Hey there! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and forgive any typos I make. Also, I'm sorry that this isn't Friday - when I went to upload last night, the site kept giving me error messages and would not let me upload any new documents :/ However, it's working now, so I'll give you two chapters in a row to make up for it ;)

Chapter Twenty-Six: Confronting Caradhras

No matter what that elf from the havens said, or how often he muttered about 'denial', Soren knew that Frodo and the others had not betrayed them. He knew all about familial betrayal, and this did not fit the bill.

As he rode through the darkness, his eye on the crown prince, Soren's mind ran back to his own twenty-ninth year. It was a far simpler time, when royals had been but acquaintances, and he had been the happy child of a minor lady and her merchant husband. His father had travelled all the way to the Iron Hills, and Soren had not seen him for almost a year. But Ragan had promised that when he got back, he would take Soren to the Training Halls for the very first time. Up until then, Soren had only been allowed to practise fighting in the children's arena.

His father had promised to come back with a real sword, and he did. But he had also come back with something – someone – else.

When Soren woke, he found his mother standing in the bedroom door. He rubbed at his eyes. "Ama?"

"Guess who arrived last night?" Svana said, her smile growing.

Soren's heart leapt, and he tumbled out of bed. "He did? He did?"

"Go and see!" she urged, and Soren tore out of the room, down the hall, into the kitchen –

There he was. Ragan, son of Rogan, tall and strong and home.

"Adad!" Soren squealed, launching across the room and flinging himself into his father's arms. "You're home."

Ragan laughed his booming laugh, and snuggled Soren. "I am, at last, my little warrior. Have you had a good year?"

Soren shrugged, too excited to hear about his father's adventures to bother thinking about his own. "Yes, but Ada, did you find the Iron Hills, did you-" Soren froze. There was another person in the kitchen. Hiding behind his father's chair. Soren leant out from his father's hips to get a better view, and his surprise grew. It was a tiny child, not even as tall as Soren (who had been a ridiculously small child) with wide, frightened eyes that looked almost purple, and weird white hair. Hair that was cut very, very short. Soren had never seen such short hair before, but he knew that sometimes the Guard did it to punish bad people. But this dwarfling did not look bad. Just small, and scared.

"This," Ragan said, putting a large hand on the child's shoulder. "Is Bragi."

Soren peered down from his father's hip, staring quizzically at the boy. "Why's he here?"

"He's going to be living with us for a while, as my ward," explained Ragan slowly. "Isn't that right, Bragi?"

Bragi looked up so quickly Soren did not see him move, and his eyes grew so wide that Soren thought they might pop out. Bragi nodded, twice, and then stuck his thumb in his mouth and hung his head. Ragan squeezed the boy's shoulder gently.

Soren frowned. "What's a ward?" A sudden, awful thought made him gasp. "Ada, you didn't just go and replace me, did you?"

"No, no, mizimith," Ragan murmured, shaking his head and clicking his tongue, before kissing Soren on the nose. "No. Bragi is here because his family can't look after him anymore, so I am going to."

"Why you?" asked Soren suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the boy. He had been without his father for eleven whole months – if this Bragi was going to steal Adad's affection, things would not go well. To Soren's surprise, the boy cringed at his gaze, and his strange violet eyes sparkled with tears. Then Bragi ducked his head away again, and his hand rose towards his hair, before falling away, and settling instead with his thumb in his mouth.

"Because I said so," murmured Ragan. "I shall tell you more when you are older."

Soren paused, looking from the tearful boy to his father. He felt an odd swoop in his tummy. There was only ever one reason for his father not to tell him things. "Is, is it a bad scary reason, Ada?"

"Some of it." Ragan nodded. "But now is a time to put the bad and the scary behind us. I want you to treat Bragi like a brother, Soren. He is part of our family, now."

"Hm…" Soren pinched the air beneath his chin, mimicking his father's thoughtful stroking of his beard. "I don't have one of those. How'd I do that?"

Ragan snorted, and shook his head. "Think of how Framarr looks after you, Soren."

