Disclaimer: Nothing! ¡Nada! Rien! Nichts! Non niente! O Nada! That's what I own in six different languages (Spanish, French, German, Italian, and Portuguese). Courtesy of a nifty translator site.
A/N: Well, I start school Wednesday, so chapters may be more spaced apart depending on how much work I have and other stuff. I'm trying to get the next couple chapters done so no one comes after me with pitchforks…
Chapter Eleven
We had been traveling for nearly a month when things became even more bizarre. We were resting on a hill, strewn with large boulders and small trees and shrubs, stunted by the wind. Boromir was teaching Merry and Pippin how to fence, while Aragorn looked on, occasionally shouting advice. Gimli and Gandalf sat a little ways off, talking about something or another.
"Probably comparing the length of their beards or something," I said in an undertone. Legolas glanced back at me, with the hint of a smile.
I have to be more careful about that, I thought to myself. There was a loud commotion and Merry and Pippin suddenly launched themselves at Boromir and tackled him. Boromir was knocked to the ground at the mercy of the two hobbits, provoking a chorus of laughter from me.
"Boromir, getting beaten up by hobbits, eh? Getting a little slow there, tough guy?" I called. He flipped me off (I had showed him how to do that at dinner awhile ago because I was bored). I laughed again and fell off the rock that I had been perched on.
"What's that?" I heard Sam ask as I scrambled up off the dirt floor. I looked in the direction he was pointing. A dark cloud had appeared on the horizon and was moving quickly in our direction. It didn't seem particularly out of the ordinary, but there was something unnerving about it.
"It's nothing, just a wisp of cloud," Gimli replied. I rolled my eyes.
"It's moving fast, against the wind," observed Boromir. I looked closer and found his observation correct.
"Crebain from Dunland!" shouted Legolas.
"Hide!" commanded Aragorn.
And as usual, I was absolutely clueless. But it sounded evil, so I figured I should hide. Besides, everyone was panicking and running around like chickens with their heads cut off, so I decided that it was probably not the most opportune time to ask questions. I snatched my pack and crawled under some bushes. Soon, everyone was completely concealed in their own hiding places and there was an eerie silence.
And then the crows came.
They arrived, screeching louder than a psychotic two year old who had one too many Winnie the Pooh Fruit Snack packets. There were hundreds of them, swooping and circling in the air. I heard a distinct 'plop' right next to my ear. I didn't even have to look to know what it was, but I did anyway, just to see if it had fallen close enough to splatter on my face, clothes, or hair. It hadn't, which surprised me because things like that seem to happen to me constantly. They continued to pass overhead, leaving me half in fear and half in disgust. They finally left, quickly disappearing on the horizon. I wriggled out of the bushes and rejoined the rest of the Fellowship.
"Spies for Saruman," muttered Gandalf, peering at the horizon. "The passage south is being watched. We will have to go over the pass of Caradhras."
"What?" I asked. No one heard me, as they were busy packing their belongings. I sighed, muttering to myself about their ignorance and shouldered my pack.
"Oh Legolas…" I crooned in a singsong voice. I had some serious questioning to do and Legolas was least likely to lose his temper and tell me to buzz off.
*
We stood at the foot of the mountain, taking a moment to look up at it. I sighed. I did not like it. It was humongous, seeming to pierce the very sky above us. The snow glistened in the sunlight and the few trees I could see were lush and green. Ordinarily it would have been breathtaking, but there was something else about it that just didn't appeal to me. But I really had no choice in the matter, so I remained silent.
Without much discussion we began the trek up the mountain. The slope was steep, and the snow was slippery. But I discovered one positive thing: elves can walk on snow. I enjoyed that immensely—though it did not stop me from being klutzy and slipping and falling halfway down the mountain before someone stopped me. Gimli found this amusing. Stupid dwarf.
I was incredibly happy about my newfound abilities. But I suppose for every positive thing that happens on this mountain, there must be something negative to make things worse.
I made this important discovery when we stopped to camp for the night: it is damn cold when the sun goes down.
And Legolas, being who he is, would not forgo lessons.
"Puh-leeeeeeeeez?" I begged, wrapped up in my cloak and halfway into my sleeping roll. He shook his head.
"No. It won't be long," he replied. I glared at him.
