a better idea in the near future. Rocks and quarries 
were not his specialty, and he was already disconcerted by his forced 
dependence upon the dwarf. Beyond that, he was now experiencing 
feelings of helplessness and vulnerability. There seemed to be 
absolutely nothing he could do about their predicament, and this idea 
did not sit well with the elf. But until he could rectify the 
situation, he would have to trust some of his safety to the dwarf, 
unpleasant as that might be. And so, with jaw tightening and eyes hard 
as oak, Legolas reluctantly swallowed his pride and met Gimli’s 
questioning stare. "Where is this place you spoke of?"

A look of supreme triumph flashed across Gimli’s face, but it vanished 
before Legolas could say aught. Assuming a casual expression, the 
dwarf turned toward the east and began walking. "This way," he 
answered, his voice calm but touched with a hint of smugness. "It is 
not far."

Legolas was sorely tempted to lash out at the dwarf, but fortunately 
for all involved, he managed to curb his tongue and his temper. It was 
no easy task and required almost all of his willpower, but it was 
accomplished. Thus, with a rigid walk and stony eyes, Legolas followed 
the dwarf along the base of the rock pile, still trying to work out 
the logistics of the plan in his mind. If they lashed together all the 
straps from their packs, they would form a stiff rope but it would be 
very short, probably just a bit more than four meters in length. It 
they were going to use it to haul Pippin up the debris, they would 
need to find several ledges that were quite close together. And 
Legolas still hadn’t figured out how Gimli was going to manage the 
climb. The dwarf was trying to hide it, but Legolas could tell that he 
was still favoring his right arm.

"Here," Gimli announced, stopping next to the remains of a tree that 
appeared to have been caught in the slide.

Glancing up at the rocks, Legolas ran critical eyes over the course 
they were to climb and eventually had to admit—to himself, at any 
rate, for he would never admit this aloud—that the dwarf was right. 
There was a possibility that they could manage this. "Pippin, I am 
going to set you down for a moment," the elf murmured, kneeling and 
gently lowering the hobbit to the ground.

"I can try standing if you need me to," Pippin answered.

"Nay, rest a bit. For the time being, your assistance is not 
required."

Pippin seemed more than happy with this arrangement, and Legolas shook 
his head in amusement. Even in dire circumstances, hobbits could find 
joy in the little things. Alas that much of my innocence was lost 
centuries ago, the elf sighed, unbuckling his quiver and removing the 
strap. He took his belt off as well and looked up as Gimli’s belt and 
straps joined his.

"If we lash this rope onto Pippin’s belt, the rest can be used for 
climbing," the dwarf said, glancing at the hobbit.

"Then let us set to work," Legolas said, tying his quiver strap and 
belt together. "I will do the initial climbing while you stay behind 
and steady Pippin. When I have found a place where the hobbit might 
rest comfortably, I shall pull him up and then repeat the process. How 
shall you climb this, Master Dwarf?"

"I suspect I shall climb it the same way you do," the dwarf answered 
gruffly, a warning light gleaming in his eyes.

"In that, you are wrong. My reach is longer than yours and in this I 
shall have the advantage," Legolas shot back, feeling a small thrill 
at the idea that he was about to force Gimli into admitting a 
weakness. "Beyond that, your arm is still tender and I would advise 
against putting too much strain on it."

"Worry about yourself, elf," Gimli said sharply. "You shall have 
enough to look after on your own." The dwarf then seized the rope 
Legolas had made of his belt and quiver strap, connecting them to the 
straps and belt he had contributed. "Think yourself ready?"

"A dwarf is not the only being who is always ready," Legolas answered 
coolly, taking the rope back and wrapping one end around his hand. "I 
shall begin the ascent while you see to securing Pippin."

"What’s going on?" Pippin asked blearily.

"Naught for a moment," Gimli answered, kneeling next to the hobbit and 
looping the makeshift rope around his belt.

"Are we climbing yet?"

"Soon."

"Do I need to stand?"

"It depends upon the elf," Gimli answered, glancing at Legolas. 
"Hopefully, no."

Ignoring the obvious skepticism in Gimli’s tone, Legolas backed away 
from the pile of rocks and looked for the first series of handholds. 
Finding what appeared to be a suitable starting place, he stepped 
forward and began. It was not as easy as climbing trees since his 
senses could not immediately place the next foothold, but Legolas soon 
found that it was not as difficult as he’d anticipated. Pulling 
himself up on the first ledge and determining that it would probably 
support both Pippin and Gimli, he turned around and glanced back down 
expectantly. The dwarf roused the hobbit and murmured something to 
him. Responding to whispered instructions, Pippin drew his legs up 
into his chest, wrapped one arm around the rope, and then wrapped the 
other arm around his head.

"I shall climb beside him," Gimli called up. "Do not pull too fast."

Legolas frowned and wondered just what kind of an idiot the dwarf took 
him for. Of course he was not going to pull too fast, for that would 
bash Pippin against the rocks. Exercising great restraint, Legolas 
waited until the dwarf had begun to scramble up the rock, and then he 
began pulling the hobbit next to him. Between the two of them, they 
managed to keep Pippin away from the rocky surface for the most part, 
though his back did scrap along the last bit where it slanted.

"Hold your position, Master Dwarf," Legolas instructed, continuing to 
pull Pippin. "This ledge is wide enough only for two."

Gimli didn’t answer and Legolas wondered if his arm was bothering him. 
But regardless of his condition, the dwarf did stop climbing and 
braced himself with his feet and his left arm, his right arm coming 
down and hanging limply at his side. Shaking his head at the dwarf’s 
stubbornness, Legolas pulled Pippin the rest of the way up and propped 
him against the rock wall.