Channelling his older cousin as well as he could, Soren did his very best to treat Bragi as a brother, but it did not seem that the other boy wanted to even be his friend. He would never, ever, talk to Soren, and just nodded and shook his head and stuck his thumb in his mouth. He hardly ever even looked Soren in the eyes. It made Soren feel like he was a horrible person, and he did not like that at all.

Soren was not a horrible person. Sometimes, he would catch Bragi playing with his toys, and he did not even tell him off! But when he tried to join in, Bragi would gasp and thrust the toys back at Soren, before running to hide behind Soren's Amad's skirt. Soren would try and try to talk and play, but Bragi just did not seem to care.

Finally, about forever after the boy came home, Soren stomped into the kitchen and glared at his mother.

"I don't want Bragi here anymore."

Turning away from the stove, Svana stared at him in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"I don't want him to be here anymore," insisted Soren, ignoring the wobble of his lower lip. "He doesn't like me, and, and he just spends all the time with you and Ada but he doesn't like me, and I don't like it when he doesn't like me in my own house! I don't wanna be the odd one out and I don't want him to be here anymore."

"Oh, Soren," Svana murmured, picking him clean up off the floor and popping him on the counter so he was at eye level with her. It did not do much for Soren's attempts at Big Boy seriousness. "He doesn't not like you."

"He does so! He does so doesn't like me!"

"Soren, I'm so proud of you."

Well, that was not what he had been expecting. "Huh?"

"You've tried so hard to make him welcome, I've seen you at it," she said, tucking his hair behind his ears. "I am so proud. I see how hard you try. But Bragi is not quite ready to be a brother yet."

Soren frowned. "Why?"

Svana took a deep breath. "Well, some bad things happened to him. Bad people tried to hurt him, and his Amad tried to help them, and not Bragi. Then the bad people took his Adad away forever, and his Amad said some nasty things and did not want him anymore."

Horror curled around Soren's heart and squashed it, and his little hand tightened around his mother's wrist. "Ama, Ama, you wouldn't, you-"

"No, baby, never," she murmured, smiling sadly. "I will never, ever let anyone hurt you, and neither will your Ada. But Bragi's Amad was a bit different. Now, that means that Bragi is very scared and sad right now, and he does not understand much more than you do. He is not ready."

"How can I make him ready?"

Svana paused, and then smiled. "Soren, do you know how most dwarflings get new brothers?"

He nodded. "Their Amads eat magic baby potions for dinner and their Adads do a dance, and then the baby grows in their Ama's belly."

Svana grinned. "That's right. And the baby will be in the mother's belly for months and months, and it will not be ready to be a brother until it decides that it is ready. Then, it will let the mother know, and be born and become a brother. Bragi is not a baby, but he needs time to grow and learn and heal before he can be a brother. Let him decide when it is time. Let him come to you, Soren."

So Soren had left Bragi alone, and waited very impatiently. Bragi had approached Soren two weeks later – two weeks that felt like an eternity to the young dwarfling, but two weeks that were now a lifetime ago. Since then, there had been no better word than 'brothers' for the pair, and it had delighted Soren to no end when he discovered that Bragi was to be his older brother. Soren quite enjoyed being the baby of his extended family.

But over the years, Soren had learnt every detail about the betrayal that brought Bragi to his door. Fury still broiled in his stomach at the way Bragi's 'mother' Mygga had tried to sell him to the Old Ways followers, and the hatred rose up his throat at the knowledge she then screamed that the child was a curse when Ragan returned him to her. Her words, had learnt from both Ragan and Bragi, were scorched into Soren's heart.

"He's spawn of the dark lords, he is a devil! Take him away, lord, I beg you, leave him in the woods for the beasts if you are too afraid to slay him yourself!"

Ragan had later said he spared her life only out of pity for the children hiding behind her skirts.

A mother betraying her young son caused a burning pain and fury that scarred all those who knew of it. Not drawn faces of concern for her well-being.

A family betrayal had then struck Soren himself, not a quarter of a century ago. He could still remember the sickening horror he had felt when he discovered that his cousin, Framarr, had been one of the traitors to Thorin Oakenshield. He remembered the agony of knowing that the dwarf who taught him how to fix bandages and hunt game had murdered little Frodo's parents in front of him, and slaughtered innocent hobbits in an attempt to torture and kill Fíli, Kíli and their companions.

