WARM THOUGHTS: The Thaw

Merry helped Pippin to stand. The youngest hobbit was more shaken than injured; so once on his sizeable feet, he was led easily, if a little wobbily, over to where Frodo and Sam stood watching the two men argue.

When Aragorn took a half step back from Boromir, Sam turned worriedly to Frodo. "He wouldn't just leave him here, would he?"

Frodo didn't answer, but put a hand on Sam's forearm as he waited on the scene to unfold.

Aragorn finally dragged his gaze away from the stricken man, turning to look northward where Gimli was dispensing with another orc. The dwarf was panting hard from the exertion, but must have sensed Aragorn's gaze because he turned to look in his direction. Beyond him two more orcs could be seen running toward him through the wood.

Gimli waved the group on, understanding that the hobbits needed to escape the orcs overwhelming numbers. "I'll hold them ere the hobbits get a good start."

A swoosh through the trees had Legolas land by the dwarf. "And I'll ensure the dwarf's escape," he promised.

The dwarf looked up at the elf, clearly annoyed, but refrained from making comment so as to ensure his comrades departure.

Aragorn nodded once and turned toward the hobbits with a frown. Clamping Frodo on the shoulder, he said, "Head south until you find the river and then move along it east."

Frodo's eyes widened at the instruction.

"I will catch up," Aragorn hissed in promise, turning back toward Boromir to bodily haul him from the ground. When he had the man upright, he realized the hobbits hadn't moved. "Move!" he shouted.

They turned immediately and moved out into the forest away from the swarming orcs.

"Don't be a fool," Boromir hissed in Aragorn's ear. "You'd risk the ring's capture to drag dead weight?" he said harshly.

"The dead weight would be less of a burden if it would cease its prattling," Strider muttered darkly, ducking down so as to swing Boromir's arm around his shoulders to secure his weight. He didn't fail to notice how stone cold the limb. He looked back just once to assess the numbers that might be following.

Legolas was slaughtering the first line of orcs with his bow, and Gandalf had dispensed with the orc he'd been fighting to move more closely to the dwarf and elf. He angrily began to recite some words of magic, his staff held forward and high. The wizard's spell was unclear, but it did have the effect of stalling the orcs as they looked on in confusion. In any event, no orcs had yet breached their defenses.

To his credit, Boromir stopped arguing and used what strength he still possessed to keep moving. The two men hobbled away from the scene of carnage into the trees surrounding the clearing. They moved until the orc smell no longer fouled their senses, but the orc battle cry was not so easily daunted. Ere long, they had to stop so Boromir could rest. As they leaned against a tree, they heard a great crescendo of orc yells. The two men's eyes met at the sound.

Boromir took a deep breath and pulled himself up to his full height, moving away from Aragorn, using the tree to bear his weight. "You must go back," he stated.

Aragorn looked at the man, not wishing to leave him unprotected. Nor did he wish to leave the hobbits on their own, but he couldn't abandon their friends to torture or worse.

"Rest. I'll be back," he promised Boromir.

He turned and raced back along the path they'd taken out of the clearing, bursting back into it even as a line of orcs closed in on his fellows from three sides. He plunged headlong into the thicket, using the surprise attack to his advantage; but even as he did so, he knew they could never defeat the orcs' numbers, and the orcs were closing in, close to surrounding them.

After dispatching another orc, he took a step backward, wanting to keep the gap in the orcs' circle as an escape. He had but a moment then to assess their situation, idly noticing several orcs that seemed to have been burnt to death along the inner circle closest to the fellows. Gandalf's spell? He wondered.

"To the south," he heralded, hoping they could some how out maneuver the orcs. From what he'd seen, the smaller orcs were a twisted and mutilated lot, and their movements were awkward and labored. They may be able to out run them if given a chance. He didn't dare think about how dragging an ill Boromir would affect their chances.

Suddenly, a rain of arrows fell from the surrounding trees, causing the fellows to hunch down to make a smaller target; but the arrows' damage was reserved exclusively for the orcs.

Most of the orcs around them were felled by the first volley. The rest seemed to recognize that the balance of power had shifted and ran back into the wood. The fellows hesitantly rose from their shielded positions, warily squinting into the golden leaves to find what they hoped were their allies.

A lithe figure dropped from a tree, landing like a cat almost on top of Aragorn. Even Legolas jumped a little in surprise. The elf before him matched Legolas in height and coloring, but was dressed in a manner different than either a woodland elf or an elf from Rivendell. Instead he had a tunic of silver and a hard expression.

"You bring great evil here," he said.

Pippin sat facing the fire with his eyes closed and lips curled into a contented smile. The warmth and light of it set his face aglow.

"Ah, now that's more like it," he sighed.

Merry nodded. "We took it for granted to be sure. More than warm fingers and toes, though, I missed the cooked sausage and meal. Are they nearly ready?"

Sam's mouth scrunched up at his fellows as he continued to stir the pot. "It'll be ready when it's ready and not a moment before."