"I'm too cold to speak Sindarin." He stared at me impassively. "Oh, fine," I relented. "If the camp was on fire, he wouldn't let me leave unless we had completed lessons," I muttered under my breath.
"I heard that."
I've got to stop doing that, I thought to myself, taking my seat beside him. At least he can't read minds…
*
I slept late the next day and Aragorn shook me awake in the late morning. I grumbled and packed up my stuff, slinging my pack over my shoulder. Breakfast was cold and the hobbits had eaten most of the eggs so I was stuck with cold sausage and soggy toast. We set off, I in a rather poor mood, constantly having to restrain myself from tossing Gimli down the mountain every time he found it necessary to laugh at my clumsiness.
And surprise, surprise, bad things continued to happen.
The first of these instances was more bizarre rather than bad. I had been walking, staring at my feet, willing them not to slip, when I noticed that everyone had stopped. I glanced back to see what had distracted them. Frodo had evidently fallen and Aragorn had steadied him. I didn't see what the big deal was until I noticed Boromir held the chain, which held the Ring.
"Boromir," warned Aragorn.
"It is a strange fate that we suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing…" he reached forward as if to caress the Ring.
"Boromir!" exclaimed Aragorn. He withdrew his hand and blinked as though he had just been awoken from a dream. "Give the Ring to Frodo." He slowly handed the Ring to Frodo.
"As you wish. I care not." Frodo snatched the Ring from him. Boromir chuckled uneasily, tousled his hair, and shouldered his shield as though nothing of great importance had happened. I felt a chill go up my spine.
It was too obvious that he did care.
*
Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, what with Boromir acting so odd and my crabby mood, it began to snow.
At first it was a light sprinkle, a pleasant snowfall that lifted my spirits. But it gradually increased, the flakes growing larger and falling in thicker sheets. The ground became coated with snow. It was no real problem for me, but the hobbits were nearly waist-deep in the snow. After awhile, Boromir and Aragorn began carrying them. The snow continued to rise, until it was up to their own waists. Laboriously, they struggled through the snow, towing the hobbits with them. I volunteered to carry one of the hobbits to make it a little easier for them, but they declined, claiming they were no trouble at all.
Men and their stupid pride.
So we slowly made our way along. Once I made the mistake of looking over the edge of the path. We were incredibly high off the ground, jagged boulders waiting to meet an unlucky traveler at the bottom. I tried to stay close to the mountain walls after that.
And still the snow showed no sign of relenting.
I walked slowly, feeling a little tired and very cold. Suddenly I heard a deep echoing voice, bellowing phrases in a strange language. I concluded that I was hallucinating or the wind was playing tricks on me. Legolas suddenly strode forward and stood at the head of the path, listening.
"There is a foul voice on the air!" he exclaimed. I began to contemplate the stability of his sanity as well as my own.
"Saruman," hissed Gandalf, seeming to hear the voice too. I began to wonder if we were all nuts from being at such high altitudes when a loud groan from up ahead pierced the air. Several large rocks tumbled down from the peak of the mountain, falling into the rocky pit below us.
Gandalf stood up tall, staff in hand, and began shouting what I assumed was a counter-spell, his voice rising to mingle with Saruman's. There was a crack and a fork of lightening struck the mountain, causing a huge amount of snow to cascade down the mountain. I pressed myself up against the wall, hoping that I would survive.
With an audible 'whump', the snow captured me in a chilly embrace, the force knocking the breath right out of me. I dug frantically at the walls of snow around me, my lungs craving air. I felt the snow give way and a rush of air stream in. I took long, deep breaths. I kicked my way up to the top and found most everyone else free of their white prison. Gimli suddenly popped up, with a growl, his beard covered in snow. I giggled, despite the seriousness of the situation.
"We must get off the mountain!" Aragorn yelled above the wind.
"We must take the Pass of Rohan or take the road west to my city!" Boromir exclaimed.
"Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn argued.
"If we cannot go over the mountain, I say let us go under it!" exclaimed Gimli, his frosted beard wagging comically. For some reason he reminded me of a Muppet. I tried to keep a straight face, but ended up hiding my smile with my hands.
"Let the Ring bearer decide," said Gandalf finally. Everyone looked toward Frodo, who seemed deep in thought.
"We will go through the mines," he said finally. Gandalf nodded, looking somewhat apprehensive.
"So be it."