Soren remembered the emptiness that forced its way into his chest when Framarr admitted proudly, desperately, to kidnapping Fíli and Paladin and Gimli and little five-year-old Pippin. He remembered the shame and the rage and the anguish of thinking that Fíli and Paladin were dead, because of Framarr.

He remembered how he felt no guilt in denouncing Framarr forever.

The betrayal of a cousin to cousin, and of subject to lord and king, sent knives into the organs of those it touched, and then twisted the blades, and turned the world upside down and inside out. It caused years of torment and fury, but not a sorrowful understanding that one would do the same thing in their shoes.

Soren knew all about familial betrayals.

This was not one of them.

There was no malice in the theft of the ring. No malice, no greed, no bravado – he was sure of it. There was less pain. He knew that the others could not see that, but it was true. The pain would be much worse if the conspiracy was born of ill-intent.

As the darkness deepened and warned them of the coming dawn, the company began to slow, their eyes scanning their dim surroundings for any sign of shelter. It came in the form of a surprisingly spacious cave, one that hid half of the ponies as well as their riders.

He could hear a debate beginning as to which route their young companions would likely have taken.

"…could be heading for the High Pass or Caradhras, though with the path you lead by, Gandalf, I'd say Caradhras is the more likely option…"

"Or even the mines of Moria. Damn kids heard enough of Balin's reports and Bilbo's planning to know it was an option."

Fíli swore, loudly. "I had not thought of that."

Sighing, Soren settled himself near the mouth of the cave, watching for the sunrise. The others could debate well enough without him. He could offer no insight into the minds of the young conspiracy – at least none that Fíli and Kíli and the others would not already know.

But he could keep watch, and he did so, his eyes scanning the surrounding lands. They were drawing closer to the mountains, and it was rockier, and more heavily covered by trees than it had been so far. The cave had been a blessing, but not a surprise.

Soren let the others debate freely. He knew that there was nothing that he could say that the others would not know, and know better.

With a wordless sigh, Bragi sat down at Soren's side, and they shared a wry smile.

"Well," said Ehren, plonking himself down besides Bragi. "If this isn't a barrel of frogs in a tea room, I don't know what is."

"It isn't exactly ideal," admitted Bragi. "I wish we could help more."

"We can't," Soren said. He reached for his quiver and began to inspect his arrows. "Not right now, in any case."

"So, we sit here as useless lumps," finished Ehren sadly.

"No." Soren smacked his friend on the back of the head. "That's not what I meant. We're not here for decision making, and we've helped there as best we can already. So, we sit here and do our jobs. Or at least, Bragi and I do. We didn't lose our charges."

"Right!" Ehren pointed his finger in Soren's face. "Right, let's get this straight, Bilbo told me I didn't have to go on the stupid waltz into the woodland with Frodo, and I'd like to see you keep track of the slippery beggar for the whole damn day! You got the easy prince. Bragi's stuck with Kíli 'Walkabout' Baggins, and I've got the sneakiest hobbit since Bilbo."

"Well, you had the sneakiest hobbit since Bilbo," added Soren, a smile twitching below his moustache. It was not a funny situation, but teasing Ehren always lifted his mood.

"But he does have a point." Bragi smiled wryly, and dug Soren in the ribs. "You have the easiest charge."

Soren considered this for a moment, glanced at Fíli, who as if on cue, was walking over with his brother. "That is true."

"What's true?" asked Kíli tiredly. There was a hint of longing in his voice, and Soren felt a surge of sympathy. Kíli needed something to smile about, to laugh about. Something true, and unimportant. Soren grinned.

"I have the easiest job of the three of us," he gestured to Bragi and Ehren. "Fíli's the easiest prince to babysit."

Fíli snorted, though his smile did not reach his eyes, and Kíli gave half a grin. The princes sat down beside Soren, and he could feel Fíli sag as he hit the floor. They both looked as though they had not slept in months.

"You all have the worst jobs I can imagine," Kíli sighed. "I don't know how you stick with us."

"What are you talking about?" Soren scoffed, reaching over Ehren to shove the stupid dwarf's arm. "We have the best jobs in the world!"