Pippin opened one eye to catch Merry's as they both fought down a smile at Sam's expense, but his smile faded as his gaze fell on Boromir, who sat against a tree a few yards beyond Merry. The man was being tended to by two of the new brand of elves. The dwarf stood restlessly by his side, given to an impromptu pacing away and back again as he muttered under his breath, clearly distrustful of the elves ministrations.

"Do you think they'll be able to help him?" Pippin asked of the hobbit group at large, forgetting the fire in favor of the man from Gondor.

Frodo put a comforting hand on the younger hobbit's shoulder. "They'll certainly try.

Pippin shifted his gaze to the opposite side of the clearing where Aragorn and Legolas argued with two more of the elves.

From the whispered argument, he could understand little, for the words were wielded in the elfish tongue; but one thing seemed clear, the elves wanted the company to move away from their wood.

Aragorn was getting frustrated. Hands on his hips, he kept turning away from the elves words, his head dipping and his body twisting in what looked like an attempt not to forcefully interrupt.

"Will they try? They don't seem inclined to help us in general," Pippin observed.

He finally gave Frodo a wan smile and rose from their group to check on Boromir.

Although he couldn't have seen his approach, the elf squatting before Boromir offered, "We've given him some miruvor, which should help restore some warmth; but we are not yet sure what is causing this strange condition."

Pippin just nodded, his mouth slightly opened as his eyes scanned up and down his friend.

Boromir's eyes opened to look back at him in return. "I feel much better, little one," he said with a small smile.

Pippin's mouth closed with a snap and his lips pressed together in a glum smile as he nodded back.

Boromir patted the ground beside him. "Come, Master Peregin, and distract me with tales of a sunny day in the shire."

Pippin nodded and very solemnly followed the direction, although once sitting beside the man, he grabbed the large hand in his own two and sidled up close in an effort to lend his body heat, concerned that the man still shivered and his teeth still chattered.

"Very well, Boromir. You can at least think warm thoughts…"

The pitch-black of night in the wood found Boromir surrounded and partially covered by sleeping hobbits. A roaring fire in the middle of the clearing frightened away the worst of the chill.

True to course, he lay awake. In spite of all the efforts that were being taken on his behalf, he still felt a deep chill that seemed to be eating him from within. He'd long since become convinced that it was a spell from Pirscha, probably delivered during the pummeling from the enraged wave.

Feeling the cold eat him from within, he did not know whether it would ultimately turn him into a block of ice or harden his heart against the hobbits that now rested by his side, and thus ensure that the vision he'd seen within Pircsha's lair came true.

The night was still but for the fire's crackle. His heart wasn't hardened yet, he thought, feeling a strange contentment at being the object of the hobbits concern, and, in fact, in the middle of the pile he often envied.

As he stared blankly into the glow of the fire, he missed the other-earthly glow that approached from the East. It was perhaps not as brilliant as the fire's flame, but served to illuminate its host. The man gasped when a lithe figure dressed all in shimmering white suddenly stood before him. At first, he thought it was some other earthy messenger, but then he noticed it was flanked by the elves of the wood on either side. It reached up to remove its hood, and when the hood fell away, his heart lurched , for his first thought was that the golden hair fairy smiling down on him was his mother, Finduilas, coming to serve as his guide to the nether world. The musical laughter that spoke to him only within his head convinced him otherwise. Now his heart thudded in fright as he recognized it must be the lady of the wood herself who'd come to visit him.

Do not fear, young one,> the voice whispered, but the soft smile did not break to impart the words. I am come to fend off the spell that has settled on your soul, for your role is not yet over in the fate of Middle Earth.>

"But my role is unclear to me," he whispered desperately, his voice setting Merry to stir at his side."

It may not be for you to understand. You can do naught else but follow your heart.> She knelt down in what must have been a narrow space between one hobbit body and the next. Hovering over the man, a hand reached out to cradle his cheek. Your struggle will soon be over,> she said, her eyes radiating sympathy bordering on pity. Then she closed her eyes as she pulled her hand away from his face to splay across it, an inch or two from actual touch. It was only then he recognized the ring on her finger, which slowly grew to glow in the same white light that had first surrounded the lady in her approach through the wood.

When Boromir woke the next morning, he felt refreshed from several hours sleep and with the chill that encased him thawed. He looked around the clearing at the activity of his fellows and looked for signs of either the lady or markings of her presence, either in scorched earth from her power, or in the expression of his friends.

The contingent of elves that had remained with them upon nightfall no longer stood sentinel, but there was no other sign that he had really been visited.

Aragorn stood up from rolling his bed roll and noticed Boromir awake. He looked at him quizzically as he approached. "How fare you this morning?"

Boromir schooled his expression, realizing whatever magic had befallen him was now gone. "I'm well, and I suspect, after a generous helping of Sam's fare, I'll be ready to travel."

Aragorn gave him a short nod. "The lady sent word that the dale and river is populated with orcs set on our capture…She advises we ride the skirts of the Misty Mountain into Fanghorn, where orcs fear to tread."

"Humans, too," Boromir muttered darkly, turning from his spot so that he might boost himself to standing, but not before gently rolling Pippin out of the way.

