Chapter 16: In Which Eomer Discovers the Truth

He gritted his teeth through the pain radiating through his left foot. The bucket Eomer had just kicked made a loud clang as it hit the wall on the opposite end of the room. "She was here? How? Why?" he said.

Ridderion walked to the bucket and picked it up. "This 'ere is yer aunt's favorite milkin' pale an' ye've gone an' smashed it."

"You're worried about the bucket? In a time like this?"

"Now look," Ridderion said, placing a gentle hand on Eomer's shoulder. "She was 'eaded for the Gap an' I steered 'er away from that, I did. She traveled with some surly fellow. Prince-like the look of 'im, sword an' shield strapped to 'is back. All tall and proud. Reckon she'll a' least be safe with 'im."

"That doesn't bring me any comfort, you know that."

"She never crossed the border. The Worm 'as no reason to know she was 'ere."

"And you trust the men in your eored?"

"Aye, lad. I trust 'em with me life."

"I wish I could be so confident in mine." Eomer said with a sigh and sat down on the bench in the corner of the barn. "How long ago?"

"'Bought three months, I reckon. I 'aven't been countin' the days. If the Worm knew she'd been through 'ere, we'd know by now. There's nothin' more to do, lad. Take a rest and go with the blessin' she sent yer way."

The younger rider lifted his head. "She sent me her blessing?"

"Aye, more or less. Well, less now that I think on it. But she seemed of lifted spirits when I told 'er you were safe and well. An' she perked up when I said you still thought of 'er. Hope that wasn't out of me place."

"No. No, I'm glad you told her that. I'm glad she knows."

"How many letters do you think the Worm intercepted from ye?"

Eomer shook his head. "No idea. My messenger came clean to his mother first. Grima had been threatening her life if he didn't hand over all of my correspondence. I had him moved to Theodred's post at the Hornburg and moved his mother in with Eothain's wife."

"Tha' poor woman is running a shelter at this point."

"I'd open up my keep to her if I didn't think Grima would learn of it and put a stop to it."

"An' Eowyn, 'ow is she?"

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "She lives amongst a beast that I cannot rescue her from. And she lies, telling Theodred and I that she is fine, that she is safe in Theoden's house. Then I see that monster stare at her and haunt her every step and I'm filled with such a rage that would certainly get me killed if I acted on it. And I am no good to Eowyn dead."

"Yer no good to anyone dead, lad."

He clenched his fists, as tight as they would go, the worn leather of his gloves stretching against his knuckles. "I want to kill him, Uncle. I want to feel his neck crush under my fingers. I want to drive my sword through his heart, all the way to the hilt."

"Calm yerself, nephew. Them thoughts are meant for the battlefield."

"These thoughts are for my enemies, and right now, Grima is the only enemy that consumes my mind."

"An' if you kill 'im, what 'appens to the King? You don' know. None of us do. If anything were to 'appen, putting Theodred on the throne now takes 'im away from the 'ornburg. An' we need 'im in the 'ornburg with the Orcs passin' through the Gap nearly every day."

"I could go to the Hornburg."

"Yer meant to be in Aldberg where yer father wanted ye. Now, buck up. Get back on yer horse an' head back east. Ye've learned all ye can from me. It's back to work now, lad."

With a final nod, Eomer left the barn with his uncle. His eored was waiting for him a short distance off. He had received a message that Ridderion needed to speak with him and Eomer had made up a weak excuse of weapons trading to come to the Southfold and hear the news of Luna's attempts to pass through the Gap of Rohan. It was the first news he learned of her in over a year and while it seemed she had not traveled to the Mark to see him, at least she was safe. At least she was traveling away from the rumors of hard battletimes in Minas Tirith. He was not comforted in the least by the fact that she traveled with a man from Gondor and found himself wondering who this "prince-like" fellow could possibly be.

His second-in-command, Eothain, gave a small pat to Eomer's shoulder as re reunited with the group. "All's well?" he asked, pulling Firefoot by the reins towards Eomer. "Did we have the weapons your uncle needed?"

Eomer nodded. "Aye, but we'll need to do an inventory later. I can catch you up on supplies then."

