"'Pity? It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity and mercy: not to strike without need… Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity.'"

-Gandalf, from Shadow of the Past

The wind grew ever more bitter as the Fellowship plowed on. In a short time of traveling, the sky had darkened; night was almost upon them. Aragorn decided to stop when they found a cave in the mountain's wall. He explained, "It would be dangerous to continue in the dark. The cliff's edge is uneven, and more of us might follow Gandalf sooner than we'd like. We make camp here."

His orders came not a moment too soon, because further back in the line, Pippin dropped into the snow like a flour sack. Gimli hurried to his side and propped the unconscious hobbit up. The dwarf shook his head in consternation. "He's overcome with the cold, Aragorn. His hands are icy. We must warm him up." His keen gaze took in the other hobbits and he saw that they too, were near to collapsing. "Boromir, help me get them into the cave."

The frozen Fellowship stumbled, exhausted, into the small shelter. Aragorn strode to the back of the cave and examined it. He came up against a solid sheet of rock not far in, and nodded sharply in satisfaction. "The cave is shallow, but isolated. We will not have to worry about watching our backs tonight." He moved over to Sam and Bill, and began to unload the bundles of firewood they had packed.

Gimli took several bundles from him, arranged them in careful formation, and pulled out his flint. He struck it time and time again, but the sparks would not catch in the wood. The wind whipped around the cave's entrance and carried away each small flame. He huffed, then leaned closer to his hand in an attempt to shield it. Behind him, the rest of the Fellowship waited nervously.

"I wish Gandalf were here," Gimli puffed gently at the small twig in his hand, but the burning coal died. "A staff without a wizard is of little use." He glanced at the hobbits. Pippin sat in the middle, wrapped in the spare blanket and Boromir's overcoat, but he was still shivering violently. For some reason, the young Took was very susceptible to cold. The dwarf shook his head and returned to his efforts at building a fire.

Legolas left the others huddled together and crouched beside Gimli; he was the best off in terms of temperature, regarding it as a firm chill, but nothing more. Gimli snarled silently at the elf. That haughty creature must flaunt his immortal blessings before us less fortunate mortals. Gimli struck his flint with a vengeance. Nothing happened. It's the cursed elf at my side. They're unlucky to have close by. "Why don't you make yourself useful somewhere else, elf?" he grumbled.

When he looked up, he was surprised at what he saw. Was that…shame, on the elf's face? "I have already tried making a fire," Legolas admitted quietly. "It is beyond my skill to do so."

Pippin's condition must be distracting him. He's admitting that he can't do everything! Gimli almost rejoiced, then frowned. Not good. Pippin's freezing. There's no time to gloat over the shortcomings of elves. He forced himself to say, "There now, laddie, building a fire in this weather is no piece of cake. Even I, a blessed dwarf, am not making headway."

Legolas smiled at being called laddie. "Blessed dwarf? That's not the adjective I would have used. Stunted, perhaps." He easily dodged Gimli's mail-covered fist. Amazing, but the dwarf was grinning at the insult.

"Better to be stunted than stretched out on a rack. I suppose elves have to run around in a rainfall to get wet."

"Better thin than fat, Master Dwarf," he ducked another swing and strode away chuckling, cheered by the conversation.

"I'm not fat!" Gimli snarled at the retreating back. "It's all the layers of clothing that make me look…poofy… Oh, what's the use?" One cannot argue with a stubborn elf. He struck his flint again.

The others in the cave were not so cheerful. Frodo held Pippin's hands tightly and marveled at the coldness. "Aragorn, come quickly. Pippin is not warming." Merry paled.

The ranger knelt beside the hobbits and examined the tweenager. "I fear hypothermia may be taking him. We've got to warm him up quickly." He exchanged glances with Boromir, and the man of Gondor nodded at last. Standing, Aragorn moved towards the pony. Sam sensed something amiss and slid to intercept.

He grabbed a silky lock of mane and pulled Bill's head close to his chest. "What are you plannin' to do, Strider? What are you up to?" He noticed the long elven knife in Aragorn's hand, pale and cold in the dusk lighting. "What? No! You can't be thinking to off poor Bill. What has he done?"

