Snowmen

By Cathelm

Part Two: Ghosts on Ice.

The three children sat long beneath the old bridge, with only the howling of the wind breaking the silence. When one finally spoke, it was in subdued tone, as if weighed down beneath the mountain of snow that was falling upon the earth.

"Esmeralda?"

"What is it, Saro?"

"I'm cold."

The young hobbitmaid sighed, and watched as her breath crystallized before it was swept away by the relentless wind that blasted through the crumbling overhang that hardly deserved to be called shelter. "I'm cold too," she whispered.

The younger boy shivered and rubbed his pale hands together. "Could I atleast have my mittens back?" he asked timidly.

"No!" Esmeralda snapped with sudden intensity. "Paladin needs them more than you."

As if on command, a low moan came from the still figure lying between the other two, his blue lips letting out what breath his cold lungs could manage.

Oh Paladin," the girl sobbed. "Oh Pal, please don't leave me. You've got to keep trying, Brother."

Answered only by the sounds of his short breathing, Esmeralda laid her head on her elder brother's shoulder, unable to keep the tears from her eyes any longer. Saro sat nearby, huddled up against the rotting shell of Hogsmial Bridge, trying desperately to hold on to any last bit of warmth that still clung to his little body.

Their situation was getting worse by the minute. The blizzard that raged around them had only increased its fury while the three hobbit children had huddled together under their flimsy structure. They had no food, and no energy left to push off the snow that was beginning to pile up around their small bodies. The same cold that had driven all of Hobbiton inside to their warm fires was slowly, surely, pushing the three young ones to Death's door.

Skreetch. Skreetch. Skreetch. Skreetch. The sound was deadened by the impenetrable white. Far off it was at first. Like the steady tolling of a clock it grew nearer.

Skreetch. Skreetch. Skreetch. A shadowy form began to appear out of the fog. It was manlike, on two legs, and yet not. It hunched over as it glided across the frozen river, masking its true height. Its great bulk was covered in shaggy white fur.

This was no man.

Skreetch. Skreetch. The figure spotted something in the near distance. A small overhanging it was. Not large enough to provide any shelter from the cold winds. Yet there, something had taken shelter.

Skreetch. The beastly form skidded to a halt in front of the little outcrop and looked down at the strange snow-covered mound before him. Here and there bits of color stuck out from the white: A corner of green cloth. A lock of curly brown hair.

The foot of a small child.

The creature bent itself over and peered at the odd appendage. It was bare, with no shoes or stockings, but it was covered in coarse hair down to the toes. The creature took it in its giant hands and lifted the ankle slowly up and down. The muscles in the tiny foot resisted, frozen from being out in the cold. Quickly the creature brushed the powder from the mound to reveal what was underneath.

Three small children lay as if sleeping, huddled together in what little protection the overhang offered. Ice crystals coated them from head to foot. Their faces wore expressions of angst, as if they had frozen in mid-shiver.

The creature reached up to touch the face of the largest child. It was cold, colder than the skin of those who are living, and as white as the snow that surrounded it. No breath escaped the child's mouth. Tiny bits of snow clung to the child's eyelashes, giving a harsh beauty that masked the truth of the situation.

With one scoop the creature picked the three children from the snow and laid them against his broad torso. Again the creature hunched its shoulder against the cruel wind, and, turning, set off back north the way he came.

Skreetch. Skreetch. Skreetch. Skreetch. The shadowy figure left the land of the Shire, never to be seen there again.

The earth beneath rocked gently to and fro as whiteness streamed past in a blur. Esmeralda yawned and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She opened them wider and gazed at the pure, clean landscape about her. The clouds had ceased their downfall, and all was as still as only the dead of Winter can be. She yawned again and stretched out her arms.

Suddenly, she felt a jolt and the land came to a halt. She grabbed hold reflexively. Her hand met white fur.

With a gasp she became fully aware of her surroundings. She was hanging upside down. From the ice below her hazy reflection stared up with an expression of shock that mirrored the mess of questions that were darting about in her head. Above her reflection she could see two fur-covered legs ending in (primitive ice skates). She looked between the legs and saw... A distorted face glared back up at her, and the eyes seemed to burn a hole in her mind as they reflected off the ice.

"Help!" Esmeralda screamed. "Help! I've been-"

Before she could think she felt herself being swung to the ground. She gasped as she hit the ice hard on her back. But it takes more than just a little fall to put a stop to a hobbit. Esmeralda rolled over and sprung to her feet with all the nimbleness of a Took she could muster, and was off and running before you could count to one and a half.

But though the young maid certainly had the advantage in speed, the creature had size and strength on his side. Esmeralda had taken only three steps before something grabbed hold of her foot and caused her to go sprawling face first on the ice. She felt herself being jerked up by her shoulders. A hairy hand was slapped across her mouth. The rank smell of wet fur filled her nostrils, and she choked as she struggled against her against her constraints.

'hssst', a voice breathed into her ear. She squirmed away from the hot breath and tried to wriggle away, only to find her hands held tightly behind her back. Her feet slipped about hopelessly on the ice as she tried to get away.

At last Esmeralda slowed her struggle; her captor was far stronger than she. There was no hope of escape. The creature loosened his hold on the hobbitmaid as she stopped fighting, and with a low grunt released her from his grip. The maid collapsed on the ice, sobbing gently. She made no move to get up.

She stared blindly at the ice, searching her thoughts for an explanation of why she was here. Bit by bit it all came back to her.

Paladin rushing out the door without his hat.

Little Saradoc coming in with his father carrying firewood.

A blind walk through the snow.

Pal lying almost as if dead under Hogsmial Bridge.

The wind blowing, blowing, never once ceasing its fury.

And now- somehow- she was here.

