NOTE: The one true God is not of this universe but has a direct hand and sovereign control over everything that occurs. He is not in nature, but His glory and mercy can be seen in all that He created. That is my authorial intent for this chapter and all of my stories, I pray that it comes across this way in this chapter, and all my stories.
-Shadows on the Snow-
By: Bill the Pony
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters.
Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild.
Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works!
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Shadows on the Snow
Part 11
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The ensnaring darkness of the moonless night pressed in about the man and wizard. The horses dragged their feet, and the two travelers had lost count of how many times they had fallen as weakness drove them to their knees. It was by the grace of having each other's companionship that neither of them gave up. It was also for the ever-present ache in their minds that they must survive the burning cold for their lost companion. If they were to give up upon themselves now, Legolas would have no chance.
Aragorn hauled Fasse to his feet again, stumbling himself as the wizard's weight sought to drag him down. Snow screamed around them, whipping into their faces like small pieces of gravel, stinging horribly and turning all exposed flesh raw. Each breath froze their lungs, making the simple act a trial that was nearly unbearable. All seemed bleak, and all hope lost. But then they saw something.
It was not a light, as one would expect to shine as the embodiment of hope, no, it was quite the opposite, a black void, blacker even than the air around them. Even in their exhausted minds they knew that it must be the forest, and that meant shelter.
It seemed as if they would never reach the shadowed forest as with each step their knees threatened to buckle beneath them. How long they stumbled forward, Aragorn was not sure, but it seemed in the fog of his mind that it was one step too many. It was with this last step that took them under the cover of the snow-laden canopy; it was at this last step that they could feel the immediate change, it was at this last step that both travelers fell and did not rise.
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Eerie yellow-green orbs shone by the light of an unknown source. Large they were, and full of a strange lonesome curiosity. Falmarin stood over his elf, hooves planted like the roots of an oak. His head was low, staring into the eyes with malice only an elvish horse could muster. He was confused by what he saw; confused and disquieted.
There was no blood lust, not desire to maul and devour the flesh of his back, neither was there the crazed glint that so often fired the eyes of the wargs and wolves. Was this a new trick that the wolves had learned from long years of experience? To lull their prey into a false sense of security then pounce upon them when they were unaware? The creatures were cunning, never had there been a doubt about that in Falmarin's mind.
The wolf was alone, Falmarin could sense no others near by, it looked to be half starved as well. A patchy coat failed to hide protruding ribs along with both old and new scars. Normally, if this wolf was at all normal, starvation would only fuel his savagery. The wolf hazarded a step closer, curious eyes dodging from horse to elf. The iron grey laid his ears tight against his head, whickering deeply, warning the beast from advancing further. The creature froze, a paw cocked mid air, golden eyes fixed on the larger animal, then suddenly it sat back on his haunches and sighed a mournful howl. You are lost…alone…
Then from beneath him, his elf stirred. Falmarin tensed, hope flaring anew in his heart. His frosted muzzle automatically dipped to nudge the elf's cold cheek, urging his master to wake from his frozen dreams. For a moment his attention was diverted from the wolf, giving it the opportunity it had waited patiently for. Falmarin reared back when he realized his mistake, wild fear for his elf fired his eyes. But wait! He did not understand this, it just didn't make sense.
The wolf, born to hunt and maim, had lain down near the feet of his elf. Dark eyes changed it seemed, curiosity replaced - or realized – to be wisdom, a story that told of years of wandering. He waited, eyes locked with the horse's. Thoughts were spoken wordlessly to each other, speech was unneeded after all between two beasts. The wolf blinked almost sleepily, rising to its feet where it stood staring unwaveringly at the horse and the elf. It was waiting; waiting for Falmarin's decision. He had offered a gift to the horse, it was up to Falmarin if he chose to accept it.
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Legolas felt himself moving though not by his own power. He was draped over something broad, but most importantly, warm. He was beginning to become accustomed to this new feeling of 'cold', though he wished that he had never had to. The elf sifted through frozen layers of memory trying to recall what had happened, or at least what was happening, but his mind proved to be an unwilling source.
Time did not exist in this strange cocoon in which he drowsed. He slept it seemed, but his dreams were confused. Darkness would prevail, bringing with it the rare visitation of nightmares, but then, each time the suffocating fear would threaten to ensnare him completely, a wolf would appear with a coat so white that the blackness of his mind would be abolished. There was not one grey hair to be seen. The wolf would never stay for long, Legolas strangely wished it would though. The fire in the creature's eyes was so bright that warmed him, leaving him floating in a temporary euphoria for a time until again the dark dreams threatened him again. But each time the wolf appeared, the space between the weightless bliss and the dark dreams stretched longer.
