SEAL ON MY HEART

by Soledad

Disclaimer: see Introduction

Warning: this story contains implied m/m interaction – don't read it if it's not your thing.

Rating: PG, for this chapter

Author's notes:

Summary: Snow. Lots of it. Movie-verse with Saruman bringing down the mountain-top onto their heads (though without the ridiculous chanting of magic words from Gandalf's part) and the infamous Ring-scene once again. Some lines of dialogue and parts of the description are taken from ''The Treason of Isengard'' (HoME 7).

This chapter has been spell-checked but not beta-ed.

CHAPTER SIX: SNOW AND STONES

In the late afternoon, before preparations were made for moving, Gandalf spoke to the travellers.

''We have now come to our first serious difficulty and doubt'', he said. The pass that we ought to take is up there ahead'' – he waved his hand towards Taragaer: its sides were now dark and sullen, for the sun had gone, and its head was in grey cloud. ''It will take us at least two marches to get near the top of the pass. From certain signs we have seen recently I fear it may be watched or guarded; and in any case Aragorn and I have doubts of the weather, on this wind. But I am afraid we must go on. We can't go back into the winter; and further south the passes are held. Tonight we must push along as hard as we can.''

The hearts of the travellers sank at his words. But they hurried with their preparations, and started off at as good a pace as they could make. The winding and twisting road had long been neglected and in places was blocked with fallen stones, over which they had great difficulty in finding any way to lead the pack ponies. After a while Gildor let his horse take the lead, for in the darkening the instinct of the experiences animal were of more use than even the keen Elven eyes.

The night grew deadly dark under the great clouds; a bitter wind swirled among the rocks. The Elves seemed undisturbed by the foul weather, most of them Gildor and Elladan who were used to travelling in the wild, but the hobbits felt weary already, and even the Men and the Dwarf were not happy to push on.

By midnight they had already climbed to the very knees of the great mountains, and were going straight up under a mountain-side, with a deep ravine guessed but unseen on their right. Suddenly Frodo felt soft cold touches on his face. He put out his arm, and saw white snowflakes settle on his sleeve. Before long they were falling fast, swirling from every direction into his eyes, and filling all the air. The dark shapes of Gandalf and Aragorn, a few paces in front, could hardly be seen. Only Gildor's hair gleamed golden before all, like a shining beacon of hope. He knew he could not get lost as long as he could still see that soft golden gleam.

''I do not like this'', panted Sam just behind. ''snow is all right on a fine morning, seen from a window; but I like to be in bed while it is falling.'' As a matter of fact snow fell very seldom in most parts of the Shire, except the moors of the Northfarting. There would occasionally, in January of February, be a thin white dusting of it, but it soon vanished, and only rarely in cold winters was there a real fall – enough to make snowballs of.

Gandalf now called something they could not understand and Gildor halted. Frodo thought as the wizard came up by him that Gandalf already looked almost like a snow-man. Snow was white on his pointed hat and bowed shoulders, and it was already getting thick on the ground under foot. Gildor, whispering something into one ear of his horse, slowly walked back to them as well. The horse stood patiently, looking back at his master with bright, trusting eyes.

''This is bad, very bad!'' said the wizard. ''I feared that winter would catch up with us, yet never counted on snow. It seldom falls as far south as this except on the high peaks, and here we are not halfway up even to the high pass.''

''I know snow and storm from my youth in the Ered Nimrais(1),'' Boromir said, rising his voice above the howling of the wind, ''yet 'tis worse than I have ever seen. I wonder if the Enemy has aught to do with it. They say in my land that he can govern the storms in the Daedeloth Deldúath(2) that lie on the confines of Mordor.''

''He can do more than that,'' Gildor answered, his eyes glittering colder than the deadly snowstorm around them, ''and yet He is not invincible. He has been defeated once – He can be defeated again.''

''And you believe you might be the one to defeat Him?'' Aragorn hissed, barely able to hold back his anger and frustration over the failing of his plan to cross the High Pass. Gildor gave him his best elegantly-arched eyebrow.

''Obviously so do you as well,'' he replied calmly, as if they were sitting in his garden in the far South, having tea. ''One wonders what encourages you to the assumption that you might face the Dark One, while you clearly doubt my ability to do so.''