The two mounted their horses and cried for the calvary to move forth. The two friends were used to speaking in cryptic code these days. New recruits joined the eoreds every day, it seemed. When a man's farm was burnt to the ground by the Wildmen, they had little option but to join an eored. It was the one way to guarantee a full belly in these times, even more so if you had a family to feed. And thus, Eomer and Eothain had no way of knowing if they could trust those in their company. Eothain was the one man in Aldberg Eomer risked speaking openly to. Even Eothain's wife, Fryda, was a risk to speak his mind to, for she had opened the doors of their home to many who had lost their own and he worried she might slip something he said to the wrong pair of ears.

He wished Theodred were with him. His cousin was truly the one person he knew he could trust, but the prince was forever occupied at his post in Helm's Deep, defending the Gap of Rohan from daily Orc attacks. So many attacks were there, that they often broke free from Theodred's grasp and raided the nearby villages. The defense of Rohan was now a daily task for all who bore the armor of the Riders of Rohan.

It was still early in the day and they would reach Meduseld by afternoon. This gave Eomer some comfort. He made his way to Meduseld as often as he could to check on his uncle and sister. Nothing ever really changed with his uncle. It had been nearly two years since he had been permitted to speak to him without Grima by his side. Theoden simply looked more and more withered with age each time Eomer saw him.

Eowyn was different. She still had youthful strength and was able to sit alone with Eomer, away from the worm. However, she never spoke much. She simply just wanted to be alone with Eomer away from any other in Meduseld, as much as their duties would allow.

Whoosh

Eomer's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden gust by his right ear. Ahead of him, a spear lodged itself into the earth and he pulled tight on the left of Firefoot's reins, turning him around. The eored moved with him and on the pursuit was a small band of Orcs, catching up to them quickly.

"Eothain, on my left! Forth Eorlingas!" he cried, pulling his sword from its sheath and swinging it toward the attackers. He kicked Firefoot and sent them both flying into the frey. It did not take long for his sword to meet flesh, sinking quickly in and out of the neck of the Orc he reached first. He shifted Firefoot again, expecting to clash with another gray-skinned monster, but instead, his weapon clashed with that of a Wildman, whose human eyes stared into Eomer with pure battlelust and hate. But the man stood no chance as Eomer quickly knocked the blunt sword out of his way and stuck his own into the man's chest.

The two kills were all he got as his eored quickly and easily overthrew the attackers. Eomer dismounted Firefoot and knelt down to the Wildman in their party. "Are there any other Men amongst the Orcs?" he called out.

"Aye, Marshal," one of his men called. "Two over here."

"And another over here, sir."

Eomer did a quick count. Twenty-two bodies and four belonged to men amongst Orcs. Never once had he seen Orcs fight alongside Men. He looked over the body of the Wildman he slew and picked up his weapon. On the hilt was painted a small white symbol. He had seen this symbol more than once.

"Another White Hand," he said to Eothain. "What do you make of it?"

"Two Orcs over there have the same symbol painted on their chest plates. That one has it on his helm. Do you know what it is?"

"No, but I'd bet my horse the Worm knows exactly what it means." He stood back up and walked over to the Orc with the painted helm and pulled it from his head, shaking off the black blood that now soaked it. "Burn the bodies and then back on your horses. We continue to Edoras with haste!"


Eomer dropped the helm on Meduseld's floor, the now dried blood of its former owner chipping off in places. Its loud clang echoed through the Hall. "This symbol," Eomer said, looking only into the face of his uncle, avoiding all contact with Grima that was possible. "Has been appearing more and more as the Orcs invade our lands. Now it is worn by the Wildmen who today we find fighting against us amongst a whole party of foul creatures. This is no coincidence."

Theoden's eyes were clouded and milky as they attempted to focus on the piece of armor. Eomer wondered if he could even see it. His wrinkled face held a tired look, as if he did not want to be at his throne and his breathing was weak and staggered as he spoke. "This could be merely trifles, Nephew."

"Wise words, my king," Grima called, stepping between Theoden and Eomer. "You bother your uncle with these silly speculations! What heart have you for an old, tired man to take up his time like this?"

"Step aside, Grima, or I will move you myself."

"You dare threaten me!" he cried, and Theoden's back stiffened and his eyes turned to Grima. "In the house of your King, you would threaten his most trusted advisor! Perhaps you should be escorted from the palace, Marshall Eomer, for you forget your place here! You come to Edoras to give reports, not to bother your king with mysteries you are seemingly incapable of solving yourself."

"Perhaps I might be of help in solving this 'mystery', as it were," a new voice said, entering the Hall.

"Gandalf?" Eomer said. "What are you doing here?"

