Chapter Three was well received, and I want to thank the following for inspiring me to send more to FanFiction.net: Aralondwen, sabercrazy, Elise, Serena, Minka, Gemma, Estel Kenobi, kfc-elf - some of you have written more than once, and it is appreciated.
So our noble heroes shall go off into danger (as you all knew full well would happen).
* * * *
The wind blew so forcefully, the snow fell sideways across what had been the road. It was now merely more snow, some already piling into thick treacherous drifts. Legolas could make out no indication that civilization had ever touched this part of the world. There was nothing, in fact, save the bitter cold, the howling wind that plucked at cloaks never meant for such savage weather, and growing shadow.
"Aragorn needs shelter," Legolas shouted to Elrohir, as the two rode side by side. "He can't take this cold much longer." His gaze locked with Elrohir's.
"Neither can the horses," the dark-haired Elf reached a gloved hand to pat his steed's neck. "Vanasulë will find us a safe retreat."
"If we ever see him again," Legolas retorted, frustration coloring his voice.
Vanasulë had volunteered to scout ahead for shelter, but he'd been gone over two hours already. In that time, the dim light that passed for day beneath the dark clouds, had all but given out. Soon it would be as black as coal with no shelter in sight.
The Elves could tolerate the cold, but even Legolas, who knew Aragorn least of them, realized that the Man could die in this weather.
Blinking away the billowing flakes, Legolas attempted to pull the hood of his cloak down and protect his vision as he stared ahead at Aragorn, who sat hunched forward in his saddle. Not one word of complaint. Not one request for rest or warmth. Legolas wondered if all men were so brave, or if Aragorn had an inner strength beyond most mortals.
Legolas heard the approach of Vanasulë's horse before he saw him. Tallest of the party, Vanasulë rode the largest Elven horse of the party. He'd tied a strip of leather around its neck with a bell attached earlier in the day when the snow had begun to fall in earnest. The bell's high-pitched jingle was audible to Legolas' ears above the roar of the storm.
Wordlessly, Vanasulë reached for Aragorn's reigns, turned back the way he'd come, then set both horses a fast pace. Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir followed as swiftly as the snow allowed.
For Aragorn, the world had turned into a strange frozen and painful place. His fingers, toes and face had no feeling, except for an occasional sharp stabbing pain. He could see nothing but darkness and he wondered how much longer his numb legs could hold on to his horse's flanks.
Once Vanasulë took the reigns, Aragorn held on to the horse's mane and leaned more fully forward, hoping the heat of the horse would keep him from freezing. They wore cloaks made for camouflage, not for cold, yet he knew of no cloaks that were capable of keeping this cold out.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew where they were. Aragorn recalled the maps they studied of the wasteland between Dale and the Iron Hills. The Dwarves passed between these two points; surely there were some dwellings somewhere.
As he thought back to that brief time they spent going over maps, he remembered the fire, it's warmth and the dryness of their campsite. Lethargy began to seep over him, comforting, soothing. His horse, Galdor, stumbled, jolting Aragorn from his dreams.
"We're almost there," Vanasulë yelled back at him. "See?"
Aragorn saw the Elf pointing, but he saw nothing else. He lowered his head, taking a slow shallow breath. Even the air was painful.
Time seemed to fade, then Aragorn was aware of strong hands helping him from his mount and guiding him, half-carrying him, up some steps and into a room. His legs weren't working right.
"Do you have rooms?" he heard Elladan speaking to someone. Aragorn tried shaking his head to chase some of the fatigue away. Blinking, he looked around. He stood, still held up by one of the Elves, not far inside a large common room of an inn or tavern. A stranger sat by the room's larege fireplace. A small fire burned within. The rest of the room was clad in shadows.
Elladan apparently had addressed the seated person. In the dim light, Aragorn couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, only that the person had a generous girth.
"Oh, aye, plenty of rooms. Everyone leaves when the weather turns bad like this." The man's voice sounded rather sad. "Are you thinking of staying the night?"
"Considering it's well below freezing, we may stay for more than a night," Vanasulë's voice tinged with sarcasm came from beside Aragorn and he realized that Vanasulë had been the one who had helped him inside. "Unless you care to keep them all to yourself, sir."
"Sit," Legolas was urging Aragorn, shoving a chair under him. He rested a protective hand upon the Ranger's shoulder.