The two glared at each other with open hostility through the thickening snowfall that was getting worse with every passing moment. Frodo suddenly became afraid that they might get into a true fight, and he knew not which one he would be more worried about. As much as he loved Aragorn, whom he considered a dear friend already, he has come to admire the proud and venerable Elf-Lord who was not ashamed of befriending simple hobbits from the Shire, sharing his blankets with them and telling them all the stunning tales of glorious days long gone.

Fortunately, the Lady Arwen saved him from his dilemma – and the Company from a serious break. She stepped between the competitors, glaring daggers first at Gildor, then at Aragorn, and said in a frighteningly sharp voice:

''Stop this at once – both of you! We are near death here, the hobbits can hardly stand, and you choose this very moment for your childish bickering? Get your wits together and see that we keep going, or else this will be the death of all of us!''

That shook them out of their personal little contest, and Elf and Man turned away without a further word. For a while they struggled on. The snow became a blinding blizzard, and soon it was in places almost knee-deep.

''It will be up over my head before long'', thought Frodo, dragging behind. His legs felt like lead at every step. Yet he kept setting one tired, hurting foot before the other, having lost all feeling in them, even that of cold an pain.

Suddenly they heard strange sounds: they may have been but tricks of the rising wind in cracks and gullies of the rocks, but it sounded like hoarse cries and howls of harsh laughter. Then stones began to fall whirling like leaves on the wind, and crashing onto the path and the rocks on either hand. Every now and again they heard in the darkness a dull rumble as a great boulder rolled down thunderously from hidden heights in the dark above.

The party halted. ''We cannot get any further tonight'', said Aragorn. ''You can call it the wind if you like, but I call it voices and those stones are aimed at us, or at least at the path.''

'''Tis the doing of Saruman'', said Gandalf bitterly; ''he is trying to bring down the mountain!''

''And he does have the powers to do so,'' added Gildor. ''The Dark Lord is not the only one whose arm has grown long in the recent hundred years – or more.''

''What can we do?'' asked Frodo. His heart suddenly failed him, and he felt alone and lost in dark and driving snow, mocked at by demons of the mountains.

''Stop here or go back'', answered Gandalf. ''We are protected at present by the high wall on our left, and a deep gully on the right. Further up there is a wide shallow valley, and the road runs at the bottom of two long slopes. We should now hardly get through there without damage, quite apart from the snow.''

''We have to go back a little, though,'' Gildor said, seemingly undisturbed by the cold and the snowfall, though even his lips became slightly blue. ''This spot is slippery – one false step and we can easily fall to our deaths in the gully. Not all of you possess the light feet of the Elves.''

''Still, our feet are sure enough to keep up with you, Lord Gildor,'' Aragorn growled. '''Tis not the first time I have to cross this Path.''

''Yea, but have you ever crossed it in a snowstorm?'' Gildor asked with that infuriating Elven patience – as if he were talking to a small, belligerent child. ''I think not. Not even the Wandering Companies would take such risks. And now we not only have the Dark One against us, but Curunír as well. I know not which one is worse right now.''

Gandalf closed his eyes for a moment. ''Aragorn… Lord Gildor… cease your little contest, I beg of you. We have to make a decision, and we have to decide quickly, ere 'tis too late.''

After some debate they retreated to a spot they had passed just before the snow came on. There the path passed under a low overhanging cliff. It faced southwards and they hoped it would give them some protection from the wind. But the eddying blasts whirled in from either side, and the snow came down thicker than ever.

They huddled together with their backs to the wall: Elladan with Boromir, the hobbits with Gildor, Aragorn with Arwen. Even the wizard and the Dwarf had given up their stubborn pride and shared what body heat they have still left. The ponies and Gildor's horse stood dejected but patiently in front of them and served as some kind of screen, but before long the snow was up to their bellies and still mounting. The hobbits crouching behind were nearly buried.

A great sleepiness came over Frodo in Gildor's protective arms, and he felt himself fast sinking into a warm and hazy dream. He thought a fire was warming his toes, and out of the shadows he heard Bilbo's voice speaking. ''I do not think much of your diary'', he heard him say. ''snowstorm on December 2nd (5): there was no need to come back to report that.''

