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Onwards...

The wind was harsh and biting, cutting through Frodo with every breeze like a frozen knife dipped in poison. His face frozen, thin rivulets of pain coursing their way down his cheeks, Frodo turned wide eyed to Aragorn, who was trudging along behind him.

'Not long now' grimaced the ranger through gritted teeth, a ghost of a smile turning up his lips, a lie clear in his eyes. Frodo could knew that they had a lot further to go, though the snow-white of the mountain blended into the bright-white sky looked as though they were one and whole. Everything around him was white, bright white, so bright it hurt his eyes to look.

'Its ok, Mr. Frodo.'

The Ring-bearer turned at the sound of Sam's voice, a cutting sound rattling through a seldom used mouth in these mountains; too cold even to muster the strength to speak.

'It's ok.' Repeated Sam, cheeks bright red, hair frozen together in strands. 'We'll get through this. You'll see.'

Aragorn smiled grimly as Frodo linked his arm through Sams', both Hobbits pulling each other up the steep incline of Caradhras.

The landscape truly was harsh, even as a well travelled man of the wild, Aragorn hadn't dared to come this close to the mountain; the cold could kill you in days.

He turned as he heard someone slip and fall.

'Infernal snow!' growled Boromir, using his shield to prop himself back up to his knees. 'Is there no end to this baron land?'

'Yes.' Aragorn answered simply, looking at the sky and closing his eyes against the harsh rays of the unforgiving sun. 'Eventually.'

Boromir snorted and didn't answer, turning to look at Gandalf and Gimli, who were ahead of them, the Dwarf, not wanting to be left behind as a straggler, was proving himself by staying ahead of the rest of the group.

Merry and Pippin were huddled together, heads bowed against the cold air, teeth chattering, cheeks pale.

'Pippin, this is not how I wanted it to end.'

'What to end?' Pippin looked at his cousin, eyes narrowed against the sun silhouetted around Merry.

'My life.' Merry answered glumly. 'I never wanted to be a Hobbit-flavoured-ice-stick.'

Pippin giggled despite himself, imagining them all frozen in a long line. It wasn't funny really, but it provided welcome distraction from the desolate situation around them.

'You would make a very appealing ice-stick, Merry' He smiled, his lips tainted blue.

'Thanks, Pip'

Only Legolas seemed unaffected by the snow and fierce cold. The Elf seemed to dance along the snow, barely making an imprint in the surface, no sign that he had been there at all. His eyes narrowed against the harsh wind, Legolas paused to look backwards at Boromir and Aragorn, who were walking along behind.

Knowing it was futile to shout, that his words would be lost to the wind and Gandalf would probably here them before Aragorn did, Legolas stared at the two men as they made their way back up the hill towards him, Aragorn nodding as they reached him.

After an hour and a half, the Fellowship began to tire and huddle together, Aragorn bringing up the rear whilst Frodo stood halfway between him and Boromir, the rest of the group in front of him, Pippin and Merry close to Gandalf whilst the Elf and Dwarf battled on.

Wrapping his cloak around him, Frodo sucked in a deep breath, feeling his body move without his control, harsh shivers ripping through him as his blood cooled. He closed his eyes for just one second, one foot in front of the other before his left foot fell out from underneath him, the combination of lack of strength and slippery, fresh snow proving problematic for the young Hobbit.

'Oh!'

He felt himself freefall, his legs flying above his head as he fell back down the mountain he had just climbed a few feet, cloak now covered in snow, snow in his eyes, his hair, up his nose. He felt firm hands grasp around his waist, steadying him, stopping his decent. He looked up to see Aragorn bent over him, dark eyes worried. The ranger helped him to his feet.

'Frodo?'

The Hobbit, tired and cold, tried to sit up, hand automatically going to the Ring around his neck, on its gold chain.

Panic gripped him.

He looked around wildly, hand grasping at the top of his shirt, fingers empty. The Ring was gone.

Aragorn's eye flicked upwards and his felt something grip him inside, his stomach clench.

