The company had little choice in their path off Caradhras as the rocky steps of Dimrill Stair dictated a steep, southern course along its falls.

The hunt for proper footing on the slick, mist-covered rock made the going precarious and slow, especially for Sam, who'd turned his ankle in his mad dash out of Pirscha's cave. While Frodo stayed with him as he made his way, their slow pace caused the two to fall back within the company until they brought up its rear.

As Frodo waited for Sam to scale a particularly large step, he looked about him in the sunny day, wondering at the fact he still felt chilled. He shivered, trying to shake off the feeling, absentmindedly taking up the ring from the chain about his neck to rub it between his fingers.

Boromir was the next fellow in line before them and when he realized Frodo and Sam had fallen behind, he stopped to wait for them, rolling his left shoulder in a stretch and readjusting his shield where it rested unaccustomedly on his right.

Noticing the man's wince, Frodo let the ring land with a thud back on his chest. "The shoulder pains you?"

Boromir's head snapped up to return the hobbit's gaze. With a faltering smile, he said, "Not to speak of, little one. As a seasoned solider, I've had much worse," he confided with a shrug, but the action aggravated the shoulder anew, and his smile threatened to twitch into a grimace as he tried to twist his neck and shoulder about to relieve the spasm.

Frodo rolled his eyes, offering, "Sam has some salve that might help."

He turned back toward Sam, only to find that the hobbit had successfully lowered himself down the last step and stood next to him. Frodo forcefully turned him about to get at the pack on his back. "You've kept the salve in this pack, haven't you, Sam?"

"No," Boromir said, staying the hobbit with a splayed hand. Awkwardly lowering it again, he said more gently, "Better to save it for our future adventures," he tried by way of explanation.

He looked away for a moment and swallowed hard before turning back, his eyes darting to Frodo's, he said sincerely, "But I thank you for the offer."

Frodo's hands were still on the pack's straps as he stared back at the man in confusion, but the awkward moment was interrupted by shouts of glad tidings from below. Apparently, the elf and pony had intercepted their fellows.

"Bill!" Sam exclaimed, turning from his master to skip down the steps as best he was able so he might catch up to the rest of the company and his beloved pony.

When the excited hobbit hobbled past, Boromir snorted in amusement and turned to Frodo with a Smile, only to have it fade when he found Frodo still staring at him with a worried frown.

After a long moment, Boromir broke their stare and turned back to the path, saying with forced nonchalance, "Best get underway."

**

"I give no credence to that vision, and neither should you."

"It would seem to show the future," Boromir argued.

"It would seem to, but each man and beast in middle earth has the freedom of choice. Now you know the danger and can guard against it," the dwarf determined as he dug in his pack for pipe and weed, clearly expecting his judgment to end the discussion.

"But I can see too clearly the path of thought that would lead me to that road," Boromir admitted, his voice shaky as he bowed his head. He sat on the ground on the outer circle of their camp, his arms wrapped around his bent knees.

"You do not hold with the reasoning of the council then?" Gimli asked, looking up from his labors to fashion the man of Gondor with his dark gaze. "I thought you to be convinced of the quest's merit."

"I understand the danger against which they guard," Boromir explained carefully. "They are afraid to leave a weapon worth pursuing to the dark lord; but I cannot help but think it folly to deliver it into his stronghold." When the dwarf did not reply, Boromir turned to catch the dwarf's eye. "I've faced his minions, losing a thousand men to the meeting," he added, his voice growing in conviction, if not a little frustration. "I do not think it possible to walk through his lands to Mount Doom. I'd sooner see the ring locked away or sent over the great waters; and if all else fails, take the chance and wield it. "

Gimli frowned at the man as he stood up from his pack. Pipe weed forgotten, he turned away to pace about, his hands clasped behind his back in thought. When he turned back to the man, he said, "Aside from affection for the company you keep, then, you have no real hope in the quest. I do not think you truly understand the ring's power," he accused.

"And you do?" Boromir asked.

"No, but I'm beginning to think the ring cast that vision to you, rather than any magic of Pirscha. It's making you shy away from your affections for the halfling, creating distance and suspicion; the very thing the ring feeds upon."

"You talk as though it is a living thing," Boromir said incredulously and a little contemptuously as he got to his feet and dusted off his backside.