Aragorn watched Sam push the pony behind him, and could not help a small smile, but Pippin was in danger. Gimli observed the standoff with faint amusement; his mouth twitched. Poor laddie. Well, we can't have another morose hobbit on our hands, certainly not with Gandalf missing. No one else could silence complaints with a bristling eyebrow. He bent over and tried again, this time for brave little Sam.

"Sam," Aragorn started gently. "Sam, Pippin is in danger, and only Bill can help him. His coat is the warmest thing we have here. No one can get a fire started…There's no other way, Sam." The hobbit's face was mournfully long.

Fresh tears fell from Sam's eyes. "Not Bill, he's our friend."

"It's Pippin or Bill, Sam."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Oof!" With a wild scramble that was decidedly un-Maia-like, Gandalf lost his grip on the icy rock and fell back several feet. The large pile of boulders in his path was proving to be a formidable opponent. With only one hand usable, he had already failed several times, slipping and crunching back to the chasm floor. Oh, for my staff. I could obliterate these stones.

The dwarf in his head had brothers now, and they were all determined to be the loudest with their hammers. Gandalf lay on his back, staring up into the falling snow, his wrist aching and his heart burning. Every second the Ring called to him.

Just one look at it won't hurt. Wouldn't you like to hold it again?

I would, he admitted. But I won't. He sat up and braced his back with a soft grunt. He was too old for all this. All work and no play; he wished he were back in the Shire, setting off fireworks, watching over the hobbits. Even immortals became tired every great while. No, he couldn't rest, not now, so he struggled to his feet for the fifth time.

Why?

Why what? He was getting irritated and snappish.

Why are you afraid to look at it? Afraid of a piece of metal?

His anger flared and his good hand squeezed the pouch tightly. No, I am not afraid! The Ring's accusation had stung his pride deeply, clouding his already muddled mind.

And why should you be? You are powerful.-I am.- You are. You could touch it if you wished…You could even use it…The Ring's impatience made it press too quickly and Gandalf reawoke to its wiles. Jerking his hand from the pouch, he passed the trembling appendage over his pale face. A lone pebble dropped somewhere behind him in the canyon.

I can never use it, for certainly, it would use me. I lied to it. I am afraid, afraid that my desire for power will become too great, afraid that I will be fooled. Let me alone to think, foul Ring. I must get over theses rocks. He pushed the constant whispering further back in his head. It was not an easy task; even in that frigid place, he felt sweat beading on his forehead. Less than a day since I fell, and it is sorely tempting me. I had to go after it; there was very great need.

The silence around him only made it worse. There were few or no distractions for his mind, no foolish hobbits pulling stunts, no dwarves and elves arguing heatedly, no ranger sharing the load of leadership. He was alone, utterly alone with the Ring.

Alone with the Ring. Now is your chance.

"No!" he shouted aloud, his voice echoing down the canyon. He should set it aside, and come back for it with the Fellowship. It was gaining too strong a hold over him; the temptation would lessen. Fingers numb with the cold fumbled with the pouch, untying it from the belt. A long arm stretched out and lowered the crushing burden over the surface of a smooth flat boulder. Gandalf dropped the pouch.

No…He did not. His fingers would not obey him and a strange reluctance filled his mind. We toy with the idea of giving it up, but we never do…Unconsciously, he pulled the Ring back against him, shuddering with self-loathing. Too long I have held it, too long. I am too powerful; there is so much I could do, so much that would turn to evil if I did. He desperately wanted to toss the burning circle from his hand, leave it lying useless in the snow.

Yet if he left it behind, the Enemy's servants might find it and sweep it away on foul wings, back to the Dark Lord's hand. His only choice was to keep the Ring and safeguard it. Gandalf absently wondered if this thought stemmed from his own mind or the Ring. The two voices ran together at times. Who will safeguard it from me?

Too late to wonder, he admitted he could not abandon the Ring for several reasons. With a mournful sigh, the Grey Pilgrim tied the pouch to his belt again and returned his attention to the rocks. The Ring was quieter now; its danger was past and its hold on the weary wizard had tightened.

The Maia stood in contemplative silence, pondering his next move. The jagged rocks were slick with ice, and would never yield a proper handhold. The cliffs were high on both sides. He had no rope or staff…perhaps his belt. He could wedge the buckle between several stones and pull himself up. Gandalf laughed at the simplicity of his plan. For centuries have I walked this earth, and yet sometimes I can be slower than the average hobbit.