"We get paid to spend time with our closest friends," said Bragi.

"And to travel, expenses paid, across the world," added Ehren, waving his share of jerky in the air. "This is coming out of your pocket, dear prince, not mine."

"Not to mention the fact that it's never dull," said Soren, nodding his head once.

"No, it's just life-threatening," Kíli mumbled, hanging his head.

Soren pursed his lips and glanced at Fíli, who looked equally lost. To their surprise, it was Ehren who broke the silence. "You need to cut out the sulking, Kíli. I get it, this whole situation is as much fun as a hungry warg, and we're all terrified out of our minds that our wee cousins might just get themselves hurt and damn the entire world. I know. But you need to snap out of this moping, or more people are going to get hurt."

Soren's eyebrows flew all the way up to his hairline and he stared at Kíli, whose mouth had dropped open. Ehren was well known for being blunt, but that could easily be received as a very low blow. To Soren's relief, there was no anger on Kíli's face – only surprise, and more than a little sorrow. Then, the young prince took a deep breath and nodded.

"You're right." He straightened his shoulders and shook his hair from his shoulders. "Time to grow up. Even if you are as tactful as an ass with fleas."

Ehren grinned sheepishly, and gave a shrug, and Bragi shook his head. Soren glanced at Fíli. He, too, seemed relieved that Kíli was not upset by Ehren's remark, but he also looked wearier than ever. Like the weight of the mountains was crashing down upon him.

Well, that was no weight to hold alone.

Soren swatted Fíli's shoulder. "That goes for you too, my friend," he murmured, too low for the others to hear, and waited for Fíli to meet his eyes. "To worry for them is in your nature, but you know how to put that away, for now. They need you to be the warrior, now. We all do. Anything less puts everyone at risk."

Fíli sighed, and massaged his eyes. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry," ordered Soren. "Just be strong."

Slowly, Fíli nodded. "Right. Right." Then he rolled his neck and dragged his hair up into a ponytail. His jaw set into a look that Soren knew all too well. It was a hardened look. A warrior's look. Then, he smiled, grimly. "Thanks," he murmured. "For having my back."

Soren shrugged and smiled. "Always will."

For the rest of the night, Soren did what he could to raise the groups' spirits. It was his job, after all. There was more to bodyguarding than keeping your charge from harm, especially when they were as dear to you as blood kin. It was the bodyguard's duty to protect their charge's mind – affirm their decisions and steer them from disaster, warn them when to raise their guard, and help keep their spirit strong even when the odds seemed unconquerable.

Especially when the odds seemed unconquerable.

He did not know if they would reach Frodo and his companions, or if they would make it back to Erebor in one piece. What Soren did know was that he and Bragi and Ehren, would be there with their charges – their friends, their kin – until the bitterest of ends.

Because Soren knew all about familial betrayals. And he knew that he would never commit one.

Two days after seeing the crebain, the fellowship reached the feet of Caradhras.

Frodo gazed up at the enormous mountain and sighed. He was not looking forward to this at all. He loved Erebor with all his heart, and had a great fondness for mountains, but he preferred being in them to climbing up them. This was especially true when climbing up them in the winter, when it was likely to snow, and the mountain had a reputation for being 'cruel' that preceded even Sauron.

"Remember, we will need extra wood and kindling," warned Boromir. "As we can carry."

The others began to dismount, and the wolves rummaged in the dead leaves for sticks, but Aragorn hesitated, his eyes on the mountain. "Take care," he said. "We should not light a fire up there if we can avoid it – we do not know who sent the crebain, if indeed they were sent, and we do not know who else may be watching. We should not advertise our position with fire unless the alternative is death."

Frodo shuddered, and glanced at Sam. From the tightness of his lips and furrow of his brow, Frodo knew that Sam was looking forward to this just about as much as Frodo was. But then, Sam shifted his pack on his shoulders and bent towards the floor, feeling around for dried wood, and Frodo followed suit.

There was not much to be had. It had not rained in days, but there was a lot of ground water, and most branches were covered in damp moss or mud, and still damp inside. But they gathered what they could, and lashed four small bundles to the baggage on Kanna. The wolf barely seemed to register the extra weight, but she did give a sigh, and nuzzle Frodo's hand.

