"Do not tempt me! For I do not wish to become like the Dark Lord himself. Yet the way of the Ring to my heart is by pity, pity for weakness and the desire of strength to do good. Do not tempt me!"

-Gandalf, from Shadow of the Past

"Aragorn!" the elf's call echoed around the bend in the trail. Legolas sounded excited, and…happy? Aragorn squished forward as fast as he could, the hobbits giggling at the sight of his hopping and wallowing through the newly fallen, waist-deep snow.

Robbed of his dignity and breath, Aragorn arrived at the elf's side, who stood on a boulder several feet down and off the trail. "What is it, Legolas? What do you see?" he asked with a hasty scan of the horizon, in every direction; but there was nothing extraordinary to see.

His friend smiled. "I am not always far-sighted, mellon. Here," he pointed down at the rock he stood upon. Aragorn squatted beside him and ran a hand over the worn markings. "It is a descending trail," the elf explained. "It has not been used for sometime, and the sign has almost worn completely away."

"A trail down," Aragorn studied the ancient symbols. "If I am right, this says the next trail is not for another league. We do not have the time to go on."

"It will be dangerous," Legolas indicated the faint black diamond by the words. "Do you think the hobbits will be able to do this? And more worrisome, the dwarf?"

Aragorn laughed softly. "He is not as helpless as you would like to think, as all elves would. We men will handle the hobbits, and I think there will be no need to aid Gimli." He could clearly see doubt in the elf's eyes, but the matter was laid to rest.

ooooooooooooooooooo

It played at the edge of his mind and tugged at his thought, ceaseless taunts to his spirit. It was despair, brought on and augmented by the Ring's closeness. Despair for the quest, despair for all of Middle Earth; it told him further struggle was useless, hopeless.

There is still hope, he argued half-heartedly. The Fellowship would reunite and they would continue on. Inside, Gandalf was beginning to fear the reunion; would his strength prove strong enough to hand the Ring back to Frodo? Would the Fellowship be made to use force? So soon had the Ring found a dwelling place in his mind. He could not push it out anymore, if he had even tried…

A fool's hope is all you have, contrived by the greatest fool of all, if you honestly believe it might work. Did you and Elrond think a fellowship of nine might oppose the Dark Lord, and succeed? Do you really think a hobbit can destroy the One Ring?

Perhaps, Gandalf's stubborn side rose to the occasion; besides, the accusation stung. He was not a complete fool. Hobbits are amazing creatures. They may yet surprise everyone, even the Enemy. He paused his walking and sat on a rock to catch his breath, coughing as he deeply inhaled the cold air.

You are a fool. You intend to walk into Mordor, waltz up to mount Doom, and drop the Ring in? Well, when it was put that way, it did seem foolish. Not just foolish, utterly ridiculous, stupid, mad. What are you thinking?

You are trying to twist my thoughts, foul tool. It is the only way to destroy it, and we can do nothing less. The Ring must not be allowed to endure, Gandalf leaned back, weary, so weary. The Ring was right in that the odds were badly stacked against them, but the Valar were so much more than odds, he reminded himself. If they willed it, it would done.

No? Perhaps not…But your plan has little merit. The Dark Lord will see you eventually, if you come into Mordor, that Great Eye, and he will take the Ring. Back onto his hand it will go, and darkness will cover Middle Earth, lasting blackness. The Ring chuckled in his mind. And if he does not take his own, men will. The one called Boromir, he watches it, seeking a way to lay hands upon it.

Boromir is a noble son of Gondor, Gandalf refuted, but the Ring spoke true. Ever had the Enemy used a grain of truth to spawn his foul lies. Gandalf had seen the gleam in Boromir's eye. The incident a few days ago was convincing. Yet, there was still hope for him; very few were without hope…Sauron, to name one.

You are desperate to see only what you wish. Pursue this course, and all will come to ruin. A plague of darkness will seep into every home. The White City will become Black. The plains of Rohan will be as the Dead Marshes-

"Stop!" Gandalf cried aloud, leapt off the rock and hurried up the trail again, one trembling hand pressed to his head. . He wasn't dooming Middle Earth; he was helping it. He was failing….

