A/N: Aryne, I finally understand your point (sorry it took so long). I have changed the wording to better reflect my intended meaning. Thanks for your input on that. By the way, I have updated my software, and I can now get the spaces to work correctly without a lot of extra work. As always, please let me know if there are any grammar, punctuation, etc. errors.


Ch. 5: Caradhas

The day came to leave, and Worf dressed again in his Klingon armor, covered with a cloak from the Elves. In his pack, he carried the clothing he had been given by the Elves. Spirits were low; only the pony Bill wasn't depressed. Sam muttered something about rope. The hour was late, and the darkness was disconcerting to those who didn't know the land, Worf included. The days drug on; the Hobbits were exhausted, and didn't hesitate to let it be known. Worf was also unaccustomed to walking so much, but a warrior does not complain. After a few days, he grew accustomed to the rigors of the trail, but the little ones still struggled. He did what he could to aid them, frequently taking more than his share of the gear, but it was still difficult for them.
After two weeks, they came to the mountains. At Boromir's advice, they packed firewood. Worf still didn't know what to think of the Man, but Boromir's practicality impressed him. The journey had bettered his opinion of the Man, but Worf was still wary of him. The party began to climb the mountain. The snow seemed unusually heavy for such a low elevation, but not knowing the planet's climate, Worf said nothing. He was already chilled to the bone, and didn't look forward to any more cold. The others were quick to blame magic and their great Enemy. It seemed like idle superstition, but when the storm grew so intense and the snow so deep they were stopped in their places, the idleness of the idea faded in the reality of the storm. Worf was not the only one chilled, but the firewood was damp, and none save Gandalf could get the it to light. When the wizard used his staff to light the firewood, Worf was even further confused. There was no obvious technology, and the flames that came from the staff were green and blue. Not sure what to think, Worf just enjoyed the warmth of the fire.
As morning came, the group made the decision to turn back. It bothered Worf to admit defeat, but there was no other way. Along with Aragorn and Boromir, Worf helped to clear a path through the snow, while Legolas walked atop it ahead of them. That was the last straw. Worf's belief in science and a normally operating universe, weak since he came to this place, finally crumbled. Scientific principles seemed to have no place in this strange world. With that realization, the strangeness of the world actually seemed to abate a little. As strength began to wane and the three began to grow weak, Legolas returned with a report that they were almost through the snow. The snow ended quite abruptly, not like a natural storm. Even with the path they had cut, they still had to carry the little ones through it, and Gimli rode on the pony. Only moments after they left, an avalanche covered the very place where they had been.
There was some discussion, and Gandalf suggested the Mines of Moria. Worf knew nothing of the place, but the look on the others' faces told him enough. Even Boromir and Aragorn quailed at the mention of the mines. While they still sat debating, the howling of wolves made the decision for them. Worf saw no particular need to fear animals, even wolves, but in this strange land, anything could be an enemy. They climbed a small hill and built a fire, and none too soon. The wolves soon attacked. The pack leader started to attack, but was killed by one of Legolas' arrows. For the hundredth time, Worf wished for a phaser. The wolves withdrew, only to attack later in great numbers. Worf woke from a light doze and had his bat'leth in his hand before he was on his feet. He beheaded one of the creatures with a swipe, then another jumped at him. He held the blade before him at arm's length and allowed the Warg's own momentum to cut it neatly in half. He threw off the carcass and continued to fight. Aragorn and Boromir fought with their swords, Gimli with his axe, and Legolas with his bow. As they fought, Gandalf seemed to grow; he spoke words in a language Worf could not understand, and a tree burst into flame. Legolas had just shot his last arrow, and it burst into flame in midair, before finding its mark in a large Warg. The remaining wolves fled.