"And so it is, growing stronger by vanquishing hope and feeding on despair. Man of Gondor, take heart!" the dwarf rumbled, his voice booming with emotion as his speech stirred him. "For it may be in the fact of our journey that the true wound to our enemy is struck; neither the ring nor Sauron can imagine the fidelity of friendship and respect. It's a weapon Sauron can't fathom or recognize."

Boromir looked down at the dwarf as he thoughtfully considered his remarks, but fear was heavy on his heart that his doubts would only grow.

He felt like he was the only one who could see the truth of the ring, veiled though it was in legend and myth. In the end, it was a weapon that would be wielded, and wasn't it the wielder's measure that determined its capacity for good or evil?

**

As they trekked down the last of the stair, the fellows breath billowed in the air, the chill making it visible. When they cleared the last of the pine leading into the dale, Aragorn dropped his pack, signaling a break for rest. One by one, the company entered the clearing.

As the hobbits flung themselves to the ground along with their gear, Gimli declared to the party at large, "Unseasonable this cold. If no one else will say it, I will. This Pirscha follows us with his magic."

Aragorn turned to give the dwarf a short glare of warning, one side of his mouth puckering in annoyance.

The dwarf blustered at the disapproval, but didn't back down.

Letting his hands fall away from his hips, Aragorn ignored the dwarf, turning away instead to scout a path.

"I've speculated the same," Boromir said to the dwarf as he walked up beside him to drop his own pack, but his voice was at a level meant for Gimli alone. He turned to look back up Caradhras as it towered above them, its shadow blocking out the sun. "But it is January. The month itself has been known to bring cold such as this all on its own."

"Or so you always thought," Gimli said pointedly.

Boromir snorted at the comment, torn from his contemplation to look back down to Gimli. "I admit, no winter will go by now that I won't consider his possible meddling," he replied.

"The Sky looks threatening" Aragorn said on his return. "I want to make it to the golden wood of Lothlorien before nightfall so that we might have some shelter."

Now it was his turn to look up at the clouds that seemed to gather about Caradhras and her sisters. The activity on the mountain had not let up since their escape. In fact, the snow line dropped noticeably during their descent, apparently staying just behind them.

When Aragorn looked back to man and dwarf for a response, Boromir nodded and Gimli grunted, so he turned away from them to rouse the hobbits; but his gaze almost immediately doubled back to Boromir with a frown.

Aragorn looked at him quizzically, realizing for the first time how pale the man and the tremor that ran through him in chill. While the climate was anything but hospitable, Boromir seemed to be affected by it the most. Yet on the pass, he'd been the most hardy - except for the elf.

"The air is cold to be sure, but your chill seems to run deeper," Aragorn observed. "You look to be taken with illness as well as with cold.

"It is just the cold," Boromir determined stubbornly. "Once we get off the mountain, we will all benefit by a fire," he said, turning away from Aragorn's scrutiny to look again at Caradhras, squinting at it like he might an enemy in disguise.

**

"Well isn't this a pain and a nuisance," Pippin declared, finding it beyond tolerable that a fire was ruled out by the Wizard even as they camped within a wood.

"Our enemies number larger on this side of the Misty Mountains. We don't want to help them in their search by marking our location." Perhaps sensing an opportunity for instruction, he continued, "And there are also our hosts to think about - we don't wish to offend them."

"Hosts?" Pippin asked, his brows in his hairline.

Boromir walked up behind Pippin at the exchange and frowned at the word 'hosts' himself.

"I'm sure you, at least, Boromir have heard strange tales of these woods," Gandalf started.

"Aye, strange and deadly tales are all that's ever escaped from the woods of Lorien. It would seem you have knowledge of the enemies that haunt here?"

Gandalf snorted. "Enemies? No, I do not count the beings that reside here among our enemies. You're a valiant man, but all is forever black and white to you. For any man that entered this wood and didn't return, there is likely a story of transgression."

Boromir just frowned. "And would these men even know that they transgressed?"

"They could guess if they gave it a thought, but therein is the crime you see."

"No I don't see," Boromir sighed. "Nor do I have hope of illumination at the rate of your telling."

Pippin laughed and looked up fondly at Boromir, before turning to the wizard again himself. Crossing his arms across his chest, he said, "Yes, Gandalf, get to the point."

Gandalf pointedly frowned at both of them before resuming his tale. "There are beings older than any on middle earth that take up residence here," he said, his narrative voice deep and vibrant.

Boromir seemed to grow a shade paler as he considered the wizard's words. "Yes, the witch," he surmised. "Gimli told me tales of her sorcery."

