Warm Thoughts Chapter 3: Snow Sloth By: Bethlauria

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Author's note: Enjoy!

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Aragorn grew impatient with their whispered shouts. He couldn't be sure, as he cupped his hands to direct his words, that Boromir and Gimli heard his entire message, but he didn't like the look of the snow that seemed poised above his head.

He turned back to what remained of the company, his muscles flinching in an aborted shrug. It was time to make haste. The sun's light was already failing, and from the looks of it, more snow was on the way. With a deep sigh, he turned to their aborted path and slowly trudged forward through the waist high snow, using his arms to throw snow to the sides so that his fellows might follow.

Legolas ran ahead over the snow, unencumbered, but it took Gandalf a few moments to tear his gaze away from the long slide that seemed to curl down into the mountain. With a sigh, he turned to follow Aragorn, his staff bearing a good deal of his weight as he struggled through ice and snow.

The hobbits stood the longest, until Merry finally clapped Pippin on the back. "Come on. Pip. The sooner we begin, the sooner we'll meet up with them at the riverbank."

Pippin nodded, but remained staring down into the hole until Sam and Frodo led Bill away to follow Aragorn. Only then did he join Merry to bring up the rear.

After the company gained perhaps 100 feet, the first flakes fell.

**

Boromir absently gave up his hand to aid Gimli in his descent, but he continued to look about the spectacle of the cavern in awe. Startled by the hard thump next to him, he frowned down at Gimli, understanding that the dwarf spurned his offer of assistance.

"Does this spectacle stem from magic or madness?" Gimli asked.

Boromir turned once more to scan the broad expanse of sparkling crystal. "Of that, I'm sure we'll see. My concern is whether we'll see ourselves out of it again."

When Gimli gave him an exasperated glare, Boromir shrugged, "I'm not one for false hope."

When Boromir struck off again, following a channel in between crystal and ice, Gimli muttered under his breath, "Or any other kind."

As they wound their way southeast, they found little to give them confidence, for the wall that marked the cavern's boundary remained steadfast and unbroken.

The dripping echo of many, melting icicles further spoiled Gimli's mood. The noise wore on his nerves until he was doing little more than growling and snorting at the man from Gondor, who insisted on leading, yet stopped without warning every few feet to choose his next footing.

When Gimli ran into his backside for the fourth time, he roared, "That's it." Brushing asudden past the man, he said, "If you ask my opinion, which I note you haven't, we should seek the source of the running water."

"Running?" Boromir snorted in disdain. "I hear nothing beyond a maddening trickle."

"Hardly surprising," Gimli observed. "Strong man though you be, your prowess at tracking is hardly commensurate to that of a dwarf's. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox," Gimli pompously declared as he turned to lead the way. "I will guide us to the spring, and it will in turn guide us out of Pirscha's realm."

Unfortunately, the resounding echoes gave Gimli little clue to the spring's location. Instead, he followed the cast of wavering light on the cavern's ceiling, hoping it to be a watery reflection. Much to the dwarf's annoyance, as he moved away east, Boromir strayed away south; but it was Gimli that happened upon the icy riverbank first and hailed the man to his side.

Together, they watched the spring's water meander away between large crystals of ice and skirt and jump down icy steps. The jumbled flow meandered here and there, but eventually led away South. From what they could see off it, it seemed to lead to a shadowy area in the Cavern's far recesses.

The man and dwarf looked at each other. In truth, they had little choice but to follow, for forging the ice-cold stream would certainly finish them off.

"I hope the going is more certain for our friends," Boromir declared, knowing that neither path held promise of escape.

**

The blizzard effectively blinded what was left of the fellows as they once again tried to dig themselves out a shelter.

"Aragorn!" Merry shouted.

Aragorn turned to find Merry desperately trying to rouse Pippin, who'd fallen asleep in his arms. Aragorn's gaze immediately slid to Gandalf, seeking his guidance; but the wizard offered none.

When Aragorn took in Pippin's blue lips and pale complexion, he sought his own council, lifting the hobbit in his arms to travel back along the path he himself had forged.

"This path might be hazardous, but at least its known to bring us off the mountain," Legolas called after him, shouting to be heard over the ice- laced wind.

"It'll mean naught if the hobbits freeze along the way," Aragorn spat over his shoulder.

"And what of Bill?"

Aragorn turned back to look at the animal at the question, finding it standing solidly within the swirling snow. "I don't wish to sacrifice him," he shouted, turning to Legolas. "But we're fighting for our own survival."