He was falling…His legs felt like he was wading through mire and mud, and he stumbled to his knees. A flash…Black fire dancing before his eyes in a dark vision; Minis Tirith was burning, everywhere burning, black smoke twisting up in dark sacrifice. Aragorn lay dead on the broken marble floor of the King's Hall, soulless eyes staring up in accusation. Staring at the wizard, blaming.

The stare struck Gandalf to the depths of his heart, but already the White City was fading. Now Lothlorien and Fangorn were falling to axes and orc scimitars; the elves were dying or fleeing to the Grey Havens. Black smoke rose here too. Galadriel was fading, drug under by Sauron's hold on the Three Elven Rings.

Rohan's once-beautiful fields ran red with the blood of men and horses. Shadowfax was here, his white glory dimmed in blood and ash, great black eyes now dull. "No…" Gandalf gasped, staring transfixed at the horrible sights. He tried to remember, they were not real, and yet, they were the future… "No…"

The dragons will awake again. The Ring relished in his pain, and sent him yet more images. The dwarves were fleeing the Lonely Mountain, and in their wake the fire-breathing worms flew. The flames consumed everything they touched. A long line of the earth-dwellers moved towards Mordor, chained and enslaved under the whips of the orcs. Gimli walked there, and though his body moved, his eyes were as dead as Aragorn's had been.

Nothing will be safe from his touch, thanks to you…Rivendale-the Evenstar lay dying of a broken heart. Elrond sat beside her, the elven ring gone from his hand, hidden only a while, for Sauron could perceive all the Rings of power now. Winter was blowing in from the north.

This cannot be, Gandalf cringed away in horror, his own heart breaking. The scenes were too real to be fake; it was the future he saw. I will be responsible for this? Tears dripped down his ancient face. Because I will not take the Ring? I cannot do so! It is too dangerous. I will only become as Sauron himself.

Then you will watch as all you love perishes. Have you no pity? The Ring taunted.

A final image shimmered before his eyes. The Shire, burning with a white-hot flame, bearing the brunt of the Dark Lord's wrath. The innocent race was helpless and horrified as the orcs came, crushing the last Rangers aside like gnats. A great Eye was burned into every standing door and wall. Hobbits were whipped away to Mordor; more lay dead and dying on their doorsteps. The once-cheerful markets were now host to customers of a different sort-swarms of vultures.

It felt like a spear had been jabbed into the wizard's chest and violently twisted. Not the hobbits, not the innocent hobbits! He had caused this. The Maia groaned and clutched at the real, cold mountainside, wanting out of this horrible vision. His hand squeezed around a sharp rock, and reality came back to him with the pain. He stared at the trickle of blood, thought, I would gladly give every drop of my own to prevent this…

It does not have to turn out this way. We can destroy it, we must, we will.

You cannot, heartless worm. You cringe away from the one chance to save Middle Earth. See them? Have you no heart to feel for their plight?

It is not…guaranteed that this will come to pass, Gandalf repeated and struggled to remove the chilling visions.

It will. You care not for them.

I do!

Then use it…The Ring changed its tone, becoming softer and more sympathetic. We show you what is to come, so that you can stop it. You are great and strong, Olorin…He was distracted by his real name, and the Ring felt his attention focusing on it. You are strong enough to control the Ring. Only you can prevent this painful end, only you can set things to right again. The others are not great enough, but you, you have no equal…

I have no equal…Wait, no. You seek to feed my pride. I will not fall as Saruman did, Gandalf protested. I do not want power.

You lie, I can feel your desire, your wish to become who you were meant to be. The Ring can do that; it can restore you to your true form. You are not an old man, Gandalf, you are Olorin. Let them worship you as a hero, a savior, as a god…

Gandalf's eyes had closed, and he was falling under the melodious whispering, but at that, Gandalf lifted his head and his mind cleared. His good hand had been reaching for the pouch, wrapping around it, and now he pulled it back. Do not deceive me. I am no god, only a humble servant of the Valar. They asked me to come to Middle Earth to help, not to seek my own glory. They had not wanted him to become directly involved with the Ring, perhaps for this very reason. He already feared his choice to leap after it; he could not disobey them and actually claim it. May the Valar help me turn aside from this evil.