The wolf was old, very old, but yet it seemed new and untouched by nameless years. Twin scars adorned its fore-paws while along its white sides ran long scars, marring its beautiful coat. Such a strong creature it seemed in Legolas's eyes. It was a wonder that any beast could inflict such a wound upon it, much less want to. Yes, it was old, older than time, Fangorn would have seemed young compared to this creature.
How long he passed from shadow to shadow, he did not know, but as long as the wolf was there, he felt no need to ever wake again.
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The wolf ever walked ahead, patiently stopping lest the horse loose site of him. It would have been easy in these white wastes, but Falmarin never did. The horse bent his head against the onslaught, wishing that he could offer his elf some protection from the elements. His elf was not well, that much was clear to him even if beast he may be. Ages it seemed that they forged their way through the deepening snow, only twice or thrice passing any kind of foliage. That was until one by one trees began to loom in the darkness of the moonless night, almost too gradual to take notice of until Falmarin found himself in a sheltered woodland.
The wolf tracked right, cutting through the trees. Its steps were sure, and it seemed entirely unaffected by the wind and snow that even under the trees afflicted them. The smell of the sleeping trees graced Falmarin's senses, reminding him of home. All his life had he been among the trees, their presence was a great comfort. Half of him hoped that being in the company of the growing things again would revive his elf, but the other half doubted that the elf was even aware of his surroundings.
It seemed a long time that he followed the wolf who wove around trees and passed through brush. But it was when Falmarin began to doubt his choice again when the wolf pulled up suddenly, looked back then turned and seemed to disappear into the snow. Falmarin snorted in surprised backpedaling abruptly, expecting at any moment a pack of wolves to fall upon him and his elf.
The wolf appeared again, eyes shining in the darkness. It blinked slowly, patiently, as if waiting for a scared child to follow. Falmarin did not think not to follow when their eyes met. Suddenly, the idea of distrusting this beast seemed preposterous.
The horse saw then what had caused the wolf to disappear from sight. Disguised by the snow and shadows, a pile of boulders was hidden. The wolf had turned into the crevasse and the rocks had blocked Falmarin's view. One could have passed within four paces and not have seen it.
Relief was immediate. The vicious driving snows passed over the boulders, howling it seemed angrily at the loss of their prey. Deeper the wolf led them, deeper than Falmarin realized that the boulders stretched. He then realized that this was no longer an outcropping of rocks, but that they were in a cave! The click of his hooves on hard packed earth accompanied by their dim echo gave it away. No wonder the air was so still.
Falmarin stumbled as they stopped, exhaustion beginning to win out. His head dipped low, his muzzle nosing the ground for the best place to lay his burden. The wolf turned slowly – as all its motions were – golden, ageless eyes caught the tiring horse's. Thoughts were exchanged and then the wolf was gone back towards the way they had come.
The iron grey, lowered himself to his knees first followed by the rest of his body. A breath escaped his lungs as his weary limbs were relieved. Falmarin leaned carefully, the elf sliding easily off his back to land cradled against the horse's frosted side. The horse had done all he could for his elf, his strength was spent and he no more to give but his presence and the warmth of his body. Slowly, regretfully, Falmarin's eyes slid close. He fell into equine dreams with the vision of a white wolf and a figure too bright to gaze at in his mind's eye. The wolf sung then, its voice melding with that of the ethereal figure beside it.
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Aragorn slept for a long while in warm oblivion. But his bliss was diminishing as reality seeped through the cracks of his dreams. Cold was reality, so wherever reality touched, cold followed in suit. What was worse than the biting cold, was the horrible unidentifiable itching somewhere in the crags of his mind that he should be doing something, namely, saving someone.
Memory struck like a flash of summer lightning. Aragorn bolted upright in the wake of the sudden remembrance. A sheet of snow had collected on him while he slept. It now fell from him like a robe as it was disturbed. Nearby, the horses stood anxiously, their ears pricked as they listened to a new sound. It was not him that they wondered at. The snow was still falling, the winds harshly whipping it in furious gust outside the semi-protection of the trees. But what he heard was not dampened by the scream of the wind.
A song, sweeter than any he had ever heard or dreamed possible, filled the forest. Deep and resonant it was, making the frigid air tingle with warmth and gentle power. Never had he heard anything so fair to the ear, or so powerful. It lilted through his mind, swirling and wrapping around him like a blanket. It pulled at him, pulled at him to follow the song to its source. Even Fasse had risen to his feet. He said the last thing that Aragorn would have expected. "Where is that horrid howling coming from?"
Aragorn's brow furrowed, he ached to follow the song as a verse seemed to end. "What is this that you speak of, Fasse? Never have my ears, nor my heart, heard anything so blessed."
