A/N: I'm back! And I would like to thank all those who put alerts on this or Rhenio mì Ennor (its sister-piece) and/or who reviewed. It really is very much appreciated. I've just finished writing the plot for Fellowship of the Ring (a loooot of feels) and will shortly be starting Two Towers. But you, my dear readers, will still have a couple of chapters to live through until setting eyes on it.

For the time being, enjoy the cold freezing air of Caradhras!

Disclaimer: Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Fìli, son of Kìli and some secundary characters.

Playlist for this chapter: Edge of night (by Billy Boyd) from The Return of the King OST; The Pass of Caradhras from The Fellowship of the Ring OST.

9. Caradhras

3019 T.A.

January

Time came when the Fellowship of the Ring had to set out of Rivendell, perhaps for good. Baraz would remember that day until the end of her life. She committed everything to memory: the soft sound of the waterfall outside her room, the softness of her beddings, the light of the sun as she stepped out into the day, the smiles of Arwen and Elrond as they bid them farewell, the hand of Glorfindel on her shoulder as he whispered parting words as she passed. 'Vanya sulie', he had said. It meant 'Fair winds' and few other phrases in Elvish were as kind and wishing well as that.

But there was one person amidst all those she had met in Rivendell that she wanted to say goodbye to for longer moments than a mere waving of hand and sharing of words.

She separated from her companions and walked to the balcony on which stood her uncle. Frodo, who had just left him, crossed her path and smiled at her with a small nostalgic smile that reminded her that this could verily be the last time she ever saw the elder hobbit who had practically raised her into this world.

"Poppy!" he had greeted her warmly. "I did not think you would come and say goodbye to my old self." He had chuckled and taken her hands in his. "Do not fret, child. This is a good adventure for you. One like your mother's so long ago. You took your chance while I could not. Enjoy the moment. Make friends. Even more if you can. Laugh, sing, eat, drink and dance! There are no more important matters in this world!"

She could not utter a word as she clung to his frail figure. But he did not seem to realise the gravity of their so-called adventure, for he waved her away and walked back to the railing on which he leaned, a song erupting from his lips as Baraz left him, her eyes staring at his form until she could not see him anymore.

And even then, a few days later, as she was walking in the shadow of the Misty Mountains in the cold and the wind, she could still hear his song:

I sit beside the fire and think

of all that I have seen,

of meadow-flowers and butterflies

in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer

in autumns that there were,

with morning mist and silver sun

and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think

of how the world will be

when winter comes without a spring

that I shall ever see.

Baraz had seldom walked this South of the valley, and to her, it seemed like the days were invariably the same. They walked for endless hours in plains of creaking frozen grass and the freezing winds of the Mountains, rested for a few hours in the middle of the day, and set out again to walk through the night. She could not see an end to this journey, and soon, she began to wonder again if she had made the right choice in going at all.

During the night, Aragorn and Gandalf walked in front of the rest, for the Ranger new these parts well. Then came the Hobbits and Boromir, and Baraz behind him. Gimli and Legolas were behind all, for the Elf's eyes were the keenest among the company, and Gimli didn't like to rely on him to protect his rear.

Boromir was kind to Baraz. His tall and broad figure protected her somehow from the iciest of winds, and ever so often he would glance over his shoulder to make sure she did not need assistance. But in truth, if that journey felt endless and without hope, she had seen worse days in Greenwood, even if the cold seemed now a worse enemy than the giant spiders of the elven forest.

For days and days they walked, and after a while, December had become January, and its early days had become its ten days. Nothing changed: not the weather; not the sights. Baraz grew weary of it, and soon, every of her companions felt the same.

But then, at last, a clear day arose, and as they had been on the road all night, they saw the sun rise in the East, a pale white colour in a white sky, but its sight warmed hearts and made weariness leave the companions.

Gandalf and Frodo stood still, gazing upon the Misty Mountains in the horizon. There they bent south-west, and they'd have to cross them at last.

Gimli and Baraz walked to their two companions, and soon, the Dwarf had happy tears in his eyes. "We have come to the land of my forefathers."

"And mine..." added Baraz. She knew, of course, that they were close to the mines of Moria, the promised land Balin had once set out for, but the thought, unlike Gimli, did not bring happy tears to her eyes. Instead, she felt dread sit low in her stomach.

"These are the pikes all Dwarf know about. All three of them. Baraz, Zirak, and Shathûr."

Baraz nodded absent-mindedly, until a small voice behind her shook her off her glum thoughts.

"One of the mountains is called like you?"

She turned her head to meet Sam's eyes, and behind him, Boromir and Legolas, both curious as well. Only Aragorn seemed detached from the fact.

She nodded. "Baraz means 'red' in the language of my fathers. This pike is the Red-horn, also called Caradhras. Barazinbar."

Gandalf nodded. "We are making for it. The pass there is easy enough to cross, and beyond lies the Dimrill Dale, the eastern gate of Moria. From then on, we will follow the river Silverlode."

Baraz nodded. "The farthest we pass from the mines, the better."

