Hey y'all! Thanks so much for your lovely reviews of the last chapter- I'm overwhelmed! I'm not really in the habit of giving shout-outs in my stories (these chapters are long enough as it is lol) but I wanted to give a quick thanks to Mimi Lind and Katia0203 for reviewing just about every one of my chapters so far, and to Addy White for dedicating a one-shot from her story to me. Go check out their LOTR stories if you haven't already- they're really good!

I'm really touched so many people are enjoying my weird story. I wasn't sure anyone but me would want to read about a helicopter-flying Texan violinist joining the Fellowship! So thank you all from the bottom of my heart for validating my weird ideas and inspiring me to keep writing.

Anyway, I hope y'all like this update- the adventure is finally underway! Also I'm going to add the romantic pairings in the character tags soon, I promise, but it miiiight be a bit more obvious from this chapter. Or maybe that's just me? Let me know what you think!

As usual, please let me know your thoughts about this chapter, and stay safe out there!

Chapter 16: Baby It's Cold Outside

"It's freezing," I muttered under my breath, clutching my thick wool coat around my shoulders. I'd held out most of the day, determined not to complain, but the words finally slipped through my chattering teeth as the sun sank toward the horizon.

We had stopped to make camp at last, and it was all I could do not to collapse on the ground in a boneless heap. While I was probably in the best shape of my life, considering my daily swordplay and frequent walks around the valley in Rivendell, I hadn't been prepared in the least for the brutal reality of hiking all day in the winter wilderness, especially at the grueling pace Gandalf had set for us.

"It will only get colder the closer we get to mountains, Beatrice," the wizard said unhelpfully as the others began to set up camp. "However, you are in luck, as we are still close enough to Rivendell that we might chance a fire tonight." He passed me some sharpened gray rocks from his cloak. "If you will?"

"Oh! Of…course." I examined the rocks with some confusion.

"Off with you—collect some kindling, go on." Gandalf shooed me away, turning away to talk with Strider.

I glanced around in confusion for a long moment. Kindling? But we were in the grasslands, so there were no trees, and no firewood. And what was I supposed to do with these rocks?

"You alright, Miss Bee?" Sam appeared at my side, hefting a small iron pot in his arms. "I'm to make something hot to eat, once we've got a fire goin'," he added, with a meaningful glance at the rocks in my hands.

"Um, right," I stammered. "But I don't know what to…"

Sam frowned up at me. "Haven't you never used tinder and flint to start a fire, Miss?

"That's what these are? Flint?"

He raised his eyebrows, but mercifully was too polite to tell me how stupid I was. "I'm guessing they haven't got flint where you're from, then?"

"Can't say they do." I glanced around self-consciously—everyone else was bustling around the camp as though they knew what they were doing, unpacking bags, poring over a map to discuss our route, tending to our pony, Bill… "I'm sorry," I stammered. "I've never done any kind of outdoorsy stuff like this—"

"Don't fret, Miss Bee," Sam said kindly. "I learned a good deal about settin' up camp in the wild from Strider, you know."

"Really?"

With a nod, Sam led me to the edge of our camp, where he helped me cut piles of dry grass to use in place of firewood. Under his patient watch, I clumsily tied the grass into bundles and stacked them into a pile, my fingers half-numb from the cold. "Now strike the flint like so, if you follow me, Miss," Sam instructed, hitting the rocks against one another. I took the flint from him and obeyed. "That's it, just closer to the kindling."

I tried again and again, until at last sparks flew and the grass caught fire. "Yes!"

"Finally!" Pippin cried, huddling close to the flames as I stoked the fire with the end of Sam's soup ladle. "Took you long enough." I rolled my eyes and whacked him on the head with the ladle, eliciting a snort of quiet laughter from Frodo.

"Hey now, don't make fun. It was very good for her first campfire," Sam said stoutly, and I beamed at him. He busied himself with setting up his stew pot over the fire, his ears turning red.

"What's that?" Frodo said suddenly, squinting up at the evening sky.

I looked up from the fire, the screeching of birds suddenly audible. My spine prickled—the sound was oddly familiar.

"Get down!"

I had barely made out a dark cloud of crows descending on our camp when the hobbits and I were knocked flat into the grass by Strider and Legolas. Dazed, I had just enough time to see Gandalf hurriedly smothering our campfire, the rest of the Fellowship ducking for cover—and then the birds were upon us.