"It is wide enough here for you to sit, my friend," Legolas whispered, 
brushing Pippin’s hair off his forehead. The hobbit’s eyes were wide 
and he was staring at the ground below them, his mind apparently 
turning the ten feet into fifty. "Pippin?" Legolas prompted, reluctant 
to leave the hobbit until he had received something of a response.

"I’m fine here," Pippin finally answered. "Go on."

"Worry not," Legolas assured him. "We shall surmount this obstacle. 
Gimli shall be here soon to see that you do not slip."

"I know," Pippin muttered, shutting his eyes and turning his head away 
from the ground. "But knowing it and believing it are two different 
things. Go on, I’ll be fine."

Deciding that this was a much as could be expected from the hobbit, 
Legolas nodded and stood, searching for the next available handhold. 
He found it quickly and once again began climbing, aiming for another 
small ledge that might support Pippin and Gimli. Below him, he heard 
the dwarf’s chain mail clinking against the rocks, and then came 
murmured words of comfort as Gimli pulled himself up next to the 
hobbit. It struck the elf for the first time that Gimli had always 
been very protective of the hobbits. Strange that I did not notice 
before, Legolas thought to himself, pausing to glance back down. It 
was a rather odd sight, actually. Pippin was pressing hard against the 
side of the piled debris, and Gimli had placed himself between the 
hobbit and the edge, acting as a shield should aught happen. In 
addition to that, the dwarf was still whispering to Pippin, but his 
words were so low that even Legolas could not quite make out what was 
said. The few words he did catch seemed to be variations on the theme 
of safety and encouragement, and despite their rather precarious 
position, it seemed that whatever Gimli was saying actually helped. 
Pippin was certainly not the quintessence of peace and tranquility, 
but his pale face did regain a bit of color and his rapid breathing 
seemed to slow marginally.

All of which was neither here nor there, and mildly berating himself, 
Legolas turned his attention back to the task at hand, which involved 
finding a foothold while he scrambled for a grip on the ledge that sat 
just above his head. This particular area proved to be a bit more 
difficult as the cliff was slightly undercut, but after some rather 
innovative maneuvering, Legolas hooked one leg over a rock outcropping 
and managed to swing himself up.

"Pippin?" Legolas called down.

"He is ready," Gimli answered as Pippin clutched at the rope and drew 
his legs up again.

Bracing himself as much as he was able, Legolas nodded and then began 
pulling the hobbit up the side of the rockslide. Gimli scrambled up 
alongside Pippin, still favoring his right arm, and managed to keep 
the hobbit from receiving too many knocks and bruises as he swung 
haphazardly through the air. Eventually, Legolas was able to reach 
down and take Pippin by the arms, lifting him up and over the edge 
that jutted out slightly. After making certain that the hobbit was 
still somewhat calm and seeing that he was positioned a safe distance 
from the drop off, Legolas then looked back down and silently groaned.

Gimli was not faring as well as his companions. His arms were not long 
enough to safely reach the next handhold, and his right shoulder was 
not up to taking the strain necessary to get up onto the ledge. 
Wondering at his actions but forcing himself to move before he could 
think things through, Legolas stretched out on his stomach and lowered 
one arm.

"You will need assistance for this part."

Gimli froze at the elf’s voice, and a multitude of emotions raced 
through his dark eyes. They moved too quickly for Legolas to interpret 
them, but he was quite confident that the dwarf was less than pleased. 
For a small eternity, nothing happened. And then Gimli looked up, his 
face unreadable.

"Will that ledge hold all of us?"

"Yes. It is larger than the last one," Legolas answered.

Gimli gave a slow nod, took a deep breath, and then reluctantly 
stretched his left hand up toward the elf. Legolas had to scoot 
forward in order to reach him, but he managed to get a good grip 
around the dwarf’s wrist while the dwarf grasped the elf’s gauntlet in 
return. "I am ready," Gimli murmured, and his voice was gruff and 
angry.

Stifling a smile and making certain that he was securely braced, 
Legolas took a breath and then pulled. For a moment, he was certain 
that the weigh of the dwarf would take them both back to the ground. 
He had not expected Gimli to be quite this heavy, and though the dwarf 
was helping as much as he could by pushing off with his feet, it was 
still a surprisingly difficult task. Scrambling backward across the 
slippery ledge, he felt the rock shudder beneath him and his heart 
froze. Gimli apparently felt it also, for his grip loosened and he 
began to pull against the elf.

"Hold still, foolish dwarf!" Legolas hissed, struggling to keep his 
hold.

"We are too heavy. Let me go!" Gimli protested.

"If you ascend quickly, then I will be able to leave this ledge and 
decrease the weight," Legolas shot back. He might not have any great 
fondness for the dwarf, but Legolas wasn’t about to let him fall. 
They’d come too far to lose him to something so trivial.

"You doom Pippin!"

"As do you. Now quit struggling and start helping!"

But the dwarf was nothing if not stubborn, and Legolas was making no 
progress in lifting Gimli any higher. In fact, he was beginning to 
slide forward and if he didn’t find a burst of strength soon, he was 
going to have to release the dwarf or risk falling himself. Yet even 
though Legolas possessed the legendary strength of the elves, he 
simply did not have the needed leverage to pull the solid dwarf up 
onto the ledge. He had almost given up hope when he felt small hands 
wrap around his ankle.

"Pippin?" he questioned, glancing back incredulously.

"I might not be able to keep my balance when I stand, but I can still 
help," Pippin muttered, his eyes shut tight.