"I know, girl," he murmured. "This is not going to be an easy path for any of us."

She whined, her wise, blue eyes boring into his, and then licked his nose.

"Frodo," called Nelly, already mounting Nyla. "Let's go."

Frodo nodded, but Aragorn held up his hand with a look of great sorrow. "Wait. We cannot take the horses up the mountain."

Gimli snorted, and shared a smug smirk with Bróin, but Frodo's heart sank, and Boromir and Legolas both nodded in a resigned manner.

"Seems a pity to leave them," said Boromir, patting his horse's neck. "This fellow came from Rohan – he has been a great companion."

Legolas dismounted swiftly and scratched behind his horse's ears. He gazed into the beast's eyes for a long moment, and then gave a small smile. "I will bless them. They will find a safe path home, and indeed be safer than we are."

Aragorn put a hand over his heart and bowed, and Boromir smiled. Holding the reins of all three horses in light fingers, Legolas began a quiet chant that Frodo could not quite catch.

Aragorn looked to the dwobbits and Gimli. "Will the wolves and pony be capable of taking such a path?"

Several of the wolves let out whines of indignation, and it was Merry who answered for them. "They'll have less problems than we will, I'd wager. The younger ones were born and bred in the mountain – our mountain that is, but still. They can handle the terrain, so can Odo." Merry cast his eyes up the mountain and grimaced. "Unless we meet something up there we haven't met before."

Immediately, Frodo thought of the Barrow Downs, and his heart sank. They had already met something new and dangerous on this journey, and Gandalf was not here now. If they ran into an enemy like the Barrow Wights, they could be in big trouble.

With a final murmur of prayer, Legolas gently pushed the faces of each horse, and they turned to canter away. Aragorn's horse hesitated for a moment, looking over his shoulder at his master, who raised a hand in farewell. Frodo hoped that they would find a safe path home. He hoped that the wolves and pony would be able to handle the treacherous pass.

It was slow work, especially compared to their previous speed. Before, despite the somewhat difficult terrain, they had found easy paths through Aragorn's expertise, Frodo's map-knowledge and Nelly's cunning, and to be moving at a walking pace felt odd. It made Frodo feel more vulnerable, less prepared. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He drew his scarf closer around his neck. As their path grew more twisted and steep, they slowed further, and they had scarcely been climbing for three hours when the first snow began to fall.

At first, it looked rather beautiful, but it quickly picked up speed, and began to stick to their path, and blur their vision. Frodo's toes curled, and he buried his feet in Sitka's thick, warm fur. The wolf, for his part, did not seem bothered by the weather. He panted slightly at the incline, but his eyes were bright and his tongue poked out every so often to catch the snowflakes.

It was so cold.

The wind was bitter, and accosted them from all sides, throwing flakes so thick that soon it was hard to see. Frodo lost track of the hours, and almost lost track of his companions. He could see the vague, dark shape of Aragorn in front of him, his arm shielding his face as he ploughed through thigh deep snow. If he looked behind, he could just about make out Sam, whose hood wore a snowy hat of its own.

He could not see the others.

The wind bent him lower and lower, until his face was buried in Sitka's neck. Only the very top of his face poked over the wolf's head, because he felt like he should probably look where they were going. His eyes stung and watered, and he wiped them quickly in case tears froze on his face.

Never in his entire life had Frodo been this cold. Not even when he fell into the Long Lake one winter while playing with Tilda, Bard's daughter. At least then he had been quickly fished from the water by Bain, and immediately bundled in front of a warm fire, with more blankets than he could count.

Now, there was no fire, and no blankets. But he was not a child anymore. He was not a helpless, panicking boy to be fished from a lake and saved by his elders. It was his turn to do the saving, and that meant weathering the cold, without complaint or self-pity.

His resolve strengthened his heart, but he could not stop from shivering. His winter cloak might have been made of lace, for all the warmth it gave him. Like the other dwobbits, Frodo wore fingerless gloves, a gift from Ori, but he wished that they were mittens instead. If his fingers were not buried in Sitka's coat, they would probably have fallen off already. Frodo was more grateful than ever for the warmth that the wolf maintained despite the frigid temperature.