I pressed my arms over my head protectively, screwing up my eyes against the cacophonous screams, the wild flapping of black wings, a sharp stab of pain as a bird raked its claws into my hair—

Only seconds later, the birds were gone. We got to our feet, eyes darting back and forth apprehensively, but the evening sky was clear. The crows were already barely visible on the horizon as they retreated south.

"Crebain—spies from Isengard," Strider hissed, and I felt a chill enter my bones that had nothing to do with the cold. I knew they'd seemed familiar. These were the same birds I'd seen when traveling with Radagast—the same ones Saruman had sent looking for me.

"Then our quest has already been discovered," Gandalf muttered darkly, brushing dirt and grass from his robes. "And only a day's journey from Rivendell." He glanced at me darkly, and I knew we were wondering the same thing—how much had Saruman seen in that book?

"I suppose we won't be making another fire, then?" Merry piped up, and I frowned wistfully, eyeing the remains of my short-lived campfire.

"No indeed, master hobbit," Gandalf said. Pippin groaned audibly, earning a glare from the wizard. "Greater caution will be needed from now on. In fact, I think it best that we cease traveling during daylight entirely, to remain hidden from watchful eyes."

We ate a cold meal that evening. None of us much felt like talking, though Strider and Gandalf stayed up late into the night arguing in hushed voices, their heads bent over a yellowed map of Middle Earth. I didn't know what path they'd choose for us to take, but I had a feeling there wasn't anywhere we could go that Saruman wouldn't see us.

I scowled at the sunlight behind my eyelids, burying my head under the covers of my sleeping bag. The morning air was shockingly cold, and it was all I could do not to think of my warm bed in Rivendell. Or my clean nightgown, or a hot bath, or a warm meal—no, stop it, Bee!

True to Gandalf's word, we had made the switch to nocturnal travel as quickly as we could. The next several days had consisted of going to sleep and waking up at increasingly odd hours, made all the more enjoyable by the ever-colder weather, which we had to endure without even mention of a campfire. We might have been marginally safer from Saruman's gaze, but we were all left freezing, out of sorts, and exhausted.

Well, not all of us. Our new schedule didn't seem to bother Strider or Gimli very much, as they quickly proved that they could fall asleep at the drop of a hat, when needed. And Gandalf and Legolas didn't seem bothered either, but then again, I wasn't sure if they slept at all. I had the feeling they just stared out pensively into the sky, lost in thought, while the rest of us snored.

So complaining about our new sleep schedule had fallen mostly to me and the hobbits, who found solace in grumbling amongst ourselves as we stumbled over rocks in the dark and tried to create makeshift blindfolds out of handkerchiefs to keep the sun out of our eyes as we slept.

I thought I'd get used to it, given my near-constant state of exhaustion. But it seemed I'd underestimated the stubbornness of my internal clock. I squinted grumpily at the others; no one else seemed to be having trouble sleeping like I was. Everyone was out cold—even Gandalf and Legolas seemed to be at least feigning sleep—except for Boromir, who had been condemned to the first watch of the day.

I shifted in my sleeping bag a little to glance over at him, and was surprised to see him bent over a ragged scroll of parchment, a tiny ink bottle perched on a rock next to him. He wrote for only a moment before resuming his watch, and after a minute or two of scanning the horizon, bent over the parchment again to add another sentence.

What in the world was he writing? Some kind of travel log? I had never imagined gruff, brash Boromir as a writer. Curiosity got the better of me, and I wriggled out of my sleeping bag, sneaking over to the edge of our camp where he was carefully scratching out words onto the parchment.

"Whatcha doing?"

The quill twitched in Boromir's hand, but he didn't look up. "Go back to sleep." He spoke in a whisper.

"I was already awake," I whispered back, plopping down onto the grass next to him. "What are you writing?" He raised an eyebrow at me, and I shrugged. "Don't worry, I won't read it. I'm just curious."

"I am writing to my brother," he said shortly, and paused to scan the horizon again.

"Oh yeah, you mentioned him at the Council, didn't you?"

"Yes." His voice softened. "Faramir, the captain of the Rangers of Ithilien. A braver and more honorable man you will not find in the whole of Gondor."

"But how are you going to send him letters from out here?"

"I cannot send them to him, of course," he replied, shaking his head. "Assuming we reach the White City in one piece, I shall give these letters to him then."