"Together, then," Legolas said, hoping he wasn’t asking too much of 
the hobbit. But at the moment, he could think of nothing else to do. 
And though Pippin’s strength was rather small, the hobbit had locked 
his feet around a gnarled tree stump that protruded from the debris 
and was secure in his position. It was just the leverage that Legolas 
needed, and with one great burst of energy, he bodily hauled Gimli up 
onto the ledge.

Blinking in surprise as he landed next to the exhausted elf, Gimli 
instinctively dropped to his stomach and tried to evenly distribute 
his weight. "That was foolish," he warned.

"Then we are all fools," Legolas answered, not having the energy to 
debate the issue.

"You more than most, elf, for this ledge will not hold us for long."

Anger flashed through Legolas, but he was too tired to heed it. 
Instead, he decided to ignore the dwarf for the time being and 
determine his next move. The next ledge was about twenty feet above 
him, and Legolas grimaced. The rope wouldn’t reach that far.

"I’m going to have to climb, aren’t I?" Pippin asked, resting on his 
back and following Legolas’s gaze.

"The elf and I will climb together," Gimli answered, moving toward the 
rock wall but staying on his stomach. "You, Master Hobbit, shall have 
to keep yourself clear of the cliff face on your own. We will pull you 
up after us."

"Is that wise?" Legolas asked.

"No, but since fate has just blessed you with fortune, I will risk my 
own stupid idea and hope that fortune is as kind to me. Come."

Legolas was not used to being ordered around by dwarves. It went 
against his upbringing, his personality, his beliefs, and his 
prejudices. He was also not used to being called foolish. The dwarf 
had gotten away with it the first few times, but Legolas’s patience 
was beginning to wear thin and Gimli would not be so lucky in the 
future. But at the moment, stranded as they were on the side of a 
cliff, Legolas decided there was really nothing he could do about it 
save to plot revenge for a later date. And so he wearily labored to 
his feet, wondered if he had pulled something in his arm, and began 
scrambling up after the dwarf.

At length, he felt the rope that he grasped pull taut, and he knew 
that the next step upwards would lift Pippin off the ground. He 
stopped for a moment, trying to collect his strength, and almost lost 
his hold as he started in surprise when Gimli reached over and seized 
the improvised rope. "This next area shall be difficult," Gimli said, 
looking at the climb above them. "We shall have to coordinate our 
movements. Take care, Master Elf."

"I fear that you are the one who shall need care," Legolas said 
coldly. "Do you feel yourself ready?"

"So long as your own strength is not overtaxed."

A dark glare crossed Legolas’s face and in answer to Gimli’s question, 
he started upward. A soft exclamation echoed up from below as Pippin 
suddenly found himself swinging, and then Gimli’s strength began 
assisting them. Little by little, elf and dwarf managed to move 
towards the next ledge. But it was difficult, for both were 
essentially climbing with one hand only, and for Gimli, that one hand 
was attached to an injured shoulder. As upset as he was with the 
dwarf, Legolas couldn’t help but notice that Gimli was beginning to 
move very slowly with each new handhold.

"Master Dwarf?"

"Hold your peace, elf," Gimli hissed, never ceasing to climb. "Save 
your energy for other things."

Legolas sighed, but if the dwarf wanted to play it that way, he wasn’t 
going to interfere. Why should he care anyway? Because were it not for 
the dwarf, you would still be looking for a way over this blockade, 
the cynical half of his mind pointed out. Legolas shook his head, 
trying to silence his traitorous thoughts, but he could not quite 
accomplish that. Once acknowledged, the thought stayed with him, and 
it could not be ignored.

Glancing up and trying to occupy his mind with physical action, 
Legolas noticed that the next ledge would not be hard for him to reach 
if he could but release Pippin for a moment. He looked over at the 
dwarf and tried to evaluate his condition, but Gimli was doing an 
admirable job of hiding his weariness.

Then I shall put that weariness to the test, Legolas decided. "Master 
Dwarf, have you the strength to support Pippin on your own for perhaps 
half a minute."

Gimli blinked at this and then turned his eyes upward. Apparently 
guessing what Legolas had in mind, he sighed quietly, seemed to 
collect himself, and then nodded. "Go."

That was not exactly the response Legolas had been looking for, though 
he conceded to himself that he really couldn’t expect the dwarf to 
bare his soul to an enemy while clinging to the side of a cliff. And 
so, quickly getting over his disappointment that Gimli had not 
confessed his exhaustion, Legolas slowly allowed the dwarf to take all 
of Pippin’s weight. Gimli’s face paled and his arm trembled slightly, 
but he showed no signs of failing in his grip.

Reassured that Gimli would be able to hold his position for a moment 
longer, Legolas hastily scrambled upwards and quickly pulled himself 
onto the ledge. Peering back down, he lowered his hand as he had done 
before and reached for the rope. Gimli had to lift himself a bit 
higher in order for the elf to catch the straps, but he somehow 
managed it and Legolas was soon pulling Pippin to safer ground. While 
he handled the hobbit, Gimli’s stubborn pride reasserted itself, and 
the dwarf eventually swung his shaking body up next to the elf, 
refusing all offers of aid but visibly shaking with weariness.

The rest of the climb was nowhere near as eventful as the first few 
ledges had been. The cliff began to slope and it soon turned into more 
of a very steep hill, though much care was still needed and Pippin was 
still pulled rather than moving on his own. But at length, the ordeal 
came to an end and Legolas could not help but breathe a sigh of relief 
as he detached the makeshift rope from Pippin’s belt.

"That was interesting," Pippin murmured, rubbing his head.

"Indeed it was, Master Took," Legolas laughed quietly.

"What about all our packs, though? They’re still back there along with 
your quiver." Pippin started to sit up, but he stopped before he could 
do so and clutched his head. "I don’t think I can help you get them," 
he muttered.