"If you're as well as you say," Aragorn said in mild rebuke, "we'll set off after breakfast."

"And if I'm not?" Boromir asked, his gaze snapping back to Aragorn to emphasize his point. "You do not have the luxury of sentiment if you are to fulfill the quest," he reminded him. "More depend on its success than we few."

Aragorn looked down at the sleeping Pippin so carefully rearranged by the Lord of Gondor before returning the man's gaze. With a small smile and raised brow, he said, "No sentiment will sway me, Lord of Gondor. In this, I'll follow your example." With that, he turned away to rouse the rest of their fellows, leaving it to Boromir to rouse the sleepy hobbit at his feet.

Boromir scowled after his future king, but bent just the same to wake the hobbit with utmost gentle care.

The elves of the wood had left parting gifts for the fellows on their journey, including new provisions, cloaks and a flask of the potion given to Boromir the night before. So stocked, the fellows embarked, heading south to cut a path back toward the line of mountains.

As they neared the border of the golden wood, Boromir looked up at the towering peaks now visible and couldn't help but shudder. Who was to say whether the chill that gripped him lay dormant, or whether proximity to its master would give it strength in one final push to claim him.

He was interrupted in his musings when he heard Sam muttering under his breath. "We were going the other way yesterday mourn, I'm sure of it, Master Frodo. "We'll never get there at this rate."

"It may take longer, Sam, but this way we have a chance of getting there in one piece."

"I'm sorry Mister Frodo, it's just, well, that mountain doesn't like us," he said, his eyes sliding to the right at the biggest peak among the three, the sky still looking ominous about it.

Frodo laughed. "You speak truth, against which none will argue, but we're heading south, and we certainly have no intention of going back up it."

"My concern is that its sisters will conspire with it to throw some snow our way, or worse. So far, rock, water and beast have all conspired against us. I'm just waiting for the air to abandon us. Then we'll truly be done."

"Oh it's not as bad as all that, Master Sam," Gimli grunted from just behind them. "While enemies are thick about us, allies have also sprouted up from unexpected places." While Legolas was walking next to Aragorn at the front of the line, his head cocked a little backward at the remark.

"So, your opinion of the elves has improved?" Frodo asked, his eyes firmly on the elf as he noticed he was listening.

"If the lady's anything to go by…" Gimli started.

"Lady?" Boromir asked, finally drawn from his dark thoughts into the conversation. "Then you saw her too?" he asked as he hastened to catch up, his desperation on this point plain.

"Aye, in the evening last she came upon us," Gimli replied, looking very puzzled by the man's manner. "She spoke to each of us in turn."

Boromir cocked one brow at finding this confirmation that the lady wasn't a figment from a dream.

"Don't you remember her?" Gimli asked. "It would be ashame to forget someone so fair and wise."

"No, I remember her," Boromir replied absently, but he was some where else in his mind's eye, where his time with the lady replayed. "She was a vision."

"That she was," Gimli whole-heartedly agreed. "A vision," he boasted.

"It sounds like Gimli has developed quite a fondness for her," Frodo said, laughing.

Gimli frowned and snorted, refusing to look at the hobbit and be the object of his tease.

Boromir smiled at the dwarf's discomfort, clapping him on the shoulder and chuckling himself.

Gandalf heard the small eruption of laughter behind him, but ignored it in favor of pensively scanning the mountains to the point on the horizon where they disappeared in the south.

While he accepted the Lady of the Wood's advice, he still stewed with worry at the idea of passing so close to Isengard. While he knew few dared to tread in Fanghorn, he wasn't sure that they could count on that fact in the face of Saruman's growing power, feeding as it was off of Sauron's strength.

Noticing Gandalf's pensive stare, Aragorn asked, "You'd choose another route?"

"No," Gandalf answered in a deep, resigned tone. "We follow the path as it is laid out for us. In the end it is our conviction that will determine our success, not which fork in the road we choose."

Aragorn squinted in the distance himself, but he had different concerns than those of the wizard. The bright sunshine against which they squinted left him feeling exposed and vulnerable where they walked along the grassy plain, not even scrub or brush scattered along their path for cover. He imagined enemies on all side searching for them. His fear was that even in Fanghorn, the dark woods made up of myth and mystery, they'd just meet another type of enemy not yet fathomable.

He sighed as he considered how far they'd come and far they had yet to travel. It seemed unlikely they'd meet with success without incurring casualties along the way. Though he'd not give the Lord of Gondor quarter in his warning, he did wonder if he'd meet the challenge if forced to choose the quest over the lives of his fellows.

Though his fate as the heir to Gondor's throne should have held with it an understanding of his obligations, his life as a ranger meant that he often operated as a loner, not forced to make a choice such as Boromir foretold. The man understood better than he the responsibility that went with the crown, and he seemed able to see through him to the misgivings he had about his fated course.

"It's gratitude for a host's graciousness, nothing more," Gimli scowled, obviously trying to end the hobbits teasing.

Aragorn smiled at the argument starting behind him and looked to the wizard, but Gandalf's gaze was still on a point on the horizon.

. (Continued)