"I come with news from Isengard and to offer my counsel to Theoden King."

"Our king needs no counsel from the likes of you," Grima spat. "Never do you come to Rohan with tidings, Gandalf the Grey. Gandalf Stormcrow, more like. Your presence here is not welcome."

"I would have your king tell me that himself, not you, witless worm!"

"What council could you offer me, Wizard?" Theoden wheezed from his throne.

"For one thing, your nephew is right to bring this symbol to your attention, for it represents the White Hand of Saruman. The Orcs that threaten your lands are servants of the White Wizard, sent through the Gap of Rohan from Isengard on his orders."

"Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally," Grima said. "You dare come to our steps and make such accusations! This is why I ordered your arrest the last time you came through the Mark, and now that you've returned, I shall have it! Marshal, arrest this-this Lathspell. I order you, in the name of the King."

"Enough!" Theoden said, his eyes focused for the first time since Eomer could remember. "Leave at once, Gandalf Greyhame. Take whatever horse will get you far from here with most haste and be gone from my kingdom. Do not return, for this shall be your last warning. If I see your face in these Halls again, you will beg for the ease of escape I give you now."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed at the King, but he did not argue. He simply bowed his head and turned to the door. "Eomer, come with me," he said.

"Marshal Eomer's audience with the King has not yet ended," Grima protested.

"The Marshal will see me off and make sure I keep my word." Eomer followed Gandalf out to the steps of Meduseld, the door closing behind them. "Your uncle's mind is clouded."

"It has been for some time. Gandalf, I don't understand. Why would Saruman send attacks our way? Grima is a liar, but he tells the truth of Saruman. He has long been a friend to the Riddermark."

"A friend he is no longer. Walk with me, young one."

Eomer noticed in the light of day that Gandalf was limping. There was also a nasty gash along the side of his forehead beneath the brim of his tall hat. "Gandalf, what happened to you?"

"It's just as I've said. Saruman is now your biggest threat from the north. Your cousin's post at the Hornburg keeps his offenses at bay, but the White Wizard grows his army every day."

"And the Dunlendings. He's recruited them, hasn't he?"

"Aye," he confirmed before reaching the bottom of the steps and letting out a loud, sharp whistle. "I fear you will not be able to convince your uncle of these terrors, Eomer lad, not with the Worm whispering in his ear. The most you can do is continue to lead Rohan's defenses. If Theodred calls for your aid, do not hesitate to ride to him, for he will need it when he calls."

"Of course. Where will you go?"

"North, to Rivendell. I've been delayed on my journey. Hopefully I'll be able to recuperate there."

"North? You ride north?"

"Aye, I've just said that. What is it, lad. Spit it out."

"It's just…I'm sure it is a fool's hope to think that your paths might cross, but a friend of mine was traveling north some months ago. The border patrol she encountered said she made for the Gap, but they sent her 'round the west borders of Rohan. These men are trusted by me. I've no idea where she travels to, I only learned of it today. But perhaps, if you were to see her, you could pass along my good will to her, and wishes for luck on her travels."

"A fool's hope it may be, but I tend to meet many on the road. What be her name?"

"Luna, Daughter of Callum."

Gandalf's eyebrows raised. "The Amrothian girl?"

"You know her?" said Eomer, surprised.

"I know of her. She was sent by Lord Denathor on a journey of most importance."

"Gondor's steward? What journey could she be tasked with from Gondor's steward? She is a healer from Dol Amroth."

"I have a feeling all answers will come to you in time, my young friend. I suspect my path will inevitably cross with her's in the coming weeks and I promise to pass along your tidings. Now," he said as they reached the edge of town. "This is where I leave you. Keep stout mind and heart, Eomer. And trust your instincts. It seems they will be your biggest asset in the days to come."

From the distance, Eomer could see a silver figure making its way towards them. "Hail, Shadowfax!" he heard a distant voice from the village call.

"Uncle will not be happy that this is the steed you've chosen."

"'Any horse that will get me far from the Mark with haste', the king said. This is that horse and your uncle should not be surprised that he is the one I claim. Now, I will take my leave. I bid you well Eomer, Son of Eomund."

Shadowfax, the greatest of the Mearas, approached them now. With one gentle leap, Gandalf mounted the steed, keeping a tight grip on his staff. And with a final tip of his hat, the Grey Wizard rode off to the northwest, leaving Eomer with even more questions he needed answered.