Aragorn looked around. He had identified his companions by their voices, since it was dim and they still had their hoods up, yet despite his weariness, he realized someone was missing. "Where's Elrohir? Is he lost in the snow?" Alarm caused Aragorn to attempt to stand and turn toward the door. Legolas' firm hand upon his shoulder kept him in the chair.
"No, Ranger, Elrohir is taking care of our horses. Sit for a while, like Legolas has suggested. Here." Vanasulë passed a small leather wine skin to Aragorn it's top already opened. "Drink. Your Healer orders it."
Aragorn did not have to be ordered. He knew Vanasulë had become Keeper of the Miruvor and he gladly took a few sips. The honeyed cordial slid down his throat, bringing warmth, authentic warmth, to his numb body.
"You can have all the rooms you want, but I must warn you, there's a chance we'll not be alone all night." The innkeeper stood and moved toward a countertop not far from the front door. "Them marauders come this time of year. Most people just hide. They've hit my inn every winter for seven years now."
"What marauders?" Elladan inquired, following the man to the countertop.
"Those fellows from the East. Mean? They'd just as soon slit your throat as look at you. Now where is that quill?"
"Sir," Vanasulë moved toward the innkeeper. "Do you have a name, sir?"
"Dwalkin," the innkeeper told him. "Dwalkin Skipkey."
"Well, Mr. Skipkey, it does sound as if you're trying to scare us off." Vanasulë looked over the countertop at their host, who stood a good foot shorter than the Elf.
"No, good sir, just warning you. I cannot be held responsible for what those no-good brigands might do. If they come, that is. They usually only come this way if there's a lot of snow, and today we've had quite a blizzard."
"Is that what you call this side-ways snow?" Legolas inquired. "I've never seen anything quite like it."
"The winds come down from the northern wastelands, there's nothing to stop them," Mr. Skipkey told them. "How many rooms will you need?"
"If you have a room with a hearth?" Elladan half-asked.
"I have a large room upstairs, right above here with a fireplace. It will sleep six."
"Five is enough," Vanasulë smiled at Mr. Skipkey. "We'll require warm food, fresh bread, something hot to drink. How long will that take?"
"Well, I've got this morning's bread, but tomorrow you'll have fresh. There's stew aplenty and spiced potatoes." Mr. Skipkey turned the registration book around for one of them to sign. "Can you write your name here?"
Vanasulë snorted, slightly insulted at the thought that he might be illiterate and wrote his name using the inn's well-worn quill and ink.
Turning the large registration book back around, Mr. Skipkey frowned at the signature. "I don't recognize this script," he said squinting at Vanasulë.
In the room, lit only by the small fire in the grate, Dwalkin could not clearly see the faces of his guests. They all wore cloaks and hoods, which were now dripping on the floorboards of the common room. He could see Vanasulë's eyes quite clearly now as he looked up into his fair face. In fact, he could see the slightest hint of a glow coming from his guest's face.
His jaw opened and closed wordlessly for a moment. Taking a step back, Dwalkin reached behind himself for the wall to steady his suddenly shaking knees. "What sort of folk are you?" he asked in a whisper.
"Do not worry, my good man," Elladan assured him. "We are not here to harm you or yours. We merely wish to spend a night or two in peace and warmth."
Now Dwalkin's frightened gaze turned to Elladan, who reached up and let his hood slide back.
"You're . . . Elves," Dwalkin said as if pronouncing them some mythic creatures.
"Yes, some of us are," Elladan smiled. Elrond's sons were almost legendarily charming and Elladan's smile appeared to work just as well upon the innkeeper as it did upon Elves. Fear left the Man's face, replaced with something akin to relief.
"All right then," Mr. Skipkey said getting back to business. "I've warned you of the dangers, so let me get you your key, then I'll get some dinner going. Would anyone like a hot bath?"
"Our friend could use a hot bath before any of us," Vanasulë gestured to Aragorn. "The rest of us will then have to determine who goes next." He cast a wicked smile at Legolas and Elladan.
"None of this 'age before beauty' stuff," Elladan mumbled. "Not tonight, Vanasulë."
Just then the front door opened. A cloud of snow and freezing air accompanied the cloaked figure as he entered. When the door shut and the flickering fire returned to normal, all eyes were upon the new arrival.
"It is I," Elrohir told them. "Were you expecting someone else?"