"You truly are mad, friend Ranger. I always knew it. That is but the cry of a wolf." Fasse sniffed, covering his ears tightly, as if to block out some offending sound.
"You of all people should hear it, wizard! That is no wolf, I have heard that cry before to be certain. Even in the elven realms have I not heard any song so fair!" Aragorn was already tugging the horses to follow. The last notes of the verse were dying away. It seemed to him that to tarry now would mean certain misfortune.
"You wish then to go on a mad chase for a hostile wolf while our friend lies somewhere out there in the snow?" Fasse's eyebrows peaked, his voice harsh compared to the fading song. "What devilry has taken you over? It is nothing but a wolf, a wolf that would wish to dine on our flesh no doubt!"
Aragorn had already started off in the direction of the singer, his feet guided along an unseen path as he allowed his heart to command him. "It is for Legolas that I go!"
Fasse floundered hastily to the Ranger's side. "Why do you say that? You can do him no good when you are being ripped to shreds by the hungry teeth of wargs or wolves!"
The Ranger turned, his desperate pace slowing. Fasse looked curiously into the man's eyes. Hope shone clear in them, hope that Fasse had thought gone. "I do not know, Fasse. I just have to. Something tells me not to doubt, but just walk." He flashed the confused wizard a curious grin. "Sometimes there are things that you can't explain, things that you just know you have to do. Sometimes you can't question them, just rest in assurance that whatever happens is the will of Ilúvitar."
Fasse stared after Aragorn, frozen in his steps. Aragorn had changed in his eyes at that moment from an impulsive and self-doubting man, to a strong, sound-minded king.
The song had begun again, piercing snow and defeating wind. Aragorn's feet carried him quicker now as the melody pulled him closer with each step. From the look on Fasse's face, the wizard's mind's ear had been opened.
They walked and they walked, sometimes when the song swelled Aragorn would even break into a floundering jog through the snow. Fasse didn't even complain at these occasions as he also now felt the tug at his heart to follow. The snow never stopped it's fearsome howling, but it was but a dim throb in their ears compared to the strength of the song. Even when sight was near impossible, it did nothing to hinder them, it was as if their feet already knew the path set before them.
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He had heard of unexplained happenings that could really only be named as miracles, but never had he been present to witness such a thing. There was always of course the incomprehensible blessings that he did nothing to deserve; his life had abounded with those. But real, honest, supernatural miracles in which you could almost see and touch the breath of Ilúvitar were no ordinary day's vision. Aragorn had never dreamed that he would stand nigh, or amidst, such an experience.
White as fresh snow, yet as humble as the soil of the earth, the wolf was, and is. Eyes that told of unnamed years locked with mortal eyes of man. Aragorn could not speak; neither did he wish to.
"Aragorn! I knew this was folly!" Fasse cried, his staff held defensively horizontally to his waist. "It waits to set its pack against our backs. Look! Tell me that is not the blood of wargs coursing through its veins?"
Again, Fasse's mind had been closed. Why the wolf did not wish the wizard to see his wonder, Aragorn could not comprehend. The wolf blinked, snapping his heart breakingly wonderful bliss. It stood still, beckoning in Aragorn's mind for him to approach. He had no reason to hesitate.
Even as his feet drew him near to the ethereal creature, the wolf began to fade into the snow. Aragorn's steps quickened, desperate to reach the wolf before it was gone. How he wished to simple stand and stare! But vain was his hope.
The wolf was gone. Even the last dying strains of its song were nearly gone. Aragorn's grief was great, but the warmth that resonated strength yet lingering in him was greater. Still, the longing to look upon the face of grace was left unquenched. But the departure of the creature did not steal away the light that guided his feet, even when he found the passage leading through the rocks bringing him to an unnaturally warm cavern. Here it was that Falmarin knelt at the side of Legolas. By the grace and hand of Eru through the song of a wolf, Aragorn had not failed.
TBC…
Quckie A/N: Dern! What is it about angst that makes the reviews just catapult? That was pretty funny going from 30 something to 67. Thanks everyone! Oh and Jocelyn, hope I didn't disappoint you with the reason for Legolas's weakness. I was told that I heal my characters too quick. So I made Legolas's owies a bit more serious by adding up his noble elvish act of giving his cloak to Fasse, combined with being in a REAL nasty snow storm (which by the way I know nothing about since I live down here on the beach.) and then with his stab wound to top it off. I thought that was enough to make him feel cold. I may be wrong, but that's just my opinion on the matter. I would have posted this sooner but as ff.net has been down I have been unable to. Dern! Thanks for all the reviews guys, I really am in your debt.