"And I did not expect you to," Legolas reassured him. "I shall now go 
myself while you wait here with the dwarf."

Upon hearing this, Gimli glanced up and frowned. He was weaving 
slightly where he stood and rubbing his right shoulder almost 
unconsciously. Legolas wondered if it had separated again sometime 
during the climb, but as Gimli had not yet spoken of it, the elf had 
not asked. "I do not think an elf can carry all of our baggage in one 
attempt," the dwarf said quietly.

Anger boiled through Legolas’s blood, but he forced his mind to calm, 
deciding that a sullen remark by an exhausted dwarf did not warrant 
his ire. "We shall see," he answered, his voice casual but cold. 
Buckling his own belt back on, he shouldered the remainder of the 
straps and prepared to descend the cliff.

"Master Elf?"

Legolas stopped and glared at the dwarf. They did not have time to 
pursue this conversation. He was about to say something to that 
effect, but Gimli’s next words stopped him.

"I…my shoulder is dislocated again. It would be well to set it and 
then allow it to…rest…before we continue."

The disturbing thought occurred to Legolas that, had their positions 
been reversed, he would have probably said nothing about a dislocated 
shoulder. He would have certainly not trusted the dwarf to care for 
it. What had it cost Gimli in pride to speak of this infirmity?

His mind filled with confusion, Legolas approached the dwarf and moved 
behind him. Wordlessly, he wrapped one arm around Gimli’s chest and 
pulled the dwarf back, using his own body as a brace. Then in one 
smooth motion, he jerked the dislocated right arm down, out, and then 
pushed it back in. Gimli shuddered, but did not cry out. He slumped 
forward against the elf’s hold and Legolas was still for a moment in 
case the dwarf needed further aid. But after a minute of silence, 
Gimli took a deep breath and then broke away from the elf. "My 
thanks," he said gruffly, unable to meet Legolas’s eyes.

Not quite sure what to say to that, Legolas settled for a nod, though 
what good that did only the Valar knew, for Gimli was not even looking 
at him. Still, it made Legolas feel slightly better, and he turned 
again to the cliff, preparing to let himself down. But just as he was 
about to release his handhold and slide to the closest ledge, he 
stopped. He had no way of knowing when Gimli’s shoulder had become 
dislocated, but it had probably been early in the climb. And the dwarf 
had then managed to continue, without a word of complaint, until he 
reached the top. It was a feat that garnered even Legolas’s respect, 
and because of this, the elf could not let it pass without comment. He 
had been raised as a prince among nobles, and though criticism had 
certainly been a part of his training, he had also been taught to give 
praise where it was due. And such a display of strength and endurance 
was simply too admirable to ignore. Knowing he was probably going to 
regret his next words but unable to stop himself, Legolas sighed and 
looked at the dwarf.

"Gimli?"

Gimli looked up, meeting Legolas’s gaze with reluctance, and his eyes 
were suspicious, as though expecting some taunt or jibe. "Yes?"

"Given the circumstances, you performed well."

Unbridled shock flashed across Gimli’s face and his mouth dropped open 
slightly as he frantically searched for something to say in response. 
But with his praise given, Legolas was not going to linger any longer. 
The situation was awkward enough already, and they had a Fellowship to 
meet. And so, turning his head quickly, he concentrated on lowering 
himself down the cliff face and getting out of the dwarf’s view as 
quickly as possible.

As a result, he missed the brief look of gratitude and reciprocated 
admiration that appeared briefly upon Gimli’s face.

* * * *

Saruman had once told Gandalf that the key to leadership was keeping 
up the façade that one knew what one was doing. And if one did not 
know, then one found a middle line between two extreme viewpoints and 
stuck to it.

This advice had been given partly in jest many years ago before the 
White Council was ever even conceived of, but it was a jest with a 
grain of truth. Looking back with the gift of hindsight, Gandalf could 
see how Saruman had used his own counsel during the uncertain years 
following the Council’s attack on Dol Guldur. Unfortunately, while 
walking the middle road between the will of the Valar and the 
temptations of Barad-dûr, Saruman had fallen. Gandalf now felt that he 
understood exactly why and how this had happened, for he was in a very 
similar situation. Perhaps the forces he stood between were not as 
powerful as Manwë and Sauron, but Aragorn and Boromir were still 
formidable opponents in their own right. And Gandalf, caught between 
them, had decided that soon or later he would have to choose a side. 
He could not walk the fence much longer.

The remnants of the Fellowship stood at the head of the gorge. The 
ground dropped away swiftly near the place where Aragorn stood, but it 
was not so steep as to make climbing impossible. In fact, Merry looked 
as though he were contemplating a descent into the gorge in an effort 
to find Pippin. Fortunately, Aragorn was keeping a close eye on him. 
Gandalf shook his head and sighed. They could ill afford to lose 
another member of this company.

Which led him to another problem. They had waited here one hour 
already. Aragorn had made clear the fact that he would wait all night 
if he had to. He had recommended that the Fellowship continue without 
him, but he wasn’t about to abandon Legolas, Gimli, and Pippin. 
Boromir, on the other hand, was already chafing at the bit. He had 
made clear his opinion that an hour’s time was time enough, and if the 
missing members of their party failed to make an appearance, prudence 
demanded that everyone—including Aragorn—continue the journey. As for 
Gandalf… Valar, where do I stand? the wizard wondered. I have already 
stated that we shall tarry two hours only, but I have yet to tell the 
hobbits and Aragorn has yet to agree to the time limit. Both are 
right, though. We can ill afford to lose Legolas’s bow and Gimli’s 
axe. We must give them every chance to find us. And yet the Ring takes 
precedence. We cannot allow it to remain in one place for an extended 
period of time. The crows shall be upon us if we do, and then all of 
Middle Earth shall fall into shadow because we delayed for the sake of 
three comrades.