Two weeks passed before Luna saw any change in the road. The path they took now was different to what she had traveled with Boromir. While the two of them had made a wide trek west of the mountains to avoid Dunland and the Gap of Rohan, Gandalf and Aragorn had decided to take the road along the edge of the Misty Mountains and make for the Dimrill Dale. There was a path there through Carathadas called the Redhorn Gate where they could reach the other side of the mountain. It was the base of the mountain range where the terrain began to change and also the weather with it. As they moved south, the winds picked up, dropping the temperatures to an uncomfortable chill, though Luna did not complain.

"We have reached Hollin," Gandalf announced one afternoon. "I say we rest here, perhaps longer than the usual few hours. We could all use a thorough rest and these lands were occupied by Elves long ago. Much evil must befall a country before it wholly forgets the Elves, as it were. And there is a wholesomeness to the air here. Perhaps we may even risk a fire and tuck into a warm meal."

The Hobbits didn't need to be told twice. Their stout hearts made it through the walking and the weather with little to no complaints, but their stomachs growled loudest of the group and the simple meals of dried meats and fruits was nowhere near their satisfaction.

"I can go for a short hunt," Luna volunteered as the others began to remove their packs and set up camp. "We still have plenty of food, but any chance I can get I want to take it. The supplies will start to dwindle if I don't."

"Very well, but do not go far, nor alone."

"I can go with her," Boromir said, starting to strap his sword back to his waste.

"Oh, please stay, Boromir," Merry said, pulling some tomatoes from one of Bill's packs. "While the food cooks, I'd hoped to get in a lesson."

"You are a determined group, the four of you," Boromir said, giving Luna an apologetic look.

"But they are improving, you must admit," she said. "Are there any more takers?"

"I might join you," Legolas said. "And perhaps assist, if you would let me?"

"You might not get a chance, my Elf friend," Boromir said. "She is precise with that bow of her's and keen of ear for the wildlife."

"We shall see," the Elf said, following Luna into the trees. "You never told me how you discovered your hunting talent."

"Boromir's brother Faramir taught me. When he had breaks from the battlefield in Gondor, he would take me to the woods bordering Pennenor. We would hunt there, deer and rabbits mostly."

"I doubt we'll find many deer here along the road."

"What I wouldn't give for a fat duck to roast on the fire," Luna said.

"That way," Legolas pointed and started walking towards the east of the forest. He moved with no sound, much like Glorfindel had, and Luna did her best to keep silent behind him. Soon, she heard the splashing of water. From a break in the trees, Legolas had brought her to a pond where three ducks were swimming about. As quietly as possible, she pulled two arrows from her quiver and knocked the first into her bow, pulling it to her cheek. Legolas had done the same and held his pull, seemingly waiting for her to take the first shot. She released, and heard her arrow make contact with something. She was focused on knocking her second arrow, but Legolas had already taken a second shot, sinking it into the third duck's eye.

"As I said back in Rivendell, you are slow, but your aim is true," the Elf said as Luna made her way to the water's edge. Her arrow had made a clean shot through one of the ducks, just as Legolas's two had.

"I can't fathom how to do it," she said, reaching into the water and pulling two of the ducks by the neck. "How do you knock, pull, aim, and shoot all in mere seconds? I'll never be able to do that."

"You should never say never. I will work with you when next we take rest. All you need is practice and repetition."

She had pulled out a burlap sack from her pack and stuffed the birds inside. "I look forward to it. Clearly I have much room for improvement."

Back at the camp, the Hobbits cheered for the hunt's find and Sam sat with her while she plucked the feathers from the birds, watching his friends spar with Boromir. Soon, Luna was able to clean the creatures and spear them through a spit, placing them atop the fire and turning them about.

"Duck," Gimli gruffled as the smell of the meat took over the camp. "You two didn't find a goat or sheep out there instead?"

"The wilds are not much for livestock, master Dwarf," she said, earning a chuckle from Aragorn. By nightfall, the meat was done cooking. Boromir and the Hobbits tucked in, for they were exhausted from their practice. They had energy enough for a few songs and then it was time for sleep. Luna and Aragorn volunteered for first watch and the rest climbed into their cots and drifted off, bellies full of warm food for the first time since Rivendell.

"You know," Aragorn said in a whisper, late into the night. "I have been to Hollin many seasons, yet on this visit I have a sense of watchfulness and fear that I have never had here before."

