The North Wind's Wrath
Snow had fallen in a thick white blanket. It coated the land with its cold embrace, and frosted the horses' manes.
"It's beautiful!" Higgen had said when he woke up that first morning and saw the undisturbed landscape.
"You'll get tired of it really soon," Thrimich said. Dilkoin had given them extra blankets for themselves and the horses as well as thick fur coats. He had also given Anduin a thick, tall walking stick. The ranger leaned upon this now, watching both Higgen and Phaethon frolic in the snow.
Phaethon pranced through the white fields, kicking up the white blanket with his hooves. He stopped and lay down in a particularly thick patch of snow and rolled over in it. When he stood bits of flakes were stuck in his thick brown coat. Phaethon snorted, and his breath came out in a warm cloud.
Anduin whistled and Phaethon returned meekly, much as a child who wishes to keep playing. The Man laughed and brushed the snow from the horse's coat. "Rhiw roch, sui gloss sui mearas!" (Winter horse, as white as a mearas!) he laughed.
But Thrimich was right, and Higgen did soon tire of the snow. Especially when they rounded the eastern end of the Grey Mountains and the North wind caught them full between the mountains.
Of the horses, only Phaethon seemed resilient in the cold. The Elves' horses huddled together, trying to block the freezing blast of the wind, but Phaethon stood alone. The wind caught up his mane in a great rush and pulled it this way and that, but his pony's thick coat kept away its chill.
Higgen was so cold during riding that he wore not only his fur coat, but also two of his blankets. Anduin, like Phaethon, seemed fairly resistant to the cold and wore only his thick cloak. It was his presence at the hobbit's back that kept him from freezing.
Sometimes the snow drifts were so deep and so large that Phaethon was up to his chest in them, plowing a path. The Elven horses followed, miserable, in his tracks.
Fires at night were necessary, but also difficult for lack of fuel. Too often the fire was so small that Higgen feared they would all freeze.
No one would have made it through without Anduin's tea. In the morning and at night the ranger would melt and then boil kettlefuls of snow. To these he added so dry herbs from his silver-grey bag. The result was deliciously warm and surprisingly energizing. Anduin also made sure that the horses were warm enough at night.
"The wind is angry," Anduin said to himself one night.
"What about?" Higgen asked, blowing on his tea to cool it down.
"The mountains," Anduin replied. "She does not like them. She has to climb over or go around them. She wants to tear them down."
"What is she going to do?" Eliohad asked. Anduin closed his eyes and listened closely.
"She's going to tear down the mountains."
"She can't do that," Higgen said, sipping his tea and savoring the taste.
"Get the horses into the cleft!" Anduin shouted, pointing to a crack in the mountainside.
"Why?" Higgen asked, startled by the ranger's urgency.
"Just do it!" The Elves jumped up and pulled their horses into the shelter of the cliff. It was so tight that there was no way for the Elves to squeeze out past their horses. Anduin came last, leading Phaethon and pushing Higgen in front of him.
"What's going on?" Higgen asked.
"She's going to tear down the mountains," Anduin repeated, pushing the hobbit into the cleft and following him. As soon as Phaethon's tail was between the rocks the wind picked up with a howl. It slammed the mountains, which creaked and moaned.
"No matter how hard the wind howls," Gwindor said. "The mountain cannot bow to it." The wind was screaming now, picking up snow and hurling it at the rock face.
"She blows the stars around and sets the clouds flying," Anduin said, bracing himself against the blast. "She makes the mountains sound like people are out there dying." It was the words of a poem, but Higgen could not catch the rest of it. For the wind's wailing passage among the peaks of the mountains did create a horrible howl, as though a woman was crying out in pain.
It was a blizzard. Beyond Phaethon the world had become a white wall. The storm raged against the mountains, pushing up against the unrelenting rock.
"Is she really going to bring the mountain down?" Higgen tried to ask, but Anduin could not hear him over the storm. Night came, but Higgen could only tell that by the greying of the white storm outside.
Some snow fell into where they were sheltered, but the overhanging rock face kept them dry most of the night, if a little cramped. Higgen hoped that the dawn would bring a stop to the crying that the wind was making in the mountains. It was disturbingly real.