Boromir was bent over in the snow, fingers gripping something within the white folds. The Gondorian stood up, gold chain in his hand and the Ring of Power dangling from his cold fingers.

The man stood as though enchanted, as though a conjurer was dangling the Ring in front of him to bewitch his mind in some form. His eyes were fixed and Boromir seemed completely unaware of his surroundings.

'Boromir!'

Aragorn called to the man in front of him, who acted like he had not heard him.

Then, using a voice so deep and quiet that it seemed Boromir was speaking only to himself, the Gondorian said. 'It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing'

The man's eyes remained transfixed on the gold circle dangling in front of his eyes, the gold circle that held their fate.

'Such a little thing' breathed the Gondorian. So small a thing, to make such a fuss of. How can something so small hold so much power? And how could he, the eldest son of the Steward of Gondor, not have the strength to yield it, though it seemed that a mere Hobbit could? How was that possible? How was that fair?

Gandalf stood at the head of the group, turning to look as Aragorn narrowed his eyes in anger, fingers twitching into their well-worn positions. The Wizards own eyes narrowed, hand gripping his staff tighter.

Aragorn had had enough; the second man's eyes had lingered for too long already. Boromir's fingers were now halfway towards the Ring, his gloved hand hovering inches away from a change in destiny which could destroy them all.

'Boromir!'

The Gondorian's eyes snapped up, face clearing, body jerking in shock and seemingly realisation.

'Give the Ring to Frodo.' Instructed Aragorn, heat flowing through his body in the form of anger.

Frodo watched with baited breath, fingers still clutching his shirt, eyes narrowed. He knew that if push came to shove he would have no hope of overpowering Boromir, not on his harsh wasteland where he could hardly walk in a straight line.

'As you wish' Boromir leant over and dangled the Ring in front of Frodo, face dark. Frodo flung out his hand, politeness overpowered by the sheer will to own the Ring, to take it back. To keep it safe. The Hobbit looked down, both hands holding the Ring within their palms, the familiar shape calming him.

'I care not' Sneered the Captain of Gondor, head flicking to Aragorn. Face changing, the Gondorian chuckle softly, reaching forwards and ruffling the Hobbits hair.

Aragorn relaxed his death-grip of his sword he had been so close to using. So close he knew he wouldn't have had to have thought twice.

Anything to protect the Ring.

-x-

An hour later the snow fell.

Huge flakes, hundreds seemingly clumped together fell on top of them all, catching in their hair, their cloaks, bogging them down, making it harder and harder to walk.

The Hobbits had already succumbed to tiredness, fatigue and sheer cold, Frodo and Sam being carried by Aragorn, whilst Merry and Pippin huddled together in Boromir's arms.

Gimli was having as hard a time as the Hobbits, though the Dwarf would rather die than admit it. He was cutting a path through the snow with his axe, his nose cold as his beard slowly froze around his mouth. Legolas had offered to help, but all he got in return was a growl and a half babbled warning about 'interfering elves' before the Dwarf turned away.

Legolas had walked a while behind the group, pulling his thin cloak around his slender body, tiptoeing through the snow, eyes peeled, ears opened to any sound. Though he did not hear anything, he wasn't leaving anything to chance; wild bears lived in these parts of the world, more adapted to living in the snow rather than the forests.

Now, however, he sped up, ears tingling, walking past Aragorn, who looked up at him ruefully, his arms full of Hobbit.

The Elf danced carefully past Gimli, walking precariously beside a sheer drop; Gandalf had chosen one of the more dangerous routes across the mountain; they had merely a few feet between them and certain death.

He paused just behind Gandalf, who looked at him, before looking around, trying to see through the thick sheets of snow falling around them.

'There is a fell voice on the air.'

Now Gandalf heard it. A deep, chanting voice carried on the wind, ingrained in the very flakes of the snow. His eyes narrowed, anger gripping his heart.

He would know that voice anywhere.

'It's Saruman!'

A little cliff-hanger, I thought, would be good here : )

Thanks so much for reading, thank you all so much for your support so far, it means such a lot!

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