Gandalf was used to making sacrifices, but he usually made them at his 
own expense. Bilbo would argue that, claiming that he’d been used as 
something of a sacrifice in the case of Smaug, but as a general rule, 
Gandalf would not ask anyone to do something if he could go ahead and 
do it himself. He had been the one to enter Dol Guldur during the 
reign of the Necromancer. He had been the one to take Narya at 
Círdan’s behest. But in this instance, if he chose to follow the 
counsel of Boromir—which was also the counsel of prudence—he would be 
asking the rest of the Fellowship to sacrifice their companions when 
it was not clear that such a sacrifice was necessary.

But did he truly believe that Gimli and Legolas would look past their 
differences long enough to emerge from the ravine in one piece? The 
wizard frowned and rubbed his temples. The possibility was remote at 
best. Gimli was Glóin’s son and had been raised to hate and distrust 
elves, particularly those of Mirkwood. The fact that Legolas was 
Thranduil’s son certainly didn’t help anything. As for Legolas, the 
prince had been raised with the prejudices of his people, and his 
father had indoctrinated his son with all manners of rumors and lies 
regarding the children of Aulë. There was no love lost between elf and 
dwarf, they had both verbally and physically assaulted one another, 
and now, with no significant third party to stand between them, they 
were caught in an unstable ravine that seemed intent on crumbling 
inward. And still I carry some hope that I will meet them again, 
Gandalf sighed. I foresee they have yet a part to play in this 
venture, but as Elrond is wont to say, even the wise cannot see all 
ends. And it may be that their part shall be cut short.

"How long will we tarry, Gandalf?"

The wizard blinked and looked to his side, frowning when he found 
Frodo standing next to him and waiting expectantly for an answer. "How 
long shall we tarry for what?"

"For Pippin, Legolas, and Gimli," Frodo answered, his expression 
unreadable. "You’re not planning to stay here all night. At least, 
Boromir isn’t, and I don’t think you are either. Aragorn’s another 
matter, but even he won’t wait forever."

Gandalf smiled slightly. "Fate chose you well, Frodo. Your perception 
shall be invaluable. Trust your instincts, for they lead you well."

"I shall," Frodo promised. "And right now, my instincts say that 
you’re changing the subject. Gildor told me it was dangerous to meddle 
in the affairs of wizards, but this is also my affair, as well as 
affecting Merry and Sam. How long are we going to stay here? Because 
if no one comes, we will have to move sometime. And I think Boromir is 
anxious to get started now."

"He is," Gandalf conceded, glancing over at Denethor’s son. "He 
thought that one hour was sufficient time."

"And Aragorn disagreed," Frodo guessed.

"Aragorn believes the Fellowship can proceed without him while he 
ventures into the ravine and conducts a search of his own," Gandalf 
said. "Barring that, he is prepared to wait out the night."

"So what do you think?" Frodo pressed.

The wizard hesitated, a rather rare event for him, and then made his 
decision. Frodo had forced him into it, but that couldn’t be helped. 
Besides, were it not for the hobbit’s questions, he might never have 
come to a firm decision. "We shall wait another hour. After that, we 
shall depart. All of us."

"Merry won’t like that," Frodo murmured. "I’m not sure that I like 
it."

"It weighs heavily upon me as well, Frodo, but that which you bear is 
far too important."

"I understand all that," the hobbit answered, sounding rather 
frustrated with himself. "But that doesn’t mean I like it. And it 
doesn’t mean that I really accept it, either." He sighed and shook his 
head. "I’m not strong enough for this, Gandalf. I can’t do it."

"Compassion and friendship are not weaknesses," Gandalf counseled, 
laying a hand upon Frodo’s shoulder. "They are strengths, dear hobbit, 
and you should use them as such. Your devotion to your companions is 
part of what holds at bay the evil that seeks to corrupt you. Hold on 
to these feelings, Frodo, for in the end, they are all that truly 
matter."

"But in the meantime, they seem to make life harder," the hobbit 
observed with a sigh.

Gandalf chuckled and squeezed Frodo’s shoulder. "Occasionally," he 
conceded. "Come. We should probably break the news to Merry and Sam. 
If we wait to tell them an hour from now that it is time to go, it 
will take another hour to convince them of it."

"That does give Pippin, Legolas, and Gimli some extra time to get up 
here," Frodo pointed out.

"It does, but it also gives our enemies an extra hour in which to find 
us. And that, we cannot have." Gandalf rose from his seat, stretching 
as he did so, and picked up his staff. With Frodo at his side, the 
wizard made his way to where the ravine began to drop away. "I gather 
there has been no sign of them?" he asked the Fellowship at large, 
already knowing the answer but deciding that it was best to start the 
conversation with something less controversial than the announcement 
that they would move in an hour.

"Nay, not yet," Aragorn murmured, folding his arms across his chest 
and leaning sideways against a tree.

"Hope dwindles, as does time," Gandalf said, watching both the Ranger 
and Merry.

"Hope increases if they join us," Aragorn answered with a pointed look 
at the wizard.

"What is this about dwindling time?" Merry demanded as the 
implications of Gandalf’s vague words registered with him.

"We carry a rather perilous burden, my friend, and considering what—"

"I know all about It and I know what happens if It falls into the 
wrong hands," Merry interrupted, his face turning red with anger. 
"What I want to know about now is Pippin."