When the storm did stop, sometime in the night, it left a wall of snow blocking the cleft's entrance. Gwindor and Thrimich managed to climb over this on their light Elven feet and the rest of the company waited for their return.
"It's only a few yards thick!" Thrimich's voice called over the snow bank. "You'll have to push though."
"Come on, rhiw roch," (winter horse) Anduin told Phaethon. "Tegibo." (Lead on). The pony began to back up slowly, sending a shower of snow on the rest of the horses who snorted in annoyance.
Phaethon did eventually break a path through the snow bank with the help of Gwindor and Thrimich. The Elves' led their horses up through this path and out in the blindingly white morning.
If Minas Tirith was a mountain of ice, a pale imitation of the mountains at it's back; then Gundabad was a mountain of coal, a dark shadow on the white landscape. It stood taller than the other mountains, and yet no snow graced its slopes.
Gundabad stood alone, separated from the Grey Mountains by a large moor and the Misty Mountains by a deep valley. It glared down on any who dared to approach it, a menacing watchtower of the mountains.
"Goblins tend to hibernate during the winter," Anduin said. "But I hope we shall not have to go into Gundabad itself."
"Did the text mention this mountain?" Higgen asked, nestling further into his coat.
"No."
"Then why are we here?"
"Because the wind was so afraid," Anduin replied.
"The wind that tried to tear down the mountains?" Higgen asked.
"Yes."
"Oh good, just clarifying. After all, a wind that tries to flatten a mountain is the best guide on a journey such as this." A smile tugged Anduin's lips.
A rumble broke the silence.
"Was that your stomach?" Anduin asked.
"Not guilty," Higgen said, feeling his stomach.
"I was afraid of that." The rumbling grew louder so that Phaethon spooked and shied to one side.
"Giants!" Eliohad yelled. Anduin turned Phaethon sharply and urged him away from the mountains. Higgen looked behind them and saw a huge man, at least three times taller than Anduin. His skin was mottled grey, like a stone, and he had a long tufted tail.
The giant had also seen the fleeing riders, whom he now pointed to and called out in some grounding clashing language. Another giant came from around the side of the mountain and answered the first. Then both giants turned and began taking long strides, following the fleeing riders.
"Higgen, take the reins!" Anduin yelled.
"Me?" The hobbit was utterly surprised as Anduin had never told him to take the reins before. But he clutched tightly to the straps of leather and tried to give Phaethon his head. Suddenly Higgen felt Anduin's presence slip out from behind him. When he turned around he saw the ranger taking a fighting stance, preparing to meet the oncoming giants.
Higgen had accidentally pulled Phaethon's reins to the right when he turned around. Phaethon could tell that whoever was steering him was not his master and so the pony skidded to a stop, sending Higgen head over heels into a snowbank.
"Phaethon!" Higgen spluttered, coming up with a cold mouthful of snow. Then he saw, to his absolute horror, that one of the giants had picked up Anduin. The Man was tiny in its hand and his struggles were in vain. The giant looked over the ranger as though examining some new toy. The second giant had caught up, and it was clear that he wanted a chance to play with the toy.
The first giant growled, and tried to hold Anduin away from the other giant who reached around and tried to grasp the ranger. In this struggle, Anduin had managed to draw his knife, which he now stabbed deep into one of the fingers that was holding him.
The surprised giant dropped Anduin and began to suck on his finger. The second giant took the opportunity to make a grab for Anduin, but the first giant hit his hand away. They began to pull each other's hair and fell to punches and slaps.
Phaethon had trotted back to where Anduin now lay on the ground, discarded. The ranger swung himself over the pony's back and Phaethon carried him away from the giants, who were squabbling so hard by now that they didn't see their toy escape.
"Are you hurt?" Eliohad asked, spurring Elissa to meet Phaethon.
"Bruised, I think," Anduin said, bending over to grab Higgen's hand and pull him up into the saddle. "Let's hurry before they notice I'm gone."
Higgen was soaked through, his coat and blankets saturated with cold. The hobbit began to shiver uncontrollably as Phaethon began to canter, the cold air piercing his wet clothes. A heavy warmth fell on Higgen's shoulders and enveloped him. The hobbit grasped the edges of the cloth and inhaled the scent of horses and grass. Anduin's blanket.