"That's really sweet," I said, eyeing his heavy, deliberate penmanship. I felt, rather than saw, Boromir roll his eyes.

"Go back to sleep," he said again, resignedly. "You will be exhausted come nightfall."

"It's no use. I can't sleep anyway." He didn't reply, which I took as an invitation to stay. "Do you and your brother always write to each other like this?"

Boromir nodded, scanning the horizon as he spoke. "We are separated often, due to our stations and the demands of our posts. It has been our tradition to communicate thus since Faramir was young. I am no great writer, as he is, but my letters always meant a great deal to him, especially when he was a child and did not yet comprehend why I was so often sent away to fight."

I frowned. "You were sent off to fight when he was still a child?"

"I am nearly twelve years his senior," he explained.

"So…you were going off to battle as a teenager?" I replied, trying to calculate their ages in my head. Boromir looked young, maybe mid-thirties at most, but spending so much time around elves had warped my judgment.

"Of course; that is the nature of war," he said bluntly. "I have been defending my city since the age of fifteen."

I winced, imagining a young Boromir seated on a warhorse, gangly and bare-faced, bidding his toddler brother farewell, not knowing if he would ever see him again. "I'm sorry," I muttered. "That's..." what? Terrible? Unfair? Of course it was, but it seemed rather pathetic to say so.

"That is the way things are," he said. "Is it not so in your nation's army?"

"People in my country can join the military at eighteen. They're not considered adults until then. I mean, when I was fifteen, I wasn't even old enough to drive a car by myself, let alone go off to battle!"

"But of course you would not have gone to battle in any case," Boromir said, looking bemused. "Perhaps a man from your country would better understand the sacrifices Gondor has made in this war."

"Women in my country do go to war," I snapped, glaring at him.

Boromir raised his eyebrows. "Is your nation under such duress, then, that even the women are sent to fight?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose in exasperation. "No, that's not what I meant! Men and women are equal under my nation's laws. Nearly every country in my world allows women in their military."

"But surely few of your women would wish to undertake such a dangerous task, sorceresses or no."

"None of them are sorceresses, and plenty of them want to fight! It's an honor to serve one's country," I said, struggling to keep my voice down. "I figured you of all people would get that."

"Yes," he replied slowly. For several minutes, neither of us spoke, and Boromir continued to keep his watch, occasionally frowning down at his letter as though deep in thought. "If what you say is true," he said abruptly, looking uncomfortable, "Middle Earth must seem unwelcoming indeed, given the esteem to which you are accustomed in your homeland." Taken aback, I nodded hesitantly. His frown deepened, and another long moment passed before he spoke again. "I can scarcely fathom your grief at being so far removed from your people," he muttered, his voice low. "It does not bear imagining."

"I'll make it back eventually," I said feebly, trying to will myself to believe it. "I'm sure there'll be something in the library in Minas Tirith that will help."

"I do hope that you will find answers in my city. But until then," he added haltingly, "if you would like—that is, I have a roll of parchment or two to spare, if you wish to write letters to your family as well."

I sat up straighter. "What, really?"

"Of course. Even if they may not read them for some time, it may ease the pain of your separation."

"That's really—thank you, that means a lot," I stammered, overwhelmed by his offer.

"Think nothing of it, Beatrice." As I took the parchment, he hesitated, then shook my hand firmly, nearly making me drop the scrolls in surprise. "But do not presume to write anything now," he added, clearing his throat hastily and turning back to his letter. "Get some rest, if you can, for it is nearly noon."

I nodded, gazing down at the parchment, and made my way back to my sleeping bag with a much lighter heart. I knew it wasn't much, but to write to my family and my friends! I burrowed deep under the polyester covers in the cold morning air, smiling. When sleep finally came, I dreamed of home.

Dear Mom,

You wouldn't believe where I've been the past few months. I'm in Middle Earth, Tolkien's Middle Earth, from those movies you said were really nerdy. Did you ever watch them? Probably not, I know you never had time for fantasy stuff.

Are you alright? I'm sure you're real worried about me, and I wish I could actually mail this letter to you, to let you know I'm okay. So much has happened since July, and I'm afraid you won't believe me. I've joined a quest—a real fantasy quest, can you believe it? I'm heading to a medieval city called Minas Tirith, where I'm hoping I'll be able to find a way back to Dallas.