He transferred the pouch and its troublesome content from his belt to the inside of his dirty gray shirt, (shivering at the closeness of the Ring), then removed the tough leather belt. To his dismay, he discovered it was too short, and would not reach high enough to catch on anything. Fine then, he would add his overcoat to the mix. Laying Glamdring down in the snow, he shrugged out of the long cloak, hunched down on the ground, and began tearing it into long strips. The wind howled overhead and the cold seeped into his bones, but he shook it off. A mere mountain would not stop Gandalf the Grey. He tied the cloak to the belt with his strongest knots.

Behind him, there came the distinct sound of a twig snapping, and the wizard whirled about, sharp blue eyes piercing into the darkness. Nothing moved; no monster came to claim the Ring. Gandalf listened for several minutes, then relaxed his watch. He stood up and approached the rocks, searching for a cleft of perfect size.

He finally spotted a jagged crack near the top, sighed in relief. As he prepared to toss his belt, the quiet chasm exploded in a hoarse shriek. A small but powerful shape flew from the shadows and slammed into Gandalf's back. He stumbled. Long viselike fingers closed around the wizard's throat and squeezed tightly.

Gasping for breath, Gandalf pulled at the slimy hands. He lost his footing, swayed, and fell to the ground. They rolled over and over in the flying snow, and the air was filled with angry howls and strangled cries. Gandalf jabbed an elbow into the thin torso and the creature loosened its hold, snarling. He pried its vise grip off, greedily sucked in the much needed air. Not for the last time, he wished for his staff. Where was Glamdring?

He saw the Elvish blade lying several feet from his leg, glinting in the rising moonlight. Summoning his strength, Gandalf flung the wiry beast away and lunged for the weapon. The creature scrambled back in determination; its massive eyes gleamed with malicious intent. It caught the wizard by his injured arm just before he reached the sword, and brutally pulled.

Bright flashes filled Gandalf's vision as waves of agony raced up his arm. A rabid anger took over him then, something he had never felt before in such intensity…it felt good. His face darkened and he boxed the creature's ears. It squealed in pain, releasing him to clutch its head. Using his good arm, and getting angrier by the second, he threw the animal so hard that it soared through the air and met with the cliff's wall. Gandalf scooped up Glamdring and unsheathed the blade. He strode over to the whimpering ball, reached down, and pulled its head up by its remaining strands of greasy hair. The blade hovered at his enemy's throat. It squealed and hissed and cried.

"Don't hurts us, no precious, we didn't mean it! We were only hungry, hungry! Oh! It hurts us!" It pawed the air as it hung there writhing in his grip.

Kill it. It attacked you. Kill it! Slay it! Make it suffer. A horrible voice roared in the wizard's head, giving tongue to the boiling rage within. The sharp edge of Glamdring grazed the creature's throat. A small drop of blood trickled down its neck. Make it suffer. It doesn't deserve to live. He finally knew the voice, found the source of the anger. The Ring wanted blood. He wanted blood. No, I do not. It is the Ring, not me.

It asks for mercy, he protested at last. The blade wavered.

It doesn't deserve to live. Kill it! The Ring pressed.

That is not for me to decide, Gandalf decided finally as he stared down at Gollum, for Gollum it was, and could be no other. Gandalf had known the Fellowship was being followed by the slimy thing. He sighed deeply and released Gollum, but kept the sword trained on its quivering body. As the former hobbit lay sobbing on the earth before him, pity crept back into Gandalf's heart. I see now, what he has been through, what the Ring does to its bearer. He is not entirely at fault here.

Gollum groveled in the cold snow at Gandalf's booted feet. "Spares us, we begs you, don't kill us. We are sorry," it moaned, stark fear in its once deadly eyes.

"You are spared, unless you try such a foolish thing again," Gandalf sternly admonished, his eyes burning into the pitiful wretch before him. Gollum looked up in surprise at his voice. "Yes, we've met before, some time ago. You remember in that dark mind of yours."

Gollum squealed and shrank back further. "The wizard, the nasty tricksy wizard, what threatened us with fire! We're sorry precious, we didn't know you, but we were hungry, we were…So hungry." It blinked at him; a wondering sly look entered its eyes. "But the wizard's staff is gone. He lost it, did he precious? And why?"