Gandalf was not used to being interrupted, and a brief flash of 
annoyance slipped onto his face ere it was quickly concealed. Merry’s 
impatience and concern was expected, and in order to deal with it, 
Gandalf had to remain calm. Otherwise, it was doubtful that the 
Brandybuck would ever move from his post. "You know as much about 
Pippin as we do," the wizard said, his voice quiet and soothing. "And 
yet think of this from his perspective. Would he wish for you to stand 
around while spies of the Enemy draw ever closer? Strange as it may 
seem, we are probably in more danger than Pippin because we are in 
Frodo’s presence."

"What spies?" Merry demanded. "All we’ve seen are two overgrown wolves 
and a few flocks of birds. Suppose they aren’t spies? Suppose they 
have nothing to do with us?"

Gandalf raised an eyebrow at this "The overgrown wolves were Wargs, 
Master Brandybuck, and they were most assuredly in the service of the 
Dark Lord. As for the birds, they have been identified as crebain. 
Rarely do they fly so far north, and often have they acted as spies 
and scouts for the Enemy."

"But didn’t Strider say they might be flying away from something?" 
Merry glanced over at Sam whose face now registered surprise and alarm 
at the fact that he was being addressed. "Isn’t that what you told me, 
Sam? That Strider said they might have been running from a war?"

The gardener shifted his feet, uncomfortable at suddenly becoming the 
center of attention, and cleared his throat. "I don’t rightly 
remember, but it seems to me as that might have been a possibility," 
he finally answered.

"Rohan has often endured crebain," Boromir said, his voice carrying an 
undercurrent of impatience. "They are ill omens, no matter what 
purpose they serve. And as Mithrandir has already said, they often act 
as spies and scouts. I do not think I have ever seen a group of them 
brought together for any other purpose, for if left to themselves, 
their squabbles soon break apart the flocks."

"And there is your answer, Merry," Gandalf said. "The forces of the 
Enemy are to be found here in Hollin. We cannot linger. I propose we 
wait one hour more. After that time, if there is still no sign of our 
friends, we must press onward, painful as it may be."

"I plan to stay here until morning," Aragorn said, his voice firm and 
unyielding. "I can easily find the rest of you if you continue on."

"If you’re staying, I’m staying," Merry added.

"No one is staying," Gandalf said, raising his voice slightly. "Think, 
Aragorn. The Fellowship needs your sword."

"Ah, but which half of the Fellowship?"

Gandalf scowled. Aragorn had lived with the elves far too long and 
learned far too many word games. "I would put forth the opinion that 
Frodo’s burden is of greater importance than Legolas, Gimli, and 
Pippin."

"And Frodo has you to guide him," Aragorn pointed out. "He also has 
Sam’s assistance and Boromir’s sword. He is well protected. The fate 
of our comrades, though, is less certain, and I shall not abandon them 
when there is the possibility that they may need my aid."

"May I say something?" Frodo piped up. "You’re all talking about me, 
but no one’s actually talking to me. And I think I should have some 
input in this. We all should."

Gandalf blinked and glanced down at the hobbit, once more surprised 
with Frodo’s growing courage and leadership. "My apologies," the 
wizard said. "You are quite correct. What is your opinion on this 
matter?"

"I think we should wait one hour and then decide what to do. We all 
know the possible choices now and if we sit and think on it, maybe we 
can have a better discussion later. But right now, we’re all a little 
too upset to talk clearly about anything."

"I’m still not going anywhere," Merry muttered.

"Maybe we won’t even have to make a decision," Frodo continued, 
ignoring Merry for the moment. "Maybe Pippin, Legolas, and Gimli will 
arrive before the hour is up."

"But what are your feelings on this, Ring-bearer?" Boromir asked. "For 
if you choose to stay, the rest of us are denied a choice. Yet to stay 
with that which you bear would be folly, or so I see it."

For a minute or so, Frodo kept his eyes downward and made no answer, 
seeming to debate the matter. At length, he raised his head and 
sighed. "I will go on. I do not wish to, but I will not dispute 
Gandalf’s wisdom in this."

"Then my decision is also made," Boromir said, a small look of 
satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "May others see the wisdom in this 
counsel as well."

"Others have a right to their own wisdom," Aragorn said softly, 
sending an unreadable look at Boromir.

Deciding that things were beginning to get out of hand, Gandalf 
cleared his throat and sent everyone a rather perturbing stare. 
"Frodo’s idea is a sound one, and we will follow it. For one hour, we 
shall not speak of this. After that hour, if our companions have not 
returned, we shall again take up our debate. But until then, I advise 
you to keep a civil tongue in your heads."

There were murmurs of acknowledgement from all, and satisfied that his 
word would be heeded, Gandalf decided to return to the rock where he’d 
been sitting earlier. He felt the need for a long smoke, and now 
seemed as good a time as any. They would undoubtedly be staying here 
for another hour at least. But by that do I mean that I have lost hope 
of seeing our companions again? Gandalf wondered as he sat down and 
went fishing through his pack for his pipe. Pondering that thought for 
a moment, the wizard eventually decided that thinking about it would 
only make matters worse. Instead, he cleared his mind and allowed his 
senses to drift, still keeping an alert mind in the event that trouble 
hailed but allowing his body to rest.

Silence fell and time passed. Time passed slower for some than for 
others, but it did pass. Gandalf himself was not truly aware of the 
minutes that ticked by. Rather, he was trying to compare the dangers 
of going over the mountains with the dangers of going under them. 
Aragorn was firmly set against the darker road, and Gandalf was 
tempted to agree with him. But there was a nagging doubt in his mind 
that insisted the mountains were not an option. He wasn’t entirely 
certain of this feeling’s origins, but it was persistent enough that 
he was beginning to give it his undivided attention. But Moria… The 
wizard shivered. He did not relish the thought of taking that path, 
yet it felt as though Moria was truly their only choice.