I hope you're okay, and I'm sorry we didn't talk more when I was still living close by. Don't worry, I'll do whatever it takes to get back home. I'll give you these letters before you know it.

Love, Bee

P.S. Say hi to Bilbo for me! And you'll never believe it—I met his namesake!

"Alright, get to bed, everyone." I looked up at Gandalf's words, cursing in English as my quill dripped ink onto the parchment. "The sun is rising, and we have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow."

"Right then, I'll take first watch," Gimli grunted, standing up.

"Again?" I exclaimed, setting my letter down. "Bless your heart, you just kept watch two days ago. I haven't taken a watch yet, I'll do it."

"That won't be necessary," Strider cut in. "Gimli and I can manage tonight. You need your sleep."

I crossed my arms. "But y'all need your sleep too," I said. "Besides, everyone else has taken at least one watch. I want to do my part."

"You need not trouble yourself," Strider said sternly. "You must recover your strength; you will miss a half night's sleep far more than Gimli or I will."

I bristled, but before I could open my mouth Boromir cut in sharply. "For goodness' sake, Aragorn, let her keep watch if she wishes. Is she not a part of the Company?"

The rest of the group fell silent at his words. Strider studied our faces for a long moment, until Gimli broke the sudden tension in the air with a laugh. "Aye, if the lass wants to stay up half the night and let me sleep, you won't hear me complain."

"Very well," Strider said at last, "though I shall still keep the second watch. Beatrice, wake me at midday, and I will relieve you."

Too taken aback to form a proper response, I nodded and moved to a rocky outcropping away from the Fellowship. The others kept talking in hushed voices for several minutes, and then silence overtook the camp.

Strider had been right—keeping watch was exhausting, far more than I'd imagined, but I didn't dare complain now. I finished my letters to my friends in a few stolen moments and was soon left with nothing to do but stare out at the horizon, hum softly to myself, and tap out quiet melodies on my kneecaps with my ink-stained fingers.

My seat offered an unparalleled view of the grassland, as though the Fellowship were on an island in the middle of a wide green sea. The mountains, whose names I couldn't remember, rose ever closer to the east.

Slowly, the sun inched higher in the sky, until I wanted to scream with boredom. While I couldn't tell exactly when midday was, I remembered the dismissive tone in Strider's voice and waited until I was certain it was a good deal after noon before I crept over to wake him.

"Hey," I whispered, stifling a yawn as I nudged him with my boot. "Rise and shine—your turn to watch."

Strider was alert and on his feet at once. He beckoned me to follow and turned toward the outcropping I'd been sitting at. "You saw nothing of note?" he pressed. "No disturbances?"

I shrugged. "There were more of those crows again, off in the distance, but they didn't come too close." The crebain had reappeared several times since their first attack, but always remained circling in the distance, reminding us of Saruman's watchful gaze.

"Very well. And Beatrice," Strider sighed, looking uncomfortable. "If you wish to take more watches in the future, you have only to let me know."

"I do," I said. "I mean, I'm here to help, after all. I'm sure Elrond wouldn't have given me his blessing to come along if he thought I couldn't handle keeping watch every now and again."

He sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. "I agree. From what you have told me, and what Boromir relayed to me this morning, women in your homeland are accustomed to rather different treatment than you have received of late," he said. "Know that I meant no insult—"

"I know," I said awkwardly. "Don't worry about it. Just—just treat me like everyone else, okay? And if I can't handle taking another watch, I'll let you know."

"Very well," Strider replied with a smile. "Now go and rest. You have more than earned it, for it is far past midday."

Dear Caroline, Nathan, and John,

Sorry for not writing separate letters to each of y'all! I'm trying to save paper—might be running low on supplies soon. Also sorry about the handwriting. Quills suck and someone in Middle Earth needs to invent a ballpoint pen stat. Oh right—I'm in Middle Earth. Can you believe it? It's a long story. I didn't believe it at first either, trust me.

Nathan, I kind of got your book ruined. I'm sorry. You'd love it here though! But guess what, I met your cello's namesake, and let me tell you Glorff- Glorfinn- no, Glorph- however you spell it, he is a piece of work. Super hot though. Like dang.

Sorry I've missed so many gigs. Are y'all still playing at the Fiddler's Elbow on Fridays?