"The Lady is no witch," Gandalf thundered. "She casts no spells, and spins no sorcery. No, she is in fact a high, elfin queen, and, though the elves in these parts have dwindled, this is indeed her realm. It would be impolite to make ourselves at home without her invitation. No, we should await a meeting with her representatives before so flagrantly abusing her hospitality. But it isn't the lady I was speaking of when I said hosts; we must also consider the trees.

"The trees?" Pippin said in objection.

"Yes, the trees, young took. This is their home as much as it is the lady's and fire is their natural enemy."

"Why on Earth would the trees care if we built a fire?" Pippin argued.

"Well how would you feel, fool of a took, if a visiting tree came to the shire with a pet warg for the keeping - an animal just as likely to gnaw on you than a bone?

"Well, if that's not unnecessarily gruesome," Pippin determined, his whole face pinched at the idea. Then, as an argument dawned, he said enthusiastically, "But a tree doesn't feel pain."

"Just because you don't hear their howl of pain doesn't mean they don't feel it," Legolas said unexpectedly from behind them. He'd apparently been leading Bill to a tree for tying when he overheard them.

"And you do?" Boromir asked as he turned toward the elf.

"He's a woodland elf," Gandalf chuckled. "He lives in harmony with the trees himself, and I dare say, his kind's even been known to sing to them."

"Yes, I sing, and I am answered," Legolas said. "Trees are beyond wise. Some trees in our wood are old enough to remember the elves beginning as if yesterday morn," he said his eyes shining in wonder. But then a shadow seemed to pass over his face as he said, "I believe they will also witness our end - I only hope we will prove ourselves worth mourning."

Boromir looked at him thoughtfully, but let him move on to tie up Bill with no further questions. When Boromir turned back to look toward Gandalf, he noticed Pippin looking up thoughtfully at the trees spreading their yellowed canopies above their heads.

"Do you think they'd like Bilbo's 'Ode to a Potato?" Pippin asked.

"Good heavens, no," Gandalf declared in a reproachful tone. Leaning down to the hobbit, he said, "And have a care for your fellows; they are quick to anger themselves at a hobbit's foolishness."

Pippin's mouth fell open at the remark. As Gandalf walked off, Boromir put a hand on the young hobbit's shoulder. "Perhaps we can conjole the old wizard to let us serenade the trees campside. Not everyone here is a critic.

"If we did it properly they may even like us enough to let us use a few cast off limbs for warmth," Pippin argued, nodding to a piece of dried wood at the base of the tree next to him.

Boromir looked up at the trees, really noticing for the first time their magnificence.

"What would he sing, I wonder?" Pippin asked as he looked after the wizard. "We all have our tastes after all," the hobbit sniffed.

**

Boromir gave up on the bedroll, gathering it up to wrap around him as he backed up to the tree next to him and drew his long limbs into a ball to conserve body heat. Remembering Gandalf's tale, his eyes darted up the bark at his back. A little self-consciously, he whispered, "I mean no disrespect.

He was quite used to the sleepless nights, but the chill set his muscles to ache with their shivering. He looked around at their small camp, noticing Legolas taking his watch from a tree a few yards away. As on Caradhras, he seemed unaffected by the bone-crushing chill.

Boromir's mouth screwed up in annoyance as he allowed his glance to fall away to those sleeping about him. He couldn't see the dwarf, but could hear his snores. Aragorn, who he could still make out to his left, seemed sound asleep as well. The hobbits were no longer discernable in the deep dark of the wood. They were just a pile to his right, but he had no doubt they were much warmer than he as they cuddled up together. He looked up at the hard tree that was his partner and pillow, wishing it was a good deal softer and warmer.

He shivered again and drew his legs up closer, longing for a warm bath, or perhaps the warm body of a woman. In the field with his men, there was no shortage of camp whores, and he hadn't seen his share for some months now.

As he leaned his head back against the tree, he banished those thoughts from his mind. As a soldier, he knew not to wallow in the longing for creature comforts.

As he stared into the surrounding darkness, he realized he was lightly humming and stopped himself in surprise as he tried to place the tune. Recognition knocked into him; it was a lullaby his mother had sung to he and Faramir when they were just lads. As the memory came back to him, he smiled and hummed just a little more, not having stored much of the tune to memory.

He sighed and closed his eyes, but they popped back open after a moment when the wind whistling through the trees seemed to whisper the same tune back to him.

**