Gimli huffed. "We could easily cross the mountains from beneath it! My cousin Balin would welcome us like kings!"

Gandalf and Baraz shared a meaningful glance, and the wizard ushered the company forward. "Let's go. Many miles lie ahead still, and I wish to have crossed the Mountains before snow melts."

"You don't seem very happy to be close to your people's land..."

Baraz slowed her pace to reach Aragorn, who had been the one to voice the question aloud. She glanced at Gimli, who was by then engrossed in talk with Gandalf ahead, and sighed. "I am not."

"May I enquire on the reason?" He sent her a small smile, and she smiled back, knowing he was genuinely asking her permission to pry on her thoughts rather than doing it, period.

She nodded. "You may." She paused and they both left Legolas pass them so they were closing the line, just to make sure they were not overheard – although Baraz doubted anything could pass unnoticed by the Elf's ears. "Some time ago now, three of my mother's companions, and a few others, travelled to Moria to reclaim it. And no one has heard anything from them since..."

"The Balin Gimli was talking about?" Aragorn's brow furrowed.

Baraz nodded. "Balin was Thorin Oakenshield's counsellor and best friend. As first cousin of the previous and new King under the Mountain, he would have been appointed Lord of Moria without a struggle. He took with him Oin, the Company's healer and friend of my mother's – and Gimli's uncle - and Ori, the scholar who, at the time, was the youngest among the Company of Thorin."

"And no one has heard from them since?" Baraz shook her head. "Do you think-?"

"I think they have been too pretentious to believe they could reclaim such a place when it surely was stormed by Orcs and Goblins alike. King Daïn received word that they had arrived and somehow reclaimed it, but then time passed and nothing else was heard from them..."

"Gimli seems to believe they are still alive."

"Gimli has the stubbornness and foolish hope of every Dwarf in Erebor. All believe they are still alive. But I know better. My mother warned me about this."

"Your mother? Ariana?"

"Yes. She could foresee some things, we do not know how. When word came by letter that Balin had left Erebor to reclaim Khazad-dûm, she sent an urgent one to Oin, who was one of her dearest friends back then, to beg him to not go. She said they were going to their deaths..."

Aragorn nodded gravely. "So you think we ought to cross the Mountains as far from the mines as possible?"

"Aye, I do. And I am glad Gandalf agrees with me on this."

They remained silent after that, but the feeling of dread in Baraz' stomach did not fade as they grew closer to the Mountains. On the contrary, it grew stronger.

The following day, as all the companions safe for Sam and Aragorn were sleeping under the cover of a thin tree, ravens passed from the South, high in the sky, in a thick black cloud of cries.

When they awoke, Aragorn told his companions what these had been. "Crebain from the land of Dun. I fear someone is looking for us."

Gandalf sighed and sat, leaning of his staff. "It is time I tell you the reason for my arriving late in Rivendell," he glanced at Frodo, "when I had promised to meet you in Bree." All sat around the wizard, ears and eyes opened on his old but fierce face. Only Aragorn, who seemed to know the story, looked away. "When I last saw you in Hobbiton," he was still addressing Frodo, "I realised I needed to seek council to make sure my wanting to leave on such an adventure as ours was wise. I therefore went to the wisest among my order: Saruman the White, who dwells in Isengard the Fair."

Many nodded at that, including Baraz, who had heard of the old white wizard from her mother, and who knew enough of the Istarí's customs to know Gandalf was bound more by tradition than by need when he had sought Saruman out.

"What I learnt there was far worse than I would have imagined. Not only did Saruman know of Sauron's awakening in the East, but he had also pledged allegiance to the Enemy." There was general gasp of horror around the companions. Legolas cursed in elvish, Gimli in dwarvish. "He kept me prisoner there for many a week, before I managed to escape with the help of an old friend: Gwaihir, King of the Eagles."

There was a long pause, and then Legolas spoke up. "So you think these crebain have been sent by Saruman in his tower of Orthanc?"

"I am sure of it."

"Then we should hurry to the Mountains. Surely the wizard believes we would pass through the Gap of Rohan."

"Yes, that is what I think too. But the Gap of Rohan is too narrow and too arid to hope for safe travels. I agree, we have to hurry to the Pass of Caradhras." He stood, and with him the others. Pippin was not too happy about having yet again to skip breakfast, but the rest of the group was too worried to be seen to care for sustenance.

Only Baraz voiced her deepest fears as she grabbed her bow. "So the White Wizard has turned to the Enemy... How many of our former friends shall we have to see turn on us thus?"

Gandalf, who had been standing close, sighed. "I fear friendship is now of less importance than survival. We have to be weary of all things. Including those we think about as friends..."

Baraz didn't meet the wizard's stormy eyes, but she knew he had guessed she was thinking about Erebor and what might happen to those she indeed thought about as friends...