Evil? The Ring can be used for good. It can help your friends, you can help.

I do wish to help them, Gandalf conceded, and as a Dark Lord, I cannot do that. I do pity them, so I will not take it. The Ring is entirely evil. I will not wield it. "I will not wield it!" he shouted into the wind. The equivalent of a spasm trembled through the Ring, and it snarled at the rejection.

You will, in the end, it turned hateful very quickly. And you will beg for death, and none will come. It will consume you, and you will not release it.

"Begone!" Gandalf ordered sharply, and the Ring quieted, but it did not silence. The murmurs continued, whispering, begging, pleading, a background cacophony that would not cease. At least the burning mists had dissipated, and he could see the trail once again.

Gandalf pushed himself to stand with a small groan. Sweat was running down his face, and he wondered at that. He had come perilously close to taking the Ring; there was no spell or wizard's trick to drive such evil away. The Valar had saved him, and he quietly thanked them.

Then he resumed his journey. So preoccupied was he by his narrow escape, that he took no notice of the shadow far behind him, a shadow that was not his own.

oooooooooooooooooooo

"Careful there, Master Meriadoc," Boromir lifted a hand to the young hobbit, helping him slide off a large rock. Merry gratefully smiled up at the man and waited for Pippin's arrival. Those two scamps are inseparable, Boromir thought with a smile. Like two brothers I once knew…That thought had him thinking about Faramir, then Denethor, and his smile morphed into a troubled frown.

Gimli passed by then, and saved him from further rumination on his family. "Will you lend a hand with Bill, laddie?" the dwarf asked. "Sam would nae leave him behind, and he's balking up there."

"Certainly," Boromir helped Pippin down and patted his shoulder. "You two behave, and mind what Ara-Strider says. This is no walk in a meadow."

"Aye-aye, Captain Boromir," Pippin snickered and scrambled over the next rock. His large hobbit feet provided exceptional balance. What did the wizard say so much? Oh yes, amazing creatures. He was very right. Hobbits are strong and resilient; I didn't think Pippin would recover so quickly.

Boromir turned away and hauled himself back up the path to where Bill and Sam were contesting wills. The pony laid his ears back and snorted, then planted his hooves against the rock, a pony statue, solid and unmovable. Boromir grinned at the sight. Sam stood, hands on hips, his solemn eyes mere inches from Bill's big blinking ones.

"Please Bill," Sam begged. "It's for your own good."

"One can't easily reason with a mule, Sam," Boromir laughed as he approached. Bill snorted, insulted. Mule indeed! He bared his teeth at the man of Gondor.

"Now Bill!" Sam reproached him. "That's not nice. He only wants to help."

"Sometimes, you must just use force with an animal," Boromir advised, and moved to take Bill's reins. "Come on!" He pulled slowly but insistently. Bill leaned back on his haunches and whinnied through his teeth.

"Mule," Boromir taunted. The taunt worked briefly. Bill lunged forward to take a chunk out of Boromir. His mouth grazed the leather gauntlet. Then Bill remembered his position and went no further, his ears laying back flat. You won't trick me again, his expression said.

The descent had been going so well; Boromir sighed. Arriving at the scene, Gimli went around to the back of the pony and planted his gloves on Bill's hindquarters. "You pull, I'll push," he told Boromir. "On three. One-two-three! Ugh!"

The combined strength of man and dwarf forced Bill forward at last. Sam flitted about on the edge of the action, worried. "Don't hurt him! Oh, poor Bill!" He wrung his hands.

"Poor Bill?" Gimli grumbled to Boromir. "Bill's doing perfectly well."

"Yes, it's not Bill that needs help," Boromir agreed, and started. Legolas had appeared at his side silently, his keen eyes watching the pony. "Come to help, Master Elf?" Boromir asked, and hoped not. The holier-than-thou elf grated on his nerves, almost as badly as the dwarf's. Grumpy old Gandalf was better than Legolas. Hah, even Aragorn was better than Legolas, and that was saying much.