'Tis none of your business," Gandalf rumbled and leaned closer to Gollum. "A staff is a staff, a walking stick and nothing more. The power is here," he tapped his chest and did not feel badly about lying to the treacherous creature. After all, the power was really of him; he only needed the staff to use his power. Gollum feared power of any kind, and he could use such fear.

The frightening gleam in the wizard's eye convinced Gollum, and it crumpled to the ground again in mortal terror. "Don't hurts us, please no. Let us go, precious, let us go and we won't come back."

"I could use you in the morning Gollum, for some sticky footed work. If you help me, and remember who I am, I will spare you. But beware the wrath of a wizard," Gandalf warned. "I can be easily angered." More so than I wish. Gollum was sufficiently cowed; Gandalf sheathed Glamdring and peered up into the sky. Night had fallen silently upon them. I should rest here and wait for daylight. If I can get a fire going, it should be warm enough to rest.

He left Gollum where it lay and moved about collecting sticks and sometimes whole bushes, dried and crispy. Once the unnatural anger had passed, his arm began hurting again, and he grumbled to himself as he moved. Always, he kept one eye on the spindly form in the snow.

Gollum watched the wizard build a small fire close to a protective niche in the rocks. It watched as he clumsily attempted to start the fire with a flint. The pale-green eyes glowed, wondering as they beheld him crouched there.

Gandalf felt the eyes on him, but did not turn. He finally coaxed a small spark into tasting a branch, and flames licked up. I must learn to be less dependent on my staff, he realized, observed with relief when the fire did not go out. He leaned back against the wall, drawing his robes closer to his skin. His good hand remained on the hilt of his sword. I pity him, but I do not trust him.

The fire's heat spread out in a delightful circle, warming him, comforting. He saw Gollum crawl over to the edge of the light, shivering and muttering with the cold. Let it sit there, something told him. Why should you feel anything for it? The wretched thing was plainly freezing. It was colder tonight than ever before on Caradhras, and Gandalf hoped the Fellowship had found shelter.

"If you wish to warm yourself, go ahead," he offered, giving in to his pity once more. Nienna would be proud. Gollum snuffled and eyed him with suspicion.

"Why's it so nice, precious? A tricksy wizard, tricksy tricksy…"

"There is no trick in my offer," Gandalf sighed. "It will get very cold tonight, that's all." He huddled deeper in his robes, felt the altogether different warmth at his chest, warmth of the Ring. If anything, he wanted to keep Gollum in sight. An unseen Gollum was a dangerous Gollum. "Do as you wish."

Gollum scowled and slid closer to the fire. His eyes never left the Maia. "No trickses then," he whispered as he crouched on the other side of the crackling flames. They sat in silence for sometime, and Gandalf's eyes were drifting shut with weariness, when Gollum spoke up again. "Why's it alone, precious?" The spidery voice crawled to the wizard's ears, grating, hooded, cautious. "Nine of them, there was precious, and now only eight above. One lies far from eight, it does…"

"I fell over the edge," Gandalf explained, more to quiet Gollum than feed its curiosity. Silence prevailed again. Somewhere a wolf howled, long and lonely. Glowing eyes blinked across the fire.

"We sees that, but why? Are wizards so clumsy?" Gollum chuckled in his throat, ended up coughing and choking. "Gollum, Gollum."

Its probing made Gandalf unnaturally nervous, and he snapped, "Not clumsy, foul creature. Foolish maybe, for ever coming here!" A cloud lifted and left him feeling confused. Gollum was recoiling from him. Where did that come from? His heart sank. The Ring, where else? Not already…May the Valar have mercy on me. "Let me alone to think, Gollum. I will have need of you in the morning."

Gollum snorted, but quieted, curling into a tight ball. As his eyes remained on guard, the wizard's mind began to wander to that blessed land of dreams…

Notes: The matter of Gollum following the Fellowship is a little confusing. The book doesn't clearly state how long he followed them; the movie says 3 days once they were in Moria. So, since this is slightly AU, or largely ;) I have him following them up Caradhras.

Sorry I couldn't get this typed up faster. Definitely my longest chapter so far. Again, no beta this round, so my apologies for any mistakes. Hopefully, next week will be the next update. Enjoy, and drop a review.

Julestripe: Again, thanks much for the encouraging review. If you find something wrong with it, please feel free to tell me. I wouldn't want to be getting something wrong with the characters, etc. Hope you like this next installment.