"Come—we climb Caradhras today, through the Redhorn Gate."
The four hobbits looked up from their late afternoon meal, and into Lorelle's solemn face. Months had passed since the Council, and the company, the fellowship, was traveling towards the Dark Land to destroy the One Ring.
Frodo rose, his mind elsewhere, recalling the day he had taken the burden of being the ring bearer. 'I will take the Ring,' he had said. Though now, with the weight of that same Ring heavy on his chest, the pang of regret began to gnaw at him.
"Boromir has ordered that each of us carry a faggot up the mountain," Lorelle continued as she placed her pack on her back—she had left her horse in Rivendell. 'And if we go were horses cannot, why then would I then risk bringing Abargon?' had been her reason. "The cold will be deadly—winter has already covered Caradhras' shoulders."
Frodo looked at Lorelle as she walked towards Aragorn and Gandalf. 'You shall not walk into Mordor alone' she had said, immediately after he had offered to bear the Ring. She had knelt in front of him, and had sworn that she would protect him until death. And since the day they had left Rivendell, she had watched over him like a hawk, never truly letting him out of her sight.
It had been unnerving—it still was unnerving, suddenly discovering her sharp eyes were on him ever once and a while. "Like a mother hen," Sam had likened her too one night.
"Well, come then," Merry said. "It doesn't look like they're going to wait for us if we dawdle."
~*~
"Well—this is a fine pickle of a place to be suck in," Sam said through chattering teeth.
"I'm so cold," Merry complained as he leaned forward.
The fellowship had been forced to stop and wait the storm out. The bitter cruel wind whipped around them, taunting their puny efforts to stay warm. The hobbits had all sat in the snow, huddled in a circle, their backs to the wind. Even Lorelle joined them, as they tried to keep the wind out.
"Frodo," Lorelle suddenly said as she jostled the still figure. Frodo raised his head drowsily. "Frodo, you must not fall asleep," she warned. "In this cold, you will not wake up."
He nodded, and Lorelle protectively placed her arm around him, trying to keep him warm. She looked up over the other's heads, trying to see Gandalf and Aragorn through the blinding snow. "If this snow doesn't let up, we will have to turn back," she said, more to herself.
"But which way would we go?" Pippin asked.
Lorelle sighed as she turned back into the circle, and leaned forward, resting her head upon her raised knee. "There is only one other way that they others discussed." Her face clouded over is slight anger. "And I'd rather freeze up here than travel through the darkness of Moria!"
"Moria?"
"Yes—the Mines of Moria." She shook her head forebodingly. "In my heart I dread those tunnels. For years have the elves spoken of the great evil that dwells there."
"Great evil?" Merry repeated, looking a bit paler.
Lorelle nodded grimly. "The elves spoke of a Shadow of Fire and Smoke—Durin's Bane they called it." She then shrugged, and pulled her cloak closer. "But if that is but a myth, there will always be the orcs of the Misty Mountains to deal with."
"Orcs?" Sam repeated, growing pale himself.
Pippin made a scoffing noise as he pulled his cloak around him tighter. "Well, you're all a cheery lot," he said as he looked at them. "Shadows? Orcs? Banes and doom…what good are they to us if we all freeze up here before we can go marching to met them?"
He nudged Merry and Sam. "Come on—let's have a song or a story or something to keep us awake instead of just sitting here, waiting for the snow to cover us and old Bill."
"It's too cold for a song or a story," Sam grumbled. "I can barely move my face."
"Oh come on…anybody? Come on Merry," Pippin said, nudging Merry again.
"Quit nudging me," Merry snapped. "And if you've so desperate for a song or story, then you sing or tell one. Don't go asking us."
Pippin shrugged, and gave a grin. "Well then…what would you like to hear?"
"NOT a song," Frodo interrupted, wearily grinning at the Took.
"Well alright," Pippin said, feigning hurt. "I can take a hint…I know my voice isn't the best, but…"
"Can you tell me about where you're from?"
All eyes turned to Lorelle, who had placed her chin on her raised knee again.
"You want to know about the Shire?" Pippin asked.
"Yes," she replied, her voice a little less commanding than usual. "Yes, I would."
"Well…er…what would you like to know about the Shire?" Pippin asked.
"What's it like?" she asked.
"Er…can you be a bit more specific?" Pippin asked, a little daunted by her request.
And if the surprise that Pippin was a little overwhelmed by having to explain something wasn't a little shocking, then the next thing was.
Lorelle's lips turned up, into a smirk. It was slight, but it was an unmistakable smirk that suddenly transformed her from a cautious guardian to an actual hobbit.
And Pippin nearly fell backwards in surprise and delight. "She smiled! She smiled!" he cried, pointing and laughing in glee. He then began to violently nudge Merry. "You, Meriadoc Brandybuck, own me an ale!"
"The bet was for a smile AND a laugh, you ass," Merry grumbled. "So the ale is still as good as mine."
"And what was that all about?" Lorelle asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Sometimes it's best not to ask what those two have been up too, Lorelle," Frodo warned her.
"I think I shall take your advice, Frodo," she said as she leaned back a little, looking at Pippin and Merry.
"Well…I suppose I can try to tell you what I can of the Shire," Pippin said, preparing himself for a long tale.
But he was interrupted.
A hand clamped down on Lorelle's shoulder. Looking up, they could see the Boromir standing over them. "Come, my little friends," he said, "We can no longer stay here. We must travel back the way we came."
"Caradhras may be cruel, but even he has never been this spiteful," Gandalf yelled at them over the wind. "This is the hand of Saruman, pulling snow down from the North. We must get off this mountain."
Lorelle struggled to rise—even the cold had affected her. "And pray tell, what other path would we take?" was her question.
"The only path left open to us goes through the Moria Mines."
The hobbit's watched her face fall, growing frustrated and weary. "So it will be!" was her reply, though only the hobbit's could here the rest she said. "The path I dread to take is the only one left. Moria! May you not be so dark as you have been described by the Elves."
A'sN: Next chapter, Wargs and Moria!! Lorelle kicks some ass. :-p I hope you've been liking it so far. But enough about me. I wish to bring a rather distressing issue to your eyes. My dear friend Singe, who's author name is singe aliene de piano is writing a rather good story about how everyone's favorite hobbits are transported to New York City. It's really good, it's not cliched, and the plot conveniences are at a minimum, in my opinion. Anywho, I am shamelessly plugging for her, in the hope that you will actually give a damn about her plight, and go and read and review her story, entitled "the village hobbits". Come on, vut her some slack, she hardely gets any reviews for her really good fics and it's a crying shame. You all know that if it was you, you'd want some feedback. So go and support your fellow author TODAY!
Thank you.
Cordially yours,
~*IMP*~