Esmeralda shivered; though the blizzard had gone elsewhere and the wind had lessened its torment, the cold had remained. She pushed herself up from the ice and rubbed her hands against her face.

Something soft yet heavy hit her from behind. She turned; it was a cloak of white fur. She looked up at the strange creature that had held her captive. He was strange, the creature; not too unlike the man she had seen passing through one of the inns in Tookland once, and yet somehow very different. He was taller, and more heavily built, and... colder, somehow. And his eyes... She shivered again, and this time it wasn't from the cold. The creature glanced up, and his eyes pierced her mind, sending messages she could not understand. His eyes softened for a moment, then shied away from the maid's stare.

Esmeralda looked down at the white fur cloak the creature had thrown to her. It was hardened by dirt and wear, yet still had warmth to it. 'I wonder why he would give me a part of his own skin,' she thought to herself. She looked more closely at the creature's fur. She could find no seam on his body, yet the fur on his head seemed to be pulled over like a parka, covering all but his eyes. Somehow, the fur did not seem to be a part of him. 'Perhaps he is not as beastly as I thought,' she pondered. Intrigued, she dared to closer observe what the strange creature was doing.

He had unslung the rest of his burdens and laid them out side by side on the ice. He seemed to take great care in moving them, as if they were fragile. He was in between them and the hobbitmaid, with his back to her, so she crawled over, slipping about on the ice to get a better look.

With a gasp she started and scrambled as fast as she could over to where the strange man-like being had laid his possessions. There, lying on the ice with limbs strewn haphazardly about, was little Saradoc- and her brother beside him! "Pl, oh Pal!" she cried as she slipped over to where he lay still. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His body hung limp in her embrace.

The next thing she knew she was flying backwards with astonishing speed.

"No," said the creature.

"You- you spoke," Esmeralda stuttered. "You can speak!" The white creature dodged her words and laid Paladin gently back down onto the ice.

Esmeralda sat dumbfounded. She could not believe her ears. The creature spoke! Perhaps it wasn't quite so as beastly as she had thought. But had he really spoken, or had he merely made some unintelligent grunt? There was only one way to find out.

The maid clambered to her feet, wincing from the bruise that was growing on her backside, and walked over to stand in front of the being in white. "Who are you?" she asked. The beast made no sign of having heard her.

She tried again. "My. Name. Is. Esmeralda," she said, separating each word from the next. "Who are you?"

The creature lifted his head and once again pierced her mind with that unnerving stare. For a long while the only sound was a lone bird calling out into the white, shattering the silence.

"As-Mar-Al-Da." The white fur-covered creature drew out every vowel as if it was stuck in the back of his throat. "Asmaralda."

The hobbitmaid stood speechless. "Esmeralda," she gasped. "Esmeralda! You said my name!" She knelt down beside him. "You really are a man, aren't you! I knew it all along. You're no beast, you're one of the Big Folk, like the ones who live in Bree and all those other far-off places. A bit strange, I must admit, what with all the fur and that grunting bit, but a man all the same!" She looked earnestly into the white man's face. He avoided her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry if I've offended you, sir. I forget myself sometimes." The man made no response. "You do understand me, right?" He grunted and turned to rummage through one of the sacks he had laid on the ice.

Esmeralda sighed. Talking with this. . . man. . . was going to be more difficult than she had thought.

She let her eyes wander, and they came to rest on her brother. He was completely still; unlike little Saro next to him, she could not even detect the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. If he breathed. His face was whiter than the snow that piled on the banks of the frozen river. His skin had a faintly blue color to them.

"I'm sorry if I ever hated you, Paladin," she whispered.

Esmeralda felt the Big Person's stare on the back of her head. She turned to face his gaze. "Is. . . is he. . ." she gulped and swallowed at the lump in her throat. "Is he. . . dead?"

The man came over to where the hobbit maid knelt beside her brother. "What name?" he asked.

"Huh?" Esmeralda gave him a blank look.

"Yoo Asmaralda. Hee. . ." He pointed to her brother. "What name?"

"Oh." She blinked. "His name's Paladin."

"Pah-Lah-Deen?"

"Yes. Paladin. Is he dead?"

The man peered down at the hobbit boy's face and stroked his head with a white fur-covered hand. "No," he grunted. "Paladeen no. . . daa-d."

A surge of joy rose within the hobbitmaid. "He's not dead," she told herself. "He's not dead! My brother is alive!" She jumped up and down on the ice. She slipped and fell on her stomach. "Oomph!" she laughed and rolled over onto her back, gazing up at the white clouds. "He's alive!"

The man picked Esmeralda up and set her roughly to her feet. He went over to the two boys who were lying still on the ice and lifted them and settled them gently, one on each shoulder. He turned and began at a steady pace up the frozen river.

"Wait, where are you going?" Esmeralda trotted up to his side. "Home is back there, we're going the wrong way."

"We go." The big man grunted without pausing. His eyes remained focused upriver.

"But-"

"We go!"

The hobbitmaid fell silent and walked a few feet from the big man's side. She stared up into his face; hard as ice it was, just like the rest of him seemed to be. And with his white furs he appeared to have walked right out of the snowy landscape. Even as close as the girl was parts of him appeared to blend into the snow. She looked at the strange being, and wondered.

"Do you have a name?" asked Esmeralda.

The man gave no sign of having heard the hobbitmaid.

"What can I call you?"

They walked in silence. A little gust of wind came and blew around them, mangling the girl's hair and reminding them that the storm may not yet be through with its fury.

"Morut," said the snowman.

Esmeralda saw that no more would come from him. She contented herself with watching the white banks of the river move past her. The skreetching of the snowman's shoes on the ice fell dead in the emptiness. Esmeralda shivered, and felt a similar emptiness inside of her.