At last they began to climb the slope of the Mountain. Snow soon started to fall in a blizzard through which even Legolas' eyes could not see properly. After a while, Gandalf, who was walking front, had snow up to his knees. Behind him, Aragorn was struggling to pull the four Hobbits forward, for their short legs were almost stuck in the thick white cover. Sam cursed several times under his breath, cursing wizards and Men and all sorts while he pulled poor pony Bill forward.

Baraz, despite her height being in-between that of a Dwarf and of a Man, had snow up to her thighs, and it was getting harder and harder to pull her feet up from under the snow, and even through the heavy thick woollen boots of the Elves, she could feel her toes going numb.

"Why don't we stop?" asked Gimli after a while. His voice was swallowed by the blizzard, but companion upon companion shared the question until it reached Gandalf, and then his answer travelled back down the line.

"There's a cave we could find shelter in a few more yards away. If we can reach it, we can wait for the storm to end."

The Dwarf didn't seem happy with the proposition, and neither was his 'cousin', for she could hear a strange thing in the wind.

Baraz turned to Legolas, who was walking on top of the snow at the end of the line. "Can you hear? It sounds like voices."

The Elf glanced down at her then back up, and nodded. "Yes, I can hear it. Caradhras does not wish us here. The Mountain is trying to swallow us whole..."

But soon, the cry of Gandalf reached them. "It's Saruman! He is casting the storm!" And as soon as he had said that, the booming voice of the wizard echoed in the wind, amplified by the spell he was trying to conjure. His words were unknown to all, but Baraz knew it was old Quenya, the language of the High Elves of Gondolin, and of the Istarì, who had arrived on this Earth many millenniums prior.

But nothing Gandalf could do or say stopped the storm from falling or the wind from whistling, and after a few minutes more, Frodo and Pippin together begged to stop, for they could not feel anything down from their hips.

Gandalf pondered then ushered Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas to carry one Hobbit each while the fourth would climb onto poor Bill, who was soon relieved of extra bags Gimli and Baraz would carry.

Pippin climbed onto Boromir's back, Merry on Aragorn's, and Frodo on Legolas' while Sam cursed again and was hoisted onto the pony by Gandalf, who seemed to take all this stoically and who appeared more keen to reach shelter than to give in to the numbness of his company.

After long, Boromir stopped Gandalf as he saw Frodo drowsing off on Legolas' back before him. "This will be the death of the halflings, Gandalf! It is useless to sit here until the snow goes over our heads. We must do something to save ourselves."

The wizard whirled around, his grey beard engulfed in white as snow covered his hair and pointy hat. He studied Frodo for a moment, then produced a flask he handed Baraz, who stood not far, checking on Pippin herself. "Give them this. Just a mouthful each – for all of us. It is very precious. It is miruvor, the cordial of Imladris. Elrond gave it to me at our parting. Pass it around!"

Without questioning his words, Baraz opened the flask and helped a bit of draught into Pippin's dry mouth. The Hobbit swallowed and warmth seemed to come back to his cheeks. She placed the flask next to Boromir's lips, then Frodo's, and before long, every companion safe for herself had drunk from it and seemed to revive from its content. She took a careful little sip and tasted one of the most fragrant liquids she had ever tasted, and it brought fire to her insides and hope to her heart again. She handed the flask back to Gandalf, and without a word, he started to climb again.

Morning rose the following day, but with it ill tidings.

The disembodied voice of Saruman had erupted from the wind again, and although Gandalf did all he could to counter his spell, he could do no more good than if he had been trying to impact on the rising of the Sun.

Suddenly, Aragorn, behind Baraz, pushed her roughly to the side so she stood directly against the mountainside. She was about to enquire on his behaviour when he shouted loud and clear, his grey eyes to the skies: "Avalanche!"

All companions pushed against the rocky wall as snow tumbled from over their heads, more and more, until Baraz choked and could not see or feel anything that was not snow. The white and cold cloud covered her from head to toe, rendering her blind and numb to anything that'd surround her. She thought for a moment that this was what dying felt like – cold, numb, dark, lonely – before she felt a cold hand close around her arm from the side.

Her eyes opened onto greying snow before light erupted from in front of her – someone had dug into the snow to retrieve her. She gripped the mysterious companion's hand as strongly as she could with her nimble fingers, and he pulled her from her white coffin until she could see who it was – Boromir.

Around her, Legolas, standing onto the wall of snow as if he weighted nothing, Aragorn and Gimli were helping the halflings out of the snow themselves, while Gandalf stood, defeated, next to poor Bill, who shook from ears to tail.

Aragorn walked to the wizard after all companions had been salvaged. "We cannot go on like this. We are losing precious time in this storm."

The wizard nodded gravely and slowly, before he briefly glanced at Gimli then back into the horizon. "You are right. We have to walk back. And try to find the Doors of Durin."

At those words Baraz' head shot up, and her already white cheeks lost the little warmth they had gained by seeing the light of day again. Her blood froze in her veins and she froze on place, her hand stopped over her pack, which she had meant to wrap back around her shoulders.

Legolas, next and over her, placed a hand on her shoulder and she looked at him, albeit still too shaken to speak. "Are you alright?"

She did not answer.