________________________________________________________________________________
Those of you who predict trouble for our lads... Yeah, you're right. It's coming soon, once poor Aragorn thaws out.
So our noble heroes shall go off into danger (as you all knew full well would happen).
* * * *
The wind blew so forcefully, the snow fell sideways across what had been the road. It was now merely more snow, some already piling into thick treacherous drifts. Legolas could make out no indication that civilization had ever touched this part of the world. There was nothing, in fact, save the bitter cold, the howling wind that plucked at cloaks never meant for such savage weather, and growing shadow.
"Aragorn needs shelter," Legolas shouted to Elrohir, as the two rode side by side. "He can't take this cold much longer." His gaze locked with Elrohir's.
"Neither can the horses," the dark-haired Elf reached a gloved hand to pat his steed's neck. "Vanasulë will find us a safe retreat."
"If we ever see him again," Legolas retorted, frustration coloring his voice.
Vanasulë had volunteered to scout ahead for shelter, but he'd been gone over two hours already. In that time, the dim light that passed for day beneath the dark clouds, had all but given out. Soon it would be as black as coal with no shelter in sight.
The Elves could tolerate the cold, but even Legolas, who knew Aragorn least of them, realized that the Man could die in this weather.
Blinking away the billowing flakes, Legolas attempted to pull the hood of his cloak down and protect his vision as he stared ahead at Aragorn, who sat hunched forward in his saddle. Not one word of complaint. Not one request for rest or warmth. Legolas wondered if all men were so brave, or if Aragorn had an inner strength beyond most mortals.
Legolas heard the approach of Vanasulë's horse before he saw him. Tallest of the party, Vanasulë rode the largest Elven horse of the party. He'd tied a strip of leather around its neck with a bell attached earlier in the day when the snow had begun to fall in earnest. The bell's high-pitched jingle was audible to Legolas' ears above the roar of the storm.
Wordlessly, Vanasulë reached for Aragorn's reigns, turned back the way he'd come, then set both horses a fast pace. Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir followed as swiftly as the snow allowed.
For Aragorn, the world had turned into a strange frozen and painful place. His fingers, toes and face had no feeling, except for an occasional sharp stabbing pain. He could see nothing but darkness and he wondered how much longer his numb legs could hold on to his horse's flanks.
Once Vanasulë took the reigns, Aragorn held on to the horse's mane and leaned more fully forward, hoping the heat of the horse would keep him from freezing. They wore cloaks made for camouflage, not for cold, yet he knew of no cloaks that were capable of keeping this cold out.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew where they were. Aragorn recalled the maps they studied of the wasteland between Dale and the Iron Hills. The Dwarves passed between these two points; surely there were some dwellings somewhere.
As he thought back to that brief time they spent going over maps, he remembered the fire, it's warmth and the dryness of their campsite. Lethargy began to seep over him, comforting, soothing. His horse, Galdor, stumbled, jolting Aragorn from his dreams.
"We're almost there," Vanasulë yelled back at him. "See?"
Aragorn saw the Elf pointing, but he saw nothing else. He lowered his head, taking a slow shallow breath. Even the air was painful.
Time seemed to fade, then Aragorn was aware of strong hands helping him from his mount and guiding him, half-carrying him, up some steps and into a room. His legs weren't working right.
"Do you have rooms?" he heard Elladan speaking to someone. Aragorn tried shaking his head to chase some of the fatigue away. Blinking, he looked around. He stood, still held up by one of the Elves, not far inside a large common room of an inn or tavern. A stranger sat by the room's larege fireplace. A small fire burned within. The rest of the room was clad in shadows.
Elladan apparently had addressed the seated person. In the dim light, Aragorn couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, only that the person had a generous girth.
"Oh, aye, plenty of rooms. Everyone leaves when the weather turns bad like this." The man's voice sounded rather sad. "Are you thinking of staying the night?"
"Considering it's well below freezing, we may stay for more than a night," Vanasulë's voice tinged with sarcasm came from beside Aragorn and he realized that Vanasulë had been the one who had helped him inside. "Unless you care to keep them all to yourself, sir."
"Sit," Legolas was urging Aragorn, shoving a chair under him. He rested a protective hand upon the Ranger's shoulder.