I paused, looking critically over my rambling words. It had taken me ages to write even those few sentences—why was it so hard to think of things to say to them? These were my three closest friends, who I hadn't spoken to in months; it should be easy! I glanced over what I'd already written, and scowled to see that I'd apologized to them four times already.

"What are you writing?" Merry poked his curly head over my shoulder.

I jumped, reflexively shielding the parchment with my hands. "Hey, don't read my letters!"

"Relax, we can't," Pippin chimed in on my other side. "I've tried, it's in the wrong language. So what's it say?" He squinted closer at the parchment in the dying light—it was late evening, and we were about to begin another night's grueling walk.

I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to shake off the bitterness I'd felt a moment ago. "Well let's see," I said, picking up the parchment and adopting an exaggerated drawl. "'Dear friends, I've met the most obnoxious hobbits in Middle Earth. They don't fight fair when we practice with our swords, and now they're trying to spy on my letters and have no respect for personal sp—' Hey!"

With a shout of laughter Merry snatched the letter from my hands and bolted with it. "I'll teach you to tell tales about us to your friends!"

"Go, Merry!" Pippin cried as I leapt after him, dodging between other members of the Company.

"Oh no, you don't!" I wrested the paper back with some difficulty, laughing and holding it out of reach as Merry and Pippin jumped for it. I was a good deal taller than them, of course, but Merry dragged me down by the arm and nearly managed to grab it back. I looked around desperately. "Boromir!" I exclaimed, spotting him not far away and flinging the letter in his direction. "Don't let them get it!"

He caught the folded parchment deftly, raising an eyebrow at me—it struck me then that joking around with a woman was foreign to him, for all that he laughed and played with the hobbits. After a moment, though, he obliged and lifted my letter far out of reach. "Fear not, great sorceress," he said, a smile playing on his lips. "I shall guard your correspondence with my li—oof!" Pippin tackled him around the middle, sending them both crashing to the ground in a heap. With a battle cry, Merry whooped and joined the fray.

Smoothing down my coat, I sat down next to Legolas to watch them fight it out. "Never a dull moment with the halflings, eh?" he mused.

"You can say that again."

Boromir's booming laugh echoed across the camp as he wrestled one of the hobbits into a headlock. His grey eyes met mine, and he grinned at me.

"Your handwriting is abysmal, if I may say so," Legolas said idly, nodding at my letter.

"Huh?" I blinked, distracted. "Hey! I'm new to using a quill and ink, it's not my fault!"

"Really? Have you received no education in your homeland?"

"Of course I have!" I exclaimed, folding my arms in indignation. "I have a business degree and everything."

"What is a business degree?" the elf asked. "And what do your people use in place of quills?"

Clumsily, I tried to explain. Much to Legolas's annoyance, Gimli joined our conversation, looking fascinated by the idea of a ballpoint pen. "How is the ballpoint affixed to the quill, lass?" Gimli asked, folding his arms thoughtfully. "And how does the ink not dry out?"

Legolas wrinkled his nose. "This conversation does not concern you, dwarf."

"Aye? Perhaps you should hold your tongue, princeling, if you have nothing of use to contribute," Gimli retorted, cutting off my startled protests.

"Oh, there are several ways in which I might contribute," the elf snapped.

"Legolas, Gimli, that is quite enough." Gandalf's sharp tone silenced them both. "Now, on your feet, all of you. It is high time we get moving."

"Have you come to a decision about our path, then?" Boromir asked the wizard, helping the hobbits to their feet. Sheepishly, Merry handed me my letter back, rather more crumpled than it had been.

"Indeed we have," Gandalf said, sharing a troubled glance with Strider. "We must consider not only which route is best to take, but which route Saruman thinks we shall take, in order to cast him off our trail."

Gimli clapped his hands together eagerly, all animosity forgotten. "Does this mean…?"

"I am afraid so," the wizard sighed. "We shall attempt to throw the White Wizard off our trail on the slopes of Caradhras, and then yes, we shall make for the Mines of Moria."

Dear Amarien,

This letter probably has a better chance of reaching its recipient than any of the other ones I'm writing. I really miss you, and I hope you're doing well. Are the rest of the guests from the Council still in Rivendell? I hope they're not keeping you too busy.

We're all still hanging in there, although I'm getting more and more exhausted every day. It doesn't help that whenever we stop for the evening, Strider makes me and the hobbits practice with our swords. I'm not sure I'm very good yet, but hopefully I'll never have to find out.