Wolves were made for snow and ice. Hobbits were not.

With every inch of snow that fell, their progress was slowed, as the wolves' powerful legs pushed through deeper and deeper drifts. Snowflakes began to catch on his eyelashes, and Frodo slipped back until he was no longer sitting on Sitka, but lying on the wolf's back the way that Merry rode Denahi. That thought shook some of the weariness from him, and he strained his eyes to try and see his young cousin.

He may as well have been blind.

He lowered his head again miserably, and hoped that Denahi was able to manage the snow without his front leg.

Frodo wanted to go back. It seemed much more appealing to risk the mines, but he knew that they had to try, at least. The discomfort of a single hobbit would not turn them around. So, he held his tongue and hugged Sitka's neck. He wished that he could be hugging his aunt, and not just her wolf.

But that was now as likely as Bilbo forgiving him. Dís would be furious at his theft, and she was far better than Bilbo at holding a grudge. She would be furious that he let out her secret, that he told everyone of the baby. He swallowed, and dropped his face into Sitka's fur. The wolf stank of wet dog, but it was a little warmer. He sighed. His aunt might not understand, might now ever wish to be called his aunt again, but she was as dear as a mother to him, and this was as much for her as it was for Bilbo. For the world.

"We have to find shelter!" Boromir roared from the very back of the group, startling Frodo out of his thoughts.

Shelter. Yes, shelter would be nice.

"There is a slight cave ahead." Legolas' voice still managed to sound light and airy, yet it was not caught by the wind. "Just another mile or so."

Another mile? It may as well be another mountain.

His icy eyelashes began to pull together like magnets, and Frodo found it harder and harder not to fall asleep.

I'm… turning into Pippin, he thought, sighing softly.

Then, all of a sudden, he was hit in the small of the back, and his eyes ripped open.

"We're here." Gimli said gruffly, his beard full of snow. "It's not what we would call a cave, but it will do."

To Frodo's dismay, Gimli was right. The promised cave was little more than an overhang, and barely shelter from the wind and snow. A thin layer of white flakes had been blown in by the wind, and looked like one of Bilbo's lace doily's on Dís' granite counters. At the back, it was barely tall enough for a hobbit to stand, and the walls on either side were sparse, but it did seem wide and deep enough to fit the entire group in, wolves and pony included. The men would have to crouch, especially at the back, but that could not be helped.

Frodo scurried deep inside as quickly as he could, and sat with his back to the stone, Sam at his side. The rock was so cold it hurt, and both he and Sam shuffled quickly forward a little. They huddled together like the ice birds in one of Bofur's stories, and were soon joined by the Tooks. Pippin was stumbling almost blindly, and there were snowflakes clinging to his eyebrows and lashes. It would be funny if he did not look so close to frozen. Nelly's arm was wrapped around the small of his back, and he leant heavily on her until she helped him sit down next to Frodo.

With a sad smile, Frodo reached out and squeezed Pippin's hand. It was like ice, but his young cousin gave him a weak smile of his own and rested his head on Frodo's shoulder. He let out a sigh that misted in front of him, and closed his eyes. Beside him, Nelly hugged her knees to her chest and blew onto her red fingers.

"Are you alright, Nel?" he murmured.

"Never better," she replied wearily, snuggling up against Pippin as Bróin came and sat at her other side.

He and Gimli had fared better in the cold, but Bombur's son shivered a little as he shifted close to Nelly, and slung his arm over her shoulders. He was young, Bróin, and Frodo often had to remind himself that the dwarf was only in his early tweens (or at least would be, if he were a hobbit.) Still, there was a little more cheer in his grin and redness in his cheeks as he settled down with them. Gimli took Sam's other side, and Odo lay down beside him, but when Legolas came in he did not join their huddle. He sat a little further away, gazing out into the storm. He did not look particularly fussed by the snow, and Frodo found that he did not feel too fond of the elf in those moments.

The wolves slipped in next, filling up the spaces and lying close to the hobbits. Sokka, Fíli's wolf, lay across the feet of Frodo and Pippin, his sandy fur warming their toes despite being soaked from the snow, and a lump grew in Frodo's throat.