"Mithrandir?"

The wizard blinked and shifted his focus to his surroundings, coming 
out of a state of concentration akin to an elven trance.

"Mithrandir, it will soon be time to depart."

Gandalf muttered something and nodded in acknowledgment. Trust Boromir 
to keep careful track of the passing time, he sighed. The man was 
anxious to move on, though he did have a right to be. The fate of 
Minas Tirith rested with this Fellowship, yet they were waiting for 
three members to rejoin their company when it was doubtful that those 
three members actually would. It didn’t help that these three members 
were not of the Race of men. It was no secret that Boromir was rather 
suspicious of all of them, and it was doubtful that the man harbored 
any hope of seeing them again.

With a weary sigh, Gandalf lumbered to his feet and moved toward 
Aragorn. The Ranger looked up at his approach, his dark eyes glinting 
in the night. "Before you ask, the answer is no. There has been no 
sign of them."

"We can tarry no longer," the wizard said quietly.

"I wish to tarry the night."

"We need your skills. Frodo and the other hobbits trust you."

"Those whom we have lost may also need my skills, in particular my 
healing skills. I can be of more use to them. You still have Boromir 
with you. He is a valiant man and shall protect you with both his 
sword and his life."

Gandalf sighed and rubbed his head. He should have seen this coming. 
Aragorn was not one to abandon a comrade if he could help it. Even 
when all hope failed, he would continue. It would be interesting to 
see what eventually happened when Boromir turned south for Minas 
Tirith. Aragorn intended to travel with him, but that would involve 
leaving Frodo. Whatever the way Aragorn that decided upon, it would be 
a difficult choice.

"Sense you the presence of unfriendly eyes?"

The wizard blinked, caught somewhat off guard by the question. 
"Unfriendly eyes?"

"I sense nothing at the moment," Aragorn continued, his expression 
unreadable. "What of you?"

"They may not be here now, but we cannot take the chance that this 
will—"

"But you are certain they are not here now?"

Gandalf frowned. "As certain as one can be in uncertain times."

"Elvish response," Aragorn muttered. "But since we seem to be alone, 
allow me to hazard something. Should this fail to garner results, I 
will discuss our next move with you." And before Gandalf could ask 
what he meant by this, Aragorn raised two fingers to his lips and let 
out a high, shrill whistle.

Boromir, Sam, Merry, Frodo, Gandalf, and Bill all jumped. The whistle 
echoed far and wide over the land, resounding off the distant 
mountains and rattling the trees in the lower valleys. When the 
whistle finally died, six sets of astonished eyes turned on Aragorn.

"I am unable to think of a better way to get the Enemy’s attention," 
Gandalf finally said.

"I would put fire above a whistle," Aragorn answered.

Gandalf was preparing scathing retort to that, but he stopped when a 
second whistle rose up out of the darkness, slightly higher than the 
first and surprisingly close at hand.

"That’s them, isn’t it?" Merry asked excitedly.

"Legolas, at any rate," Aragorn confirmed.

"Then what are we waiting for?! Let’s go to them!"

"We know not exactly where they lie, nor do we know the best way to go 
and meet them," Aragorn said, stopping the excited hobbit ere he could 
tumble headlong into the ravine. "It will be better if we wait for 
them to find us. Legolas should be able to judge our position based on 
the whistles, for his ears are better than mine."

"They had best hurry, then, now that you have given away our 
position," Boromir growled, his tone sharp.

"I very much doubt that," Aragorn said. "The pitch of the whistles was 
such that only those nearby will be able to tell from whence the 
whistles came. All others will be confounded by echoes. They shall 
know that someone along the mountains is signaling, but they shall 
know neither what nor where."

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Strider, but didn’t we want to keep 
ourselves and our mission a secret?" Sam spoke up. "We’ve just given 
away the fact that we’re out here in the Wilds."

"The Enemy knew already that we were here," Aragorn said with a sigh. 
"Were it not so, they would not be flying such low patrols. I suspect 
that by now they have also found evidence of our camps away in the 
north. We are no secret to them, Master Samwise, and it is truly only 
a matter of time until we are discovered. Besides, Master Brandybuck 
has reminded us that the crebain may only be refugees," Aragorn added 
with a smile.

"That’s what you said," Merry grumbled. "I was just repeating you."

"How far away are they?" Frodo asked, tactfully changing the subject.

"Perhaps ten minutes," Aragorn answered. "Perhaps less. It is 
difficult to tell and it will depend upon their condition as well as 
the terrain."

"Do you think they’re all right?" Sam asked, peering into the ravine 
and trying to pierce the shadows of night.

"I know not. The whistle only indicated position. It did not indicate 
the number in the group or the state of the group."

"Wouldn’t that have been a good thing to ask?" Merry demanded.

"At the time, the question of existence seemed more pertinent," 
Aragorn replied. "And I will not hazard another whistle. One was 
enough."

"One was more than enough," Boromir grumbled.

Gandalf sighed and shook his head. He had thought that Aragorn and 
Boromir were learning to respect one another, but it appeared that 
this situation was undoing all of that. Clearing his throat 
significantly and successfully achieving silence, Gandalf stepped 
forward and watched the shadows dance along the slope into the ravine 
as clouds whisked across the moon. All were quiet as they joined the 
wizard in waiting, and eventually, their wait was rewarded. A flicker 
of movement caught Gandalf’s eye, and then Aragorn stepped forward 
cautiously.

"Legolas?" he called, pitching his voice low.