I'm not sure exactly where we are now, but we're heading up a mountain—I can't spell it, but it starts with a C, or maybe a K? Anyway, we're not going all the way over. We're going to double back before too long and head for Moria instead—Gloin mentioned it at the Council, remember? Strider and Gandalf think doubling back like that will confuse Saruman, but I don't know. I'm not sure if this is the right path or not. It feels wrong, but what do I know? I wish I really did have foresight like you said.

It's getting freezing out—or at least I think it's freezing. Are y'all getting much snow in Rivendell? Hope you're staying warm.

Love, Bee

For whatever reason, it was much easier to write to Amarien than to my friends back in Texas. In fact, the only thing stopping me from writing her a five-page essay was my fear of running out of parchment—that and the fact that it was now so cold that my fingers could barely clutch the ragged quill Boromir had lent me.

Snow was piling up as we ascended the mountains. Soon it would be past my knees. I'd never seen this much snow all at once before, and kept thinking wryly of how desperate I'd been for snow when I was little. When I was ten, Caroline had sworn up and down that wearing your pajamas inside out and flushing an ice cube down the toilet at night would make it snow the next morning—I'd hung onto her every word, but it had resulted in nothing more than my mom yelling at me for wasting ice cubes.

"You're not used to snow, are you?" Frodo asked me as we walked, his breath coming in short huffs.

"Is it that obvious?" I asked, my teeth chattering so violently that my jaw ached. "Normally we'd be lucky to get a half inch of snow back home. And then the whole city'd shut down since no one could drive in it."

Frodo laughed faintly, exhaustion plain on his face. "Hopefully we won't have to go too much further."

We were gaining altitude rapidly now, and the muscles in my legs were burning. It was a horrible combination, the breathless cold of the mountain air and the sweaty, humid heat of extreme physical exertion. My body was alternately freezing and stifling in my many layers of clothing, and I was learning all too quickly how gross the cold was. There was sweat freezing to my body and the moisture in my nose had frozen and pinched at my skin, making my nose bleed almost daily. Bathroom breaks had gone from slightly awkward to downright painful, as I'd have rather leapt off the mountain than expose more of my skin to the freezing air, even for a moment.

"Hey Gandalf," I huffed, my voice struggling to reach him in the thin, icy air. "How much farther are we going up the mountain? If we're going this way just to double back…"

The wizard frowned. "It shall not be much farther," he answered without breaking stride. "Considering that Legolas spotted more crebain on the horizon only two days ago, Saruman should believe us well on our way over the mountains if we turn back after today."

"Thank God," I exclaimed, spinning around to smile reassuringly at Frodo. As I turned, I lost my balance, tumbling backwards with an ungraceful whump. Reaching out instinctively, I managed to drag poor Frodo down with me, and in turn, he bowled into Sam. "Sorry, sorry!" I cried, struggling to my feet and leaping forward to help them up.

"It's alright," Frodo said wearily, brushing my apologies away. His hair was clumped with snow from his fall, and he shook himself, straightening his cloak.

"Wait," I said, catching a glint of something in the snow. "Is this—?" As though on autopilot, I bent down and picked up the One Ring, glinting on its chain, from where it had landed in the snow.

The wind seemed to die down. All the movement around me ceased. The Ring was warm; somehow I could feel it even through my thick gloves. Or was that just my imagination? I exhaled shakily, my breath forming a sickly fog in front of me. "Oh. I thought it'd be…heavier."

"Beatrice." A voice reached my ears from far away, and suddenly the world was moving again, the wind whipping around my face painfully. "Beatrice. Give it back to Frodo, go on," Gandalf was saying, his voice sharp in my ears. The whole Fellowship seemed to be watching me, and I jumped.

"Oh—of course," I said hurriedly. I fairly threw the chain into Frodo's outstretched hand, stumbling away from him in the snow. The watery sunlight glinted off the gold as Frodo fastened the Ring back around his neck, bright enough to leave an afterimage on my eyelids, a burning red circle like an eye. I shivered and blinked, and the image was gone.

"Are you alright, lass?" Gimli appeared at my side, whacking some of the snow off my shoulders.

"Yeah," I muttered. "Just cold."

But that was a lie. For a moment, I'd stopped feeling the cold at all.