At the same time he felt himself gently shaken, and came back painfully to wakefulness. Gildor had lifted him off the ground and placed him onto his lap to warm him up as good as he could. ''This snow will be the death of the hobbits, Gandalf'', he said. ''We must do something.''

''Give them this'', said Gandalf, fumbling in his pack that lay beside him, and drawing out a leather flagon. ''Just a little each – for all of us. 'Tis very precious: one of Elrond's cordials, and I did not expect to have to use it so soon.''

''Oh, miruvor,'' Gildor murmured, giving the shivering hobbit a mouthful of the clear liquid. ''It happens not often that the Lord of Imladris allows it being taken off the valley. Nay, Frodo, 'tis enough. I want you warm, not drunk, and your stomach is almost empty. Now, 'tis your turn, Master Samwise. Careful, careful…''

Nestled in Elladan's arms, Boromir watched with awe as the proud and sometimes downright haughty Elf-Lord fussed over the two hobbits as if they were his own children. He could see near to nothing in the dense snowfall, still, it seemed to him that Gildor's expression softened considerably when dealing with the Halflings. Mayhap he truly did consider them something akin children.

''Nay, he does not,'' Elladan murmured; when they were this close, he could read Boromir's thoughts easily. ''But he knows the hobbits better than anyone else, save mayhap Gandalf. He knows well when they need to be pampered and when they can bear greater burdens than any Man – or any Elf, indeed. 'Tis definitely pampering time, it seems.''

As they watched the Elf-Lord pampering his little friends, the snowfall slowed down a little. Then, after a while, it ceased entirely – for the moment.

''The sooner we make a move and get down again, the better,'' said Gandalf. ''There is still more snow to come up there.

Much as they all desired to get down again, however, it was easier said than done. Beyond their refuge the snow was already some feet deep, and in places was piled into great wind-drifts; and it was wet and soft. Even Gildor, light-footed as all Elves, could only get forward with great labour, and had only gone a few feet on the downward path when he was floundering in snow above his waist. Their plight looked desperate.

Boromir looked down the endless whiteness. He was the biggest of the Company, being some six feet and very broad-shouldered as well; though both Aragorn and Elladan were about an inch or so taller, they were less stout in their build and seemed weaker. So he felt it was his duty to try making a path for the others.

''I shall try going on down, if I can,'' he offered. ''As far as I can make out our course of last night, the path turns right round that shoulder of rock down there. And if I remember rightly, a furlong or so beyond the turn there was a flat space at the top of a long, steep slope – very heavy going it was, as we came up. From that point I might be able to get e view, and some idea of how the snow lies further down.''

Elladan wanted to go with him, of course, and so did Aragorn and Gildor, but Boromir told them in no uncertain terms that they only would be in his way. So, reluctantly, they gave in and let him go.

He struggled slowly forward, plunging in snow that was everywhere above his knees, and in places rose almost shoulder-high. Often he seemed to be swimming or burrowing with his great arms rather than walking, and Elladan felt the icy grip of fear around his own heart. At least Boromir vanished from sight and passed round the turn. He was long gone, and the others began to be anxious, too, fearing that he had been engulfed in some drift or snow-filled hollow, or had fallen over the hidden brink into the ravine.

''I shall go and look after him,'' Arwen decided, unable to watch the anguish on her brother's face any longer. ''I am the lightest of us, the snow might even hold my weight. We need proof that naught has happened to him.''

And ere any one could have protested, she leapt lightly upon the freshly-fallen snow and run down the slope like a nimble deer, her soft boots leaving barely a print upon the soft white surface.

Another lengthy period of time passed 'til they finally heard her call. Boromir, too, reappeared round the bend in the path and was labouring back towards them, while Arwen walked on his side upon the snow.

''I am weary,'' he said; ''but I have brought back some hope. There is a deep wind-drift just round the turn, and I was nearly buried in it, but fortunately it is not wide. Beyond it the snow suddenly gets less. At the top of the slope 'tis barely a foot deep, and further down, white though it looks, seems to be but a light coverlet: only a sprinkling in places.''