"You are no judge of horses," the elf stated. "Or you would see that he is frightened. Something nears. Aragorn!" he called urgently down the mountainside.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

The massive wolf rumbled deep in his chest. Crouched beside him, the pack growled in reply. Their hunger rose to consume them like an angry fire, having not eaten for days. The quarry was spread out on the mountainside, evenly split into two groups. Even now, one of the groups dwindled as a two-legged creature bounded up the hill.

The leader cocked his head, pleased. There was no need to wait for nightfall. He lifted himself from his crouch and stole silently over the snow. The starving pack followed with sure springing and leaping.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

"What is it, Legolas?" Aragorn asked when he arrived, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Boromir saw the look given him, and forcefully ignored it. Always Aragorn seemed to suspect him, as if he were an enemy and not a friend. All throne usurpers are wary, for good reason, though I pose no threat to him.

"The pony is frightened. Something is out there, and its intentions are most likely foul," Legolas warned.

"Wolves, do you think?" Boromir asked, reaching for his sword.

"Wolves? This far up the mountain?" The elf scoffed with a small chuckle. "I would hardly think-"

"Peace, Legolas," Aragorn cut off the elf. "Boromir may be right. Wolves, if hungry enough, may have tracked us up here. Ready your bow."

Warmth spread through the Steward's son at the unexpected support. Maybe he's not so bad. Too bad he thinks Gondor needs a king… "We should bring Frodo and the other two up here, or go down to them. Safety in numbers, you know," he directed this at the elf, and Legolas flushed red at being talked down to.

Gimli chuckled at his expression, in spite of the dire situation. Dwarf and man exchanged mischievous glances. Torturing the elf united them on a common front at times. Legolas glared his coldest, superior elf look he could produce.

"The way you giggle and snort, one might wonder if you were warriors or children," he said calmly, watching as a fire lit in the dwarf's eyes.

"You think-you think you can just-" Gimli sputtered as he gripped his axe. Boromir, still chuckling, reached out to stop him, when a shrill scream rent the air. It came from Bill, who reared up wildly on his hind legs, pawing the air. Aragorn whirled about with his sword drawn. They all gasped.

Seven large, slavering wolves had emerged from the rocks below and were warily circling the three trapped hobbits. Frodo had Sting in his hands, and was protecting Merry and Pippin from the apparent leader of the pack.

"Mister Frodo, no!" Sam grabbed a frying pan from his bundle and stumbled down the mountainside. Aragorn was after him in a heartbeat, then Gimli and Boromir were racing down too. Drawing his long, powerful bow back, Legolas let fly with an arrow.

It flew straight and true toward the alpha leader, but at the last minute he turned and the barb missed his heart. It went into his shoulder and he roared in pain, leapt up the incline, Frodo forgotten, foaming at the mouth. Aragorn met him coming up, and swung his sword hard, yet the grey wolf sprang over his head. The ranger ran on to the hobbits.

Gimli saw the wolf coming his direction and steadied his axe. "Shall I trim those pretty whiskers of yours?" he called with a short, deep laugh. The wolf saw him waiting, and its lips raised in a bristling snarl. It abruptly changed its course, startling the dwarf as it slammed into him, the two colliding heavily into the snow. As they rolled over and over, Gimli grappled for the wolf's vulnerable throat.

The rest of the pack attacked in a starving fury. Two descended and pressed hard against Aragorn. Another fell with a frying pan in its face and Sting in its chest. It yelped and expired violently, gasping in thwarted rage.

Another leapt up and latched onto Boromir's arm; the vambrace kept him safe from the sharp teeth, but he was pulled down to the ground. The last two wolves circled the hobbits, showing their fangs and dodging blows. The sun continued to shine merrily on their dance with death.

The elf had drawn his bow and stood waiting for a clear shot, when his delicate ears heard movement behind him. He whirled in time to see three more wolves jumping down from a high boulder. Legolas managed to kill one before he was buried in an avalanche of fur and claws and teeth.