Aragorn looked around. He had identified his companions by their voices, since it was dim and they still had their hoods up, yet despite his weariness, he realized someone was missing. "Where's Elrohir? Is he lost in the snow?" Alarm caused Aragorn to attempt to stand and turn toward the door. Legolas' firm hand upon his shoulder kept him in the chair.
"No, Ranger, Elrohir is taking care of our horses. Sit for a while, like Legolas has suggested. Here." Vanasulë passed a small leather wine skin to Aragorn it's top already opened. "Drink. Your Healer orders it."
Aragorn did not have to be ordered. He knew Vanasulë had become Keeper of the Miruvor and he gladly took a few sips. The honeyed cordial slid down his throat, bringing warmth, authentic warmth, to his numb body.
"You can have all the rooms you want, but I must warn you, there's a chance we'll not be alone all night." The innkeeper stood and moved toward a countertop not far from the front door. "Them marauders come this time of year. Most people just hide. They've hit my inn every winter for seven years now."
"What marauders?" Elladan inquired, following the man to the countertop.
"Those fellows from the East. Mean? They'd just as soon slit your throat as look at you. Now where is that quill?"
"Sir," Vanasulë moved toward the innkeeper. "Do you have a name, sir?"
"Dwalkin," the innkeeper told him. "Dwalkin Skipkey."
"Well, Mr. Skipkey, it does sound as if you're trying to scare us off." Vanasulë looked over the countertop at their host, who stood a good foot shorter than the Elf.
"No, good sir, just warning you. I cannot be held responsible for what those no-good brigands might do. If they come, that is. They usually only come this way if there's a lot of snow, and today we've had quite a blizzard."
"Is that what you call this side-ways snow?" Legolas inquired. "I've never seen anything quite like it."
"The winds come down from the northern wastelands, there's nothing to stop them," Mr. Skipkey told them. "How many rooms will you need?"
"If you have a room with a hearth?" Elladan half-asked.
"I have a large room upstairs, right above here with a fireplace. It will sleep six."
"Five is enough," Vanasulë smiled at Mr. Skipkey. "We'll require warm food, fresh bread, something hot to drink. How long will that take?"
"Well, I've got this morning's bread, but tomorrow you'll have fresh. There's stew aplenty and spiced potatoes." Mr. Skipkey turned the registration book around for one of them to sign. "Can you write your name here?"
Vanasulë snorted, slightly insulted at the thought that he might be illiterate and wrote his name using the inn's well-worn quill and ink.
Turning the large registration book back around, Mr. Skipkey frowned at the signature. "I don't recognize this script," he said squinting at Vanasulë.
In the room, lit only by the small fire in the grate, Dwalkin could not clearly see the faces of his guests. They all wore cloaks and hoods, which were now dripping on the floorboards of the common room. He could see Vanasulë's eyes quite clearly now as he looked up into his fair face. In fact, he could see the slightest hint of a glow coming from his guest's face.
His jaw opened and closed wordlessly for a moment. Taking a step back, Dwalkin reached behind himself for the wall to steady his suddenly shaking knees. "What sort of folk are you?" he asked in a whisper.
"Do not worry, my good man," Elladan assured him. "We are not here to harm you or yours. We merely wish to spend a night or two in peace and warmth."
Now Dwalkin's frightened gaze turned to Elladan, who reached up and let his hood slide back.
"You're . . . Elves," Dwalkin said as if pronouncing them some mythic creatures.
"Yes, some of us are," Elladan smiled. Elrond's sons were almost legendarily charming and Elladan's smile appeared to work just as well upon the innkeeper as it did upon Elves. Fear left the Man's face, replaced with something akin to relief.
"All right then," Mr. Skipkey said getting back to business. "I've warned you of the dangers, so let me get you your key, then I'll get some dinner going. Would anyone like a hot bath?"
"Our friend could use a hot bath before any of us," Vanasulë gestured to Aragorn. "The rest of us will then have to determine who goes next." He cast a wicked smile at Legolas and Elladan.
"None of this 'age before beauty' stuff," Elladan mumbled. "Not tonight, Vanasulë."
Just then the front door opened. A cloud of snow and freezing air accompanied the cloaked figure as he entered. When the door shut and the flickering fire returned to normal, all eyes were upon the new arrival.
"It is I," Elrohir told them. "Were you expecting someone else?"
________________________________________________________________________________
Those of you who predict trouble for our lads... Yeah, you're right. It's coming soon, once poor Aragorn thaws out.