'''Tis the ill will of Taragaer,'' muttered Gimli; these were the first words he uttered ever since the beginning of the snowstorm. ''He does not love Dwarves, or Elves. He has cast this snow upon us with special intent. That drift was devised to cut off our descent.''

''Then Taragaer happily has forgotten that we have with us a mountaineer who knows his far kindred, the peaks of the White Mountains,'' said Elladan, eyeing his lover with an odd mixture of deep concern and almost proprietary pride. '''Twas good fortune that gave us Boromir as a member of our Company.''(6)

''But how are we to get through this drift, even if we ever get as far as the turn?'' asked Sam, voicing the thoughts of both Frodo and Gimli who were too proud to ask.

'''Tis a pity,'' said the Lady Arwen gravely, but her eyes sparkled with mischief, ''that Gandalf cannot go before us with a bright flame, and melt us a path.''

'''Tis a pity that Elves cannot fly over the mountains and fetch the Sun to save us,'' answered Gandalf, irritated. ''Even I need something to work on. I cannot burn snow. But,'' he added, shooting a baleful glare at the grinning Elladan, ''I could turn that brother of yours into a flaming torch, if that will serve: he would burn brightly while he lasted.''

''Spare me!'' cried Elladan, hiding behind the broad back of Boromir with a mock shriek, while the hobbits nearly fell over, they were laughing so hard. ''I fear that a dragon is concealed in the shape of our wizard. Though a tame dragon would be useful at this hour.''

''It will be a wild dragon, if you say any more,'' Gandalf threatened, yet his eyes were soft as he watched the delighted hobbits. It was good to see them laughing again, even if they laughed at his expense.

''Well, well! When heads are at loss bodies must serve, as they say in my country'', said Boromir, barely able to suppress his own grin. ''I have some strength still left; and so has Aragorn. We must use that, while it lasts. I shall carry one of the Little Folk, and he another. Gimli shall be set on one of the ponies, and led by Gandalf. The Fair Folk can get down on their own feet, I deem. ''I will come back for the packs when we have forced a passage''

''I shall bring the other pony,'' Elladan offered. And so he did, and they set about unloading the faithful beasts at once.

''Aragorn and I shall come back when we got the Little Folk through,'' Boromir said to Elladan. You, Gildor and the Lady Arwen can wait here, or follow behind in our track if you can.''

Then picking up Frodo Boromir strode forward. Slowly they ploughed their way forward. Gildor, leading his horse, followed the two Men immediately, breaking a wider path for the smaller ponies that came after them. Arwen slipped in the middle between him and Elladan, with Gandalf and Gimli as the rear. The old wizard felt some secret relief that for once he could follow a path already made.

At least they reached and passed the turn, and came to the edge of the drift. Frodo marvelled at the strength of Boromir, seeing the passage that he had already forced  through it with no better tool than his sword  and his great arms. Even now, burdened as he was with Sam clinging on his back, he was thrusting the snow forward and aside, and widening the passage for those who followed. Behind him Aragorn was labouring.

 It took some time to reach the bend, but they did so without mishap. After a short halt they laboured on to the edge of the drift. Suddenly, though, Boromir stumbled on some hidden stone, and fell headlong. Frodo was thrown from his shoulder into deep snow and slid at least twenty feet downwards, while Boromir slowly staggered back to his feet and Aragorn put down Sam, in order to help if necessary.

Boromir was the first to see the Ring as it lay, half-buried in the snow, still hung on its chain that had somehow come loose. There it lay, glittering even in the almost-darkness of the storm, like a shining beacon of hope. As if a will other than his own had ruled his movements, the son of Denethor stepped closer and bent down to pick up the chain.

From the corner of his eyes he saw Frodo searching frantically for the Ring, first under his clothes, then around himself.

The Ring felt strangely heavy, turning and glimmering, almost prancing on its chain. As if it were seeking his approval. It was beautiful… precious… It meant power beyond imagination… a strength, enough to beat the Dark Lord, enough to protect that was dear for his heart.

'''Tis a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing… such a little thing'', he murmured in awe, his eyes clinging to that little, yet oh-so-powerful wheel of fire.