The moment Fíli had seen a blonde wolf pup in Lani's litter, he had cried out in delight and instantly claimed the wolf as his new best friend. Thorin had shaken his head in dismay, and Bilbo had lightly pointed out that the wolf usually chose its own companion, but Fíli had ignored them both and doted on the pup ever since. Sokka, as the prince named the golden wolf, was as loyal to Fíli as Luno was to Kíli, though they were not as inseparable. Sokka was more independent than Luno.

Frodo felt as though they had slapped Fíli in the face by bringing Sokka.

The hobbit sighed, and watched Aragorn duck into cave and sit as far in as he could, without scraping his head against the rough ceiling.

Well, at least they were all alive. Frodo closed his eyes and let his head drop onto his knees, but the moment it did he sat up with a jolt.

"Wait – where's Merry? And Boromir?" he asked, panic clawing its way up his throat. The others looked as surprised and afraid as he felt, but even as Frodo tried to get his frozen limbs to move, a pair of legs appeared at the cave's entrance.

"Here," said Boromir's voice, as the man appeared at the overhang. He was cradling Merry in his arms. The young hobbit was shivering, and his hooded face leant against Boromir's chest. Behind them, Denahi limped into the cave, supported by Kanna. "We are here. Denahi fell. The snow provided too much of a challenge, I fear. I did call to you, but no one could hear me."

"But what's wrong with Merry?" Pippin demanded, forcing open his half-close eyes. "Merry?"

"Cold'," said Boromir roughly, striding towards those sheltered at the back of the cave. "He is suffering from the cold."

"We're all suffering from the cold," protested Pippin. "Why don't you answer yourself, Merry?"

There was an awkward silence as Boromir looked pointedly at Aragorn. The ranger lowered his head, and Frodo's fingers dug into his arms. He thought he heard a soft groan from Merry, but it could have just been the moaning wind.

Beside him, Pippin began to panic. "Merry? Merry!"

"Calm down and light a fire," said Boromir, sitting cross legged with Merry in his lap. Frodo caught a glimpse of his cousin's face, and his breath froze in his lungs. Merry's face was icy pale, save only for blue lips and dark smudges beneath his eyes. But he was moving – Frodo could see his eyes roaming beneath his lids, and his face was slowly tilting towards the other hobbits. When Boromir looked up to see no one had moved, he barked, "Light a fire! Now!"

Bróin and Nelly fell forward, seizing their packs and pulling out the dried wood they had brought. Gimli scraped away the thin layer of snow in the centre of the cave, between the hobbits and the bigger folk. The trio they stacked the wood as best they could, before pulling out their tinder boxes. Meanwhile, Pippin crawled clumsily around the fire and sat by Merry's side.

Boromir was not idle. He had already stripped away Merry's sodden cloak and jacket, and then wrapped him in a spare blanket from the bottom of his own pack. Then, he began to speak, calmly yet firmly. "Wake up, Merry."

Frodo watched anxiously as Merry stirred just a little.

"Wake up," Pippin added, prodding Merry's nose. "Do wake up Merry."

Merry groaned, loudly.

"It's too windy!" moaned Nelly, as her small flame flickered out once more. Her eyes were moving to Merry, a deep fear within them, but her focus on her task did not wane.

Glancing up from Merry, Boromir paused for a moment, before pulling his shield from his back. Aragorn guessed his meaning in a moment, and took it quickly.

"The worst of the wind is from the North," he said, propping up the shield and packing it in place with snow. "That should shelter some of it. For the rest, we must use bodies. Come, Legolas, Gimli, Bróin. We can fare the cold better than the halflings, and so can the beasts."

Within minutes, the wolves, pony, men and dwarves had formed enough of a barrier to allow a small fire to light. Guilt sparked in Frodo's heart as Bróin began to shake again, but the young dwarf refused to move, and soon the fire grew large enough to warm them a little.

But fear was still sharp and cold in Frodo's heart, and only thawed when Merry opened his eyes a few minutes later. He gazed blearily at the fire and shifted, and then his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Wha'… wha' ha'ned?" he mumbled, as if still half stuck in dreams.