As Legolas stood above the snow, unmoved by wind or sleet, Aragorn realized that mayhap the elf could see the animal through until the rest of the fellows could meet up down the mountain's slope.

"Do you think you could get him off the mountain?"

Legolas paused before answering. "I can try," he said sincerely, his somber and less-than-certain tone highlighting how dire the situation. "If you really choose to follow the strong man, you should bring provisions. You don't know how long your path will be amid the icy tunnels."

Aragorn nodded. "Merry, follow me to the mountain's door. I'll see you and Pippin safely to the bottom of its slanted hall; then I will return to help Frodo and Sam with supplies."

**

Both Gimli and Boromir were chilled to the bone by the time they reached the far wall of the large cavern; but they welcomed the sight of a breach in its smooth surface; a large crack heralded the stream's escape. With the fading of the sun's light, came the fading of its reflection within the cavern, so they decided to make camp and build a fire before the exodus, using what was left of Gimli's wood for both warmth and light.

Gimli took the first watch. As he sat up against the tunnel wall, the cavern slowly faded from view beyond the halo of light cast by the fire.

After his head nodded for the second time, he abruptly shifted himself upward and looked about their small camp for something to distract him away from sleep. He finally decided to break into his valuable stash of pipeweed, which was hidden several layers down in his pack.

He took great pleasure in the careful and precise process of stuffing the pipe and getting it a light, and he was enjoying his first stoke, when Boromir suddenly groaned and kicked out in his sleep.

Gimli frowned at the struggling man. He was unsure whether he should wake him from the nightmare, having heard tales of unfavorable ends to such a course.

As the man's struggles grew more violent, Gimli threw his pipe aside to crawl to the man's side. Boromir's eyes were open and were looking at Gimli in panic as his hands clawed at his face. Gimli wasn't sure what he was seeing at first; Boromir's face seemed to shine in the wavering light the fire cast, and his expression seemed frozen as if in a mask. Gimli suddenly realized it *was* frozen, and the ice encasing it prevented the man from taking a breath.

Gimli lunged at the ice mask, trying to work his fingernails under its edge in hopes of prying it off. As the man's struggles weakened, Gimli continued to pull at the ice, but his eyes desperately darted about their campsite, looking for some tool to help him in his task. His gaze landed on the fire at his side, and he grabbed for an ember hastily, burning his hand. He swore under his breath and dropped it. When he reached for it again, he grabbed its unscorched end and was finally able to lay it upon the ice on Boromir's face.

The man's eyes widened in horror as he watched the burning flame approach. Gimli turned away with a grimace, not wanting to torture the man, but certain this was the best course. He heard rather than saw the fire's effect. The ice squeaked and then popped as ice does when suddenly immersed in water. With a long screech, splintered cracks tore along the mask's surface.

Gimli left the burning wood on the mask a moment longer to make sure he'd undermined its strength. When the water melting on its top started to spurt and bubble, he pulled the burning ember away and threw it back on the fire. When he turned back, his eyes widened in amazement as he saw the ice mask soften in form to slide away, no longer cast in the shape of Boromir's face, but flexible and formless as it rode off of it. Once it fell away, the man violently rolled to his side and wheezed in great mouthfuls of air, only to cough the air out again.

Gimli watched in stunned amazement as the thick film dissolved into a puddle on the cavern's floor. As he watched, it moved slowly away.

Shaking himself out of it, he reached out to the man, pounding him on the back to help him regain his breath. Once revived, the man hastily crawled away from the place where the mask first dripped down to the ground. His head swiveled on his neck as he looked frantically about him, finally turning to look at Gimli in utter astonishment at the form of this new enemy.

Gimli stood up from his position and moved closer to the errant puddle. As he got closer to it, the puddle abandoned its subtle meandering to roll with more speed and with greater force. Gimli started to give chase, but stopped once he decided he had no means of capturing it.

He turned back to the man. "I can track this thing that attacked you, but I cannot capture it. Its evil lies in stealth and our ignorance. Now that it's made itself known, we can guard against it."

Boromir just nodded as he struggled to catch his breath. After a moment he said, "But what other enemies might we encounter on this path?"

"What other indeed?" Gimli whispered, scanning the cavern as he thought of Moria. The legends surrounding the dwarf fortress fueled his imagination, causing him to envision a population for this elevation. They'd be terrifying creatures. In his mind's eye, the shadows of Moria were cast instead out of ice and light, reflecting the theme of the mountain's higher reaches. "The sooner we find our way, the better. Let us hope Pirscha's minions are no bigger or faster than the ice we experienced.

