Disclaimer: All characters, places, things, hobbits and everything in between belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien

Chapter 1: Remembering

A cold gust of air swept down the narrow mountain pass, humming an ominous chant of winter. The sound was high and the notes were held long, as if there was a chorus of dire women singing of the world's most vile entities. The wind bit into any visible flesh and chewed it raw, yet when there was no more meat to devour, the wind passed on seeking for other prey. The stars shone almost brighter that night, ridiculing the nine companions who were huddled in the dark, trying to find warmth in the small blaze. They were almost frozen; not wanting to move from their current spot for fear that any wind may tear through a crack in the clothing and gnaw on skin.

The fire moved to its own accordance, sending flashes of heat to not particular area at a time yet when it touched one of the cold mortals or immortal a sigh of relief passed through the individual's lips.

The smallest of the companions was having the most difficult time in finding warmth. He was in between his two older cousins, both of which were sheltering him from the wind as well as the fire's warmth. Nonetheless, cold overtook warmth and he shivered constantly until he thought he might pass out from the frigidness. A hand rose to touch his icy forehead, checking for fever. The hand touched slightly and was put back into its covering quickly; to make sure no warmth was lost.

'Fr-o-oo-do??' The young one asked. The older hobbit turned his hooded head to the right, blue eyes gazing for the familiar face of his younger cousin.

' Yes, Pippin.'

'I'm freezing.'

Frodo tried to smile, but only a few muscles in his cheeks would work, so numb was he and he ended up with a scowl.

'I know, Pip, I know. We just have to survive one more night and tomorrow we will be on our way to warmer air, okay?'

'Alright.' Came the reply and Frodo looked away from his cousin.

Pippin buried himself deeper into his blankets and sighed in content. Images of warm meat and a hard brandy came into his mind and he became less frozen. As he thought of a smooth, brown, warm brandy and it flowing gently into a large glass cup, the faster the icy mask wore away from his body and the sleepier he got.

A few moments passed by and Merry spoke,

'Hoy, everybody, listen!' He paused and the company listened to the world around them. The night was silent, deadly silent. 'The wind, it's gone.'

He tenderly threw off his first layer of blankets, and finding that it was not as chilly as before, stood up. Aragorn sat up as well, from his reclining position and threw off his only blanket.

'You are right, Merry. The wind has pulled back its assault and retreated back to its home.'

The others dug themselves out of their wool blankets, which were sodden with snowmelt, and stretched heartily. They had spent almost half the night among their blankets and now there was time for a much needed meal and talk.

Sam straight away brought out his pots and dried foods while Legolas and Gimli rebuilt the fire. Aragorn and Gandalf stood near the rim of the fire's border, in a deep conversation. Frodo could see Aragorn's face clearly, the black and orange splashes of the fire swept across his face that had a frowned brow and tired eyes. Gandalf was too far away for Frodo to see his face, but he realized that he was speaking rapidly from the many murmurs he heard from that direction. He would ask the two later what they were in such deep converse about. Right now, there was work to be done.

He walked over to Sam and without saying a work, took the wooden spoon away from him and began stirring the soup. Sam looked at him, ready to say 'That's all right, Mr. Frodo. You go and rest.'

Frodo put a finger to his lips and pointed over to where Pippin lay. Go wake him up dear Sam, he said.

'Yes, sir.'

'Sam.'

'Yes, Mr. Frodo?'

'No, 'sir', okay?'

Sam smiled slightly, 'Yes, Mr. Frodo.'

Frodo smiled back and turned his attention back to the stew.

Boromir came over to Frodo from his own bedding, being awakened by Legolas, as he had been asleep still when everybody was already up and about.

'That smells wonderful.' He said to himself and sat across from the fire, looking a Frodo. Frodo gave the stew one last stir and sat back.

'How is your hand, Boromir?'

Boromir looked at his hand, which had finally begun to heal. The damage had been severe, almost unfixable yet with Elrond's skills of mending the healing was on its way.

'Better, Frodo.' He paused and bent his fingers. There was still a sharp pain that went from his fingertips to his elbow but not as excruciating as it had been.

'It has been healing very nicely.'

Frodo looked at him with a grim almost curious glint in his eye. 'May I ask how you received such a hard blow?'

Boromir sighed. Must he recall such a frightening thing? It was one of the most disturbing moments in his life. His brother…Faramir…and he came so close to… Boromir sighed again and looked at his hand. Frodo noticed his reluctance and spoke softly.

'You need not to tell me, Boromir, if it pains you to do so. I am sorry I asked.'

'No, Frodo. Do not apologize. I think this tale needs to be told and whether I like it or not. I fear if I let this chance slip by me, another one will not come and these memories will haunt my dreams for many nights to come. I cannot tell you it in the full now, it seems that supper is ready, perhaps later would suit you and I?'

Frodo glanced at the steaming stew in the pot in front of him and agreed.

After an hour of food and quiet laughter, the Fellowship rolled out their bedding and one by one fell into a much-needed sleep. Aragorn was still awake, sharpening his knives in the shadows of camp while Boromir and Frodo sat by the dying fire. The hobbits, dwarf, wizard and elf had already fallen into sleep, some dreaming of ale and mushrooms while others of war, bloodshed, arrows or peril.

'You two should get some rest.' Aragorn called out softly from his seat. 'I'll take watch.'

Boromir shook his head. 'Frodo and I are going to stay awake for a while. You go to sleep, Aragorn, you need it the most.'

Aragorn looked hesitant, his mind recalling past events where if the Fellowship had not been there to wake him out of his reverie, Boromir would have taken the Ring from Frodo and fled.

Nevertheless, he laid down on his blankets and his breathing evened out within a few moments.

Boromir turned his attention away from Aragorn and back to Frodo.

'The time has come, and the full telling of this tale will be told. For both heart's and mind sakes…'