[Yet it shall be the downfall of you and your White City if you sell your heart to its lure], the inner voice of Elladan said in his mind. He shivered. This was not the first time that Elladan bespoke him – the Stone made it easier for them to speak from mind to mind by every new occasion – yet never had his Elf to enter his mind by force like this before.

Almost at the same time he heard the hard, tense voice of Aragorn from afar, as if the Heir of Isildur were calling to him from the other side of the mountains.

''Boromir! Give the Ring to Frodo!''

'Twas a command if he ever heard one – and a harsh one to that. Yet ere he could react in any way, he heard Elladan's voice once again – this time from the outside, and it was equally hard and tense… threatening and deadly.

''Watch your hand, Estel…''

Boromir looked at his King-to-be and noticed with sinking heart that Aragorn's hand lay upon his sword-hilt, ready to draw. 'Twas like a blow straight into his face.

''As you wish,'' he said with a short, bitter laugh. ''I care not.''

And truly, he cared no more. Not for the Ring, and even less for the Man whom – by law – he owned his allegiance. He walked down the slope, swinging the Ring on its chain carelessly. At this moment he only wished to be as far from Aragorn as possible.

Aragorn snatched the chain from his hand, nearly breaking it, and laid it around Frodo's neck again. The hobbit was trembling, for he saw all too well that things had taken an ugly turn among the only Men in their Company. He might have been small but he was no child, nor a fool. Boromir shook his head sadly. He felt the urge to tousle Frodo's curls encouragingly, but with Aragorn in such foul mood it might prove dangerous. So he simply turned away, leaving it to the possessive Ranger to care for the Ringbearer.

Gildor watched the whole scene with cold eyes.

''And so the seed of betrayal has already been spread,'' he commented softly to Arwen, who was standing frozen in the snowfall, too shaken from what she had seen to even move. ''This abomination of true art that had already caused the death of thousands, among them that of whose skills made its making possible in the first place, is reaching out for the hearts of Men again. Which one of them shall stand forth and which one shall fall, I wonder.''

''You believe it only poisons the hearts of the mortal?'' Arwen asked, too softly for any one but Elladan to hear. ''Are you not tempted yourself, scion of Kings, wise and proud Lord of Edhellond?''

''If I were to take it, 'twould only be as a wergild for the lives it cost – the most precious for me among them,'' Gildor answered. ''Yet what good would this tool of evil do for me? Can it bring me back Celebrimbor? Can it ensure that he would be released from the Halls unchanged, waiting for me in the haven of Avallóne? Nay, it cannot. Then why should I desire it? There is naught in Middle-earth I would still want – save my vengeance.''

''The Ring could help you with that,'' said Arwen, though she knew as well as Gildor did that the Ring would never turn against its Maker. But she wondered what he would reply.

''I need no blasted Ring in order to fulfil my curses upon the Dark One,'' Gildor shrugged, his arrogant smile reappearing for a moment. ''I very nearly faced him in the Last Battle, but I was delayed and missed my moment. I shall not miss it again.''

''You were delayed by saving Erestor's life,'' Arwen reminded him gently. ''You should turn your look from the past and look towards the future. There is still some hope left.''

''My future, if I have one, lays beyond the Sea,'' Gildor sighed. ''Yet what about yours? You ask me to forget the one that I loved more than life – are you willing to give up on the Man you pledged your life and your immortality to?''

Arwen gave him a very…. strange look. ''I did no such thing,'' she said. ''Not yet.''

''Not long ago you were determined to do so,'' Gildor pointed out, slightly surprised. ''You gifted the pendant of Lúthien upon him…''(3)

''… as a token of my promise that I shall not chose anyone else 'til the quest is over,'' Arwen finished for him. ''I do love him, Gildor – yet he seems to change so swiftly it frightens me. Every time we meet, he seems to be a different Man – I know not if I can keep up with the changes. Even if I became mortal, I would keep thinking and feeling as Elves do…''

''This seems not to frighten Elladan the least,'' remarked Gildor thoughtfully. ''He made his Final Choice quickly enough – though he had much less to achieve than you can hope for.''