"Well met, Aragorn," an answering voice called. "We had wondered if 
you would tarry for us. Your whistle moments ago was heartening."

"Pippin!" Merry cried, rushing down the steep slope. A shadow abruptly 
moved to intercept him, and the hobbit was restrained as Legolas 
seized him and lifted him partly off his feet.

"Steady, Master Brandybuck," the elf cautioned, glancing back at Gimli 
and Pippin, who were making much slower progress. "Pippin is not up to 
receiving such an ardent embrace."

Gandalf quickly noted that Legolas was carrying the bulk of the packs 
while Gimli was aiding Pippin in staying upright. The dwarf also 
seemed to be favoring his right arm, but the wizard couldn’t be 
certain of that. In any case, no doubt these three had an interesting 
tale to tell.

"What’s wrong with Pippin?" Merry demanded, struggling against 
Legolas’s firm hold.

"Nothing’s wrong with me," Pippin answered, his voice weak but 
reassuring. "I’m just a little dizzy, that’s all."

"What happened to you?" Sam asked, moving forward but stopping at a 
warning look from Legolas. "Are you all right?"

"He has made great progress," Gimli reassured them, glancing toward 
Aragorn and motioning the man forward. "He was unable to walk earlier. 
He struck his head in the initial rockslide and was slow to wake."

"Was anyone else injured?" Aragorn asked as he knelt next to the 
hobbit and gently ran his hand over his hairline.

"The dwarf dislocated his right shoulder twice," Legolas answered, 
apparently much to Gimli’s chagrin judging from the deadly glare that 
the dwarf shot the elf. "Other than that, we are all hale."

"It is a joy to see you again," Gandalf sighed, his eyes roaming over 
all three in a search for unmentioned injuries. "We had feared the 
worst."

"You should know better, Mithrandir," Legolas said with a smile.

"It is because I know better that I feared," the wizard shot back as 
relief began to fill his entire soul.

"I was worried, too," Frodo added. "Warn us the next time you decide 
to tumble over a cliff."

"We shall endeavor to do so," Gimli promised, watching Merry as 
Legolas finally put the hobbit down. "Gently, Master Brandybuck."

"Gently nothing," Pippin snorted. "Come here, Merry! You don’t know 
what I’ve had to endure down in that ravine! It kept raining rocks on 
us, and then there were these two and then—"

Whatever Pippin was going to say next was muffled in Merry’s cloak as 
the Brandybuck caught him up in a firm hug, which Pippin tried to 
return but in the end had to settle for Merry supporting the bulk of 
his weight.

"Welcome back," Aragorn smiled as he clapped Legolas on the back by 
way of greeting. "By the Valar, prince of Mirkwood, but you shall age 
me before my time."

"You and your mortal penchant for trouble have already aged me, my 
friend," Legolas responded with a quiet laugh. "I simply return the 
favor."

"I wondered if I would see you again before we moved on."

"You should not have waited for us. We would have caught up 
eventually," Gimli said.

"It was my counsel to move on, Master Dwarf. Know that we are not all 
given to the ways of folly," Boromir said. Gandalf couldn’t tell if 
the man was relieved or not that their companions had rejoined them. 
Nor he could tell if that last statement had been made seriously or in 
jest. It seemed that even with the return of elf, dwarf, and hobbit, 
things were still uneasy. It had, after all, been a very long night.

"Folly or no, I am glad that we waited," Aragorn said. "It gives me 
hope to know that I have a dwarf’s axe before me and an elf’s bow 
behind me." He then looked over at Pippin and Merry, his brow 
furrowing. Merry was still bracing Pippin, Sam and Frodo had joined 
the reunion, and Pippin was beginning to regale all with tales of his 
adventures in the ravine. "How long was he unconscious?" Aragorn 
asked, glancing at Legolas.

"He did not wake until this afternoon, but once he opened his eyes, he 
began to recover rapidly. It has only been within the past hour, 
though, that he has been able to walk. And he is still very dizzy."

The Ranger shook his head thoughtfully and looked over at Gandalf. 
"Dare we risk staying here to tend to Pippin?"

"Think you that he is in need of immediate care?" Gandalf asked, 
returning question for question.

"It would be better to treat him now rather than later, but there is 
not an immediate need. If you feel danger closes upon us, I judge that 
he can wait until morning when there is more time to properly treat 
him."

"We shall do that, then," the wizard decided, hearing a sigh of relief 
from Boromir at this announcement. "Danger may not yet be upon us, but 
it is not far away and we have tarried here far too long. How fast can 
Pippin travel?"

"He is improving," Gimli said, "but he is slow and needs the support 
of others."

"I shall carry him," Aragorn said. "We must travel quickly tonight to 
make up for lost time."

"Then let us be on our way," Gandalf said. "The mountains are before 
us, and whichever road we choose, we must be upon it tomorrow." The 
wizard paused, then, hearing Pippin say something about dangling from 
a collection of belts along the side of a cliff, and he shot a curious 
glance at Legolas and Gimli. "As we walk, you must share with us 
exactly what happened after we became separated."

"An interesting tale, to be certain," Legolas said, a strange look 
taking over his face.

"Fortunately, the strength of the dwarves saw us through," Gimli 
added, stalking past them all and starting up the trail. Anger flashed 
across in Legolas’s eyes, but to the astonishment of all, he held his 
peace and said nothing, merely gesturing for the others to precede him 
so that he might assume rearguard. Gandalf blinked, not quite certain 
that he could believe his eyes, and then looked over at Aragorn, who 
appeared just as puzzled.

"It seems it will be a very interesting tale," the Ranger said before 
moving to join the dwarf.


========================


Part 19