"You tell us," Boromir said, and Merry glanced up in surprise, his frown deepening as he noticed that he was cradled in the man's lap. A faint blush, hardly visible, crept onto his pale cheeks. "Denahi fell, and I found you beside him in the snow."

Merry reached clumsily for Denahi, who had rested beside him. The wolf nuzzled his hand, and licked it with a soft whine. "I, I th'nk I 'member," he said, his voice slurred. "I tumbled int'a the snow when 'e fell. He… trie' ta dig me ou' wi' his nose and his leg, but jus' buried me further."

The wolf howled mournfully, and Merry's fingers sank deeper into his fur.

"Was so tired. 'm so tired."

"Well, don't go back to sleep yet," said Boromir sharply. "You must eat something, and warm up first. If you do not, you may never wake again."

Pippin choked and Merry's eyes widened. Frodo squeezed his own eyes tightly shut. He had not wanted Merry and Pippin to come – he had not wanted any of his young cousins to come, and if they died on this forsaken mountain…

"S-sam," Bróin said, grinning despite chattering teeth. "You're on cooking tonight. I'm t-too busy being a wall."

"Right you are," said Sam, digging for his pots. As he began to throw water and some odd ingredients into the pan, Merry tried to sit up, only to fall back into Boromir's waiting arms.

"Stay still, lad," the man said with a wry smile. "We've got to keep you off the ground, away from the cold. How are you feeling?"

"Cold," Merry mumbled, blinking slowly. "Tired. Confused. My limbs don' wanna do wha' I tell 'em. An' I'm hungry."

"Very well," Boromir smiled wearily. "You will eat, and then we will keep you warm as best we can. But we must leave here as soon as this storm is over. We cannot stay here. It will be the death of the hobbits.

Glumly and dumbly, Frodo agreed, but he looked at Aragorn. The man's lips were pursed, but he quickly nodded.

"I do not wish to go through the mines, but regardless we must leave this mountain."

"How long do you think the storm will last?" Nelly's voice was far more childlike than usual, and carried a vulnerability Frodo had rarely heard from her.

"I do not know," said Aragorn. "Perhaps all night, but maybe longer."

"There is a fell voice on the air," added Legolas. "This storm may be the doing of the enemy."

"Or the mountain itself," growled Gimli. "Caradhras is no friend to the two legged. But it does not matter who the enemy is if we cannot fight him. We must go down the mountain as soon as can be, and that is that."

His words lingered in the air as if awaiting a challenge, but none came. None had the heart or energy to argue.

"I was just wondering, because, well…" Nelly took a deep breath. "We're going through the wood very quickly."

Frodo's neck jerked painfully as he looked towards the fire, and his heart sank like a stone into his stomach. She was right – the flames were voracious, and tearing through the wood faster than they ought to be.

Eyes narrowing, Boromir nodded slowly. "I suggest we put food first – something hot in our bellies will help keep the cold at bay. And Merry must be kept warm, more so then any of us. If the fire dies, we must simply hold on for as long as we can."

"Don't you go making a habit out of this, Merry," warned Pippin. "First the Barrow Downs, now this. You need to be more careful."

A few of them managed breathless laughs at Pippin's joking tone, and though Merry was one of them, Frodo was not. He did not miss the irony of Pippin telling Merry to be careful, nor the humour of such a lecturing tone, but he could not laugh at such close calls – not yet.

It was the quietest meal they had yet had. Frodo was too tired to talk, too cold to listen to any tales or songs, and it seemed that the others felt the same, save Legolas and Gimli. But Legolas was pensive, and spoke little, and Gimli did not appear to be in the mood to chat.

He knew that he ought to stay awake, to offer at least to take the first watch, but when Boromir said that it would be as good a time as ever to sleep, and Bróin offered to take the first watch, Frodo found that he did not have the strength to argue. His meagre portion of stew in his belly, Frodo lay down beside Pippin, his head pillowed by the leg of a wolf. Sitka, he thought.

Through closed eyelids, he could still see the flames flickering, and hoped that if they died before the morning, the fellowship would not join them.

I hope that you enjoyed that chapter, I know there's been little change from the previous version. Without further ado, let's go onto the next!