''Elladan has always been different,'' Arwen sighed. ''The blood of our mortal sires runs deep in him. He always had differences to blend in. Yet I… I had never considered the Choice of Elros ere I met Estel and came to love him.''

''Yea, but is your love strong enough to give up everything that makes you the person you are for it?'' Gildor asked seriously. ''There was a time when you used to love me as well – yet you turned away from me nevertheless.''

''Your heart was not free to be given,'' Arwen replied.

''True,'' Gildor admitted. ''Yet I might have learned to forget the past and look into the future again, had you given me the chance to try. My heart was given, but it was not bound.''

''Not by any spoken oath, it was not,'' Arwen agreed. ''Yet it was bound for eternity by love, loyalty and devotion.''

''None of which can warm my fëa – or my bed,'' Gildor added bitterly. ''All my lovers were but a sparkle in the cold, lonely night that has been my life ever since you stepped out of it, Lady Undómiel. And as for you – you have not been any luckier yourself. Being always the second choice. Amroth left you for Nimrodel(4) and died for her, and Estel…''

''Estel loves me with all his heart!'' Arwen interrupted defensively.

''Does he?'' Gildor replied softly. ''Yea, mayhap he does. But will he still worship you and admire you when you cease to be the powerful and wise Elven Princess of Imladris and become a mortal woman? Think of it, Arwen! Think of it very carefully ere you forfeit the grace of your life. Consider it whether you truly cannot live without him, and choose only when you can answer that question with certainty.''

With that he left Arwen's side, and – lengthening his strides – picked up Frodo and tucked him under his cloak. Arwen saw that Boromir had already done the same with Samwise. She sighed and – drawing her cloak tighter around herself – moved on to follow him, moving out of the reach of the malevolent mountain.

Leaning against Elladan for a short moment for emotional support, Boromir finally picked up Sam and set him on his shoulder, leaving it to Aragorn to take Frodo, knowing all too well that the Ranger would never trust him around the Ringbearer. Not after what had just happened. Gimli, miraculously, managed to remain on his pony, with Elladan leading the other one behind. They ploughed forward again, to get into safety as quickly as they could.

They were in the midst of the drift, and Boromir and Sam were almost through, when a rumbling stone fell from the slope above and hurtling close to Frodo's head, thudded deep into the snow. But with the casting of that last stone the malice of the mountain seemed to be expended, as if it were satisfied that the invaders were in retreat and would not dare to return. There was no further mishap.

On the flat shelf above the steep slope they found, as Boromir had reported, that the snow was only shallow. There they waited, while Aragorn and Boromir returned with the second pony for the rest of their packs and bundles. By the time they were all gathered together again, morning was far advanced.

They looked out from the high place where they stood over the lands. Daylight was now as full as it would be, unless the heavy clouds were broken. Far below, and over the tumbled country falling away from the foot of the incline, Frodo thought he could see the dell from which they had started to climb the night before. His legs ached and his head was dizzy as he thought of the long painful march down again.

In the distance, below him but still high above the lower hills, he saw many black specks moving in the air. He rubbed his eyes, but the black specs remained, circling in the chill air like dark omens of many foul things yet to come.

''The birds again'', he said in a low voice, pointing.

''It cannot be helped now'', said Gandalf. ''Whether they are good or bad, or nothing to do with us, we must go on down at once. We cannot stay on the knees of Taragaer for another night-fall!''

The wind was blowing stiffly again over the pass that was hidden in cloud behind them; already a few flakes of snow were curling and drifting down. Taragaer had defeated them. They turned their backs on the Dimrill Stair, and stumbled wearily down the slope.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

End notes:

(1) The White Mountains in Gondor.

(2) ''Deadly Nightshade'', the Mountains of Shadow, called the Ephel Dúath in LOTR.

(3) Well, since that pendant was entirely a movie invention, I felt free to miss a little with it. It could have originally belonged to Lúthien, after all. There is simply no-where said that it has. :)

(4) A detail I created for my other story, ''Innocence''.

(5) Originally, the Fellowship had started earlier from Rivendell and the journey only took 10 days, instead of a fortnight.

(6) No, seriously, this is said in the original script – by Gandalf, though. But Elladan deserved the chance to be proud of his beloved. g