Aragorn at last gained an advantage, sidestepping a wolf and ramming his sword into its gaping maw. It choked, shuddered, and fell away. Its companion, angered greatly, snapped its powerful jaws onto the Ranger's hand. Aragorn cried out in pain and dropped his sword, attempting to force the grip open. The wolf's feet kicked at his chest.

Boromir flipped his opponent into the snow, then knelt atop the struggling animal. It snarled and nipped at his hands as he put his entire weight on its ribcage. The ribs gave way with an awful crunch, and the creature stilled. Boromir caught up his sword from where it had fallen in the snow and ran to help the elf.

Gimli was in a stalemate with the pack leader, their faces only inches apart. His small, strong hands were wrapped around the furry neck and squeezing as hard as possible. The wolf may have been running out of air, but Gimli was fast losing strength. The dwarf wondered with morbid fascination, who would give out first?

He would never find out. The Mirkwood bow sang, and the leader jerked aside. It sent up a shuddering howl and collapsed. The dwarf pushed it away in disgust. "Should have been mine," he muttered. Legolas appeared above him, scratched and wild-haired, but grinning proudly. "Small chance I'll ever get to forget this…" Gimli sighed.

The two remaining wolves lost all heart for the battle and fled yammering over the mountainside. The Fellowship gathered around the elf and dwarf as Legolas offered his hand to Gimli. The dwarf scowled and pushed the hand aside, clambering to his feet on his own. The frazzled group took stock of their injuries; Aragorn and Boromir were sporting open wounds, but they claimed to be perfectly fine. The hobbits were frightened but unscathed, Legolas was only slightly mussed, and Gimli was only bruised. All in all, they were grateful for their state. It might have been much worse.

Frodo stared down at the still body of the pack leader, his eyes sad. Kneeling down, he passed a small hand through the thick fur. "I don't think they were after the Ring. I felt not what one feels when meeting servants of the Enemy." He sighed. "It seems a shame…"

"Yes, they were only hungry," Aragorn agreed. "Their very ribs were showing on their flanks. It was unfortunate to kill such magnificent animals, for they were not evil. If they had been filled, we would never have seen them, but starvation drove them to chance this fight." He waved a hand over the battlefield, and heard a small hobbit gasp.

"Your hand, Strider," Sam pointed to the oozing blood from the teeth marks. "Are you sure it's all right?"

"He'll be fine, Samwise. We men of Gondor are tougher than we look," Boromir clapped a bitten hand of his own to Sam's shoulder. "Let's just hope they didn't have the Foaming Madness," he chuckled, until he found everyone staring at him. "What?"

"Not humorous, laddie," Gimli rumbled softly. Then it happened.

The wind picked up and carried to them both a wonderful and terrible sound, a loud clear voice like thunder, crackling with lightening, vicious and majestic all at once. The Fellowship stood stricken dumb, as the voice reached their ears. It sounded familiar, and strange…

"That's…That's Gandalf!" Frodo suddenly cried. "He's down the hill! He's alive! Oh, hurry!" He scrambled down the slope like a mad man, slipping and sliding over the icy surfaces, landing in a puff of white powder. Sam took off after his master. The remaining Fellowship was rooted to the ground for all of two seconds. By the action that followed, Bill wondered if a whole mental house had not been loosed, but he remained where he was, calmly assured; they would be back for him.

Well, after a long dry spell of no inspiration, I finally got the inspiration to finish the next chapter. Again, no beta beyond myself; apologies for any mistakes. What do ya'll think of it? Story should be wrapping up in about two more additions, but I'm considering two different versions. If I get enough time I may do both; until then, enjoy the one. Drop a review anytime. Unlike some zoos, it is permissible to feed the authors. :)

Valinor Sunset: Hehe, you'll have to wait and see. He may, because Gollum doesn't seem to want to leave him alone…that little beast. Thanks again for reviewing.

Markim: Thanks for reviewing, and I'm glad you liked it. You'll have to wait and see about meeting up again.

Keep reading and preferably reviewing folks. More to come.