"It was deadly enough, I assure you," Boromir said as he rose to his feet. "I'll not be sleeping anytime soon."

"Nor I. Mayhap we should be on our way. The fire we'd used for warmth can light our path."

**

If Boromir and Gimli remained in the cavern, they might have seen the glow of Gandalf's staff as the ice took up its reflection, magnifying and multiplying the light into a sparkly show.

"It is beautiful," Frodo acknowledged.

Sam shrugged. "I prefer Gandalf's fireworks as lights go," he mumbled, looking at the fields of crystal hills with suspicion.

"Apples and oranges, Sam. The appreciation of one doesn't detract from the other," Frodo said patiently as he turned to him.

The corner of Sam's mouthed curved up in disgust. "The lights in this place are poor forgeries," he determined. "They just mimic the light set off from Gandalf's staff."

"I'm just happy there's light," Pippin volunteered from behind them. Moving to stand at their side, he said, "Sparkly or no, it'll be easier to see any big drop offs."

Merry was walking past Pippin when he made the comment, and nudged the hobbit on principle. Continuing after Gandalf, he stopped after a few steps to look back at Sam. "It does make our path easier," he reasoned.

Sam's eyes dropped a little in embarrassment. He didn't wish to be forever comforted in his complaints. "The better to get on with it I suppose," he gave them.

Aragorn laid a heavy hand on Sam's shoulder, understanding the hobbit's glum mood as he worried over Bill. "Then let us make our way."

**

As Boromir and Gimli made their way down the path bordering the natural spring, Boromir found himself glancing nervously about him. Something about these paths gave him a sense of foreboding. The way all the rooms magnified outside light spoke of some great being's architectural design - but this was a mountain. By Valor, the likes of which that could fashion a mountain after its own tastes.

The path grew brighter as dawn's light was drawn into the space from above. After the better part of an hour, the path widened and an archway could be seen at its end. Beyond the arch, the path dipped steeply downward in a narrow and short passage, but the dwarf and man had little choice but to follow.

Ducking within the portal, Boromir was forced to crouch through the narrow passageway, but the dwarf was able to walk upright behind him.

When they reached the other side, it was with a start. Boromir's hand relaxed off his sword's hilt, however, when he realized that the army of men and dwarves that greeted them was but a trick of the ice.

He sighed heavily as he tried to make sense of the path before him, realizing that the multiple reflections were caused by the ice walls which curved one onto the other. The room with its many mirrored walls was like a sinister maze, its design unfathomable.

"What manner of game is this?" Gimli grumbled. "This is a device of your wizard, I'd wager; but there's one way to forge a path where we wouldn't be at Pirscha's mercy," he said, his rumbled tone escalating as he made to use his axe on the illusionary enemies.

Boromir stayed him with a touch of his hand as he squinted at one of the walls, seeing movement where he knew there should be none.

He moved toward the ice wall only to find a reflection of himself in action, the movements not at all mirroring his slack-jawed gaze. Although strangely flat and insubstantial, his double's face twisted in rage as he stumbled desperately after a small figure. As Boromir watched, he couldn't tell which halfling his crazed counterpart hunted, but his jaw tightened as a suspicion formed.

Giving chase, his double tripped and landed hard on a leaf-strewn hill. When he drew his head up, leaves and dirt tangled in his hair, his manner and mood completely changed. Now his expression was one of tortured despair, which finally mirrored the expression worn by the flesh and blood man watching the action play out.

From his elbow, Gimli spoke, "That has not come to pass. That is black magic at work, making you doubt yourself. I know you to be a man of honor, and you've given your word to protect the hobbit."

"Aye, I have," Boromir answered, but he continued to stare into the eyes of his now-mirrored reflection.

After a moment, he stood up tall and turned away from the image, but he didn't give the icy walls more means to divert him. Instead, he looked to the ground, maneuvering through the icy maze free of the distortions created through light and reflection. He chugged along the path, feeling weighed down by the image he'd just seen as it repeated through his head. Was it possible he'd stray so far as to actually try to take the ring?

When Gimli's swore from somewhere behind, he stopped. The dwarf was looking into an ice wall, trying to clear the frosty surface with his hand. He turned to look at Boromir in stunned amazement at the figures encased in the wall's reaches.

Boromir moved back by Gimli's side to get a closer look. Within the ice, two men stood as if frozen in mid-stride, one shouting to the other.

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THE END of Chapter 3