"Perhaps it is brought on by the knowledge of what is carried in our party. That fact certainly can't bring you peace of mind."

"It is more than that," he insisted, bringing his finger to his lips. "Listen."

She did, the night around her absolutely silent, but for the occasional swish of Bill's tail or the grunt of a Hobbit in his sleep. And the longer she listened, the silence was so clear that it made every sound around her seem loud as drums. Soon, in the distance, she heard the loud squawk of a crow, startling her into a jump.

"Come with me," Aragorn said, pulling her into the thickets of brush near their sight. Their companions were deep into a hollow surrounded by bushes and concealed well in the night. Aragorn pointed up in the sky and against the light of the moon, Luna could see a thick murder of crows making their way across the darkness, cawing against the wind. They flew low, much lower than crows usually flew. Luna had the strangest feeling that the crows were looking for something, scouting the land of Hollin. "Stay very still," Aragorn whispered into her ear. She did not move until the murder had passed and Aragorn stood up straight, walking back into the hollow and over to Gandalf, waking him and telling the Wizard what they saw.

"These were not crows native to this land," Aragorn insisted. "They were sent here. Crebain from Fanghorn and Dunland, though what they were looking for, I can't be certain, but our fire has made little smoke and we were well hidden amongst the brush."

"We can't risk another fire to break our fast," Gandalf said. "And Hollin is no longer safe for us. If the crebain are watching here, they are certainly watching the Redhorn Gate as well. We will need another path through the Mountains. Wake the rest. We must leave at once."

The party moved through the land with quick feet, hastily packing up the camp and setting back out on the road. Only Pippin complained about the cold breakfast, scarfing down his bread (which was not buttered and toasted the way he liked it) in three quick bites.

For three more days, they continued in this state. They did not see the crebain again, but more than once Luna felt what might have been their presence, for she had a stubborn feeling that they were being watched as they traveled, sleeping in the day and moving quickly through the night. With their new pace, the party soon reached the base of Caradhras, a mighty peak of the Misty Mountains.

Gandalf pulled Aragorn and Luna aside from the group as they took rest. "Winter deepens behind us. The heights away north are whiter than they were; snow is lying far down their shoulders. Tonight we shall be on our way high up towards the Redhorn Gate. We may well be seen by watchers on that narrow path, and waylaid by some evil; but the weather may prove a more deadly enemy than any. What do you two think of this course now?"

"I think no good of this course from beginning to end, as you know well, Gandalf," Aragorn said. "And perils of unknown will grow as we go on. But we must go on; and it is no good our delaying the passage of the mountains. Further south there are no passes, till one comes to the Gap of Rohan. I do not trust that way since your news of Saruman. Who knows which side now the marshals of the Horse-lords serve."

"They would never stop serving their king," Luna defended.

"Aye, we agree on that," Aragorn said. "But suppose their King is giving orders that do not align with our mission."

"Indeed," Gandalf said. "The Theoden I have met recently is not the Theoden of past, that much is certain. But, there is another way, and not by the pass of Caradhras. The dark and secret way that we have spoken of."

"I thought we agreed that way was most tarried," Luna said. "Unpredictable as possibly full of danger?"

"I did not expect Caradhras to be this sullied by winter so soon in the season," Gandalf said mournfully. "I fear our little Hobbit friends might not withstand the journey."

"Not just the Hobbits," Aragorn said. "A snowy mountain would test us all, perhaps even Legolas. I say we weigh the matter in our minds a bit longer, after rest and sleep."

"Agreed," Luna said, though she knew her opinion wouldn't change. She was more than willing to risk the snow and mountains if it meant avoiding the alternate path. She left the two of them and made her way to the campsite, taking off her pack and unfolding her cot. She noticed Boromir then, his gray eyes focused on Frodo. The Hobbit had curled up in his own cot with one of the extra blankets carried by their pony. Boromir watched him intently, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"You should rest while you can," Luna whispered to him, not wanting to wake the others. Boromir said nothing, continuing his stare on Frodo. "Boromir?" she said, just a little bit louder this time.

"Hmm?" he said, pulling his gaze from Frodo. His eyes were clouded and he gave a small shake of his head. "Sorry, must have dozed off."

"You seemed wide awake to me," she said, stepping towards him. "Is something on your mind?"

"What is on every mind here in the Fellowship? How fares our travel? Will I find sleep in this frigid cold, pursued by crows with eyes and minds of the enemy?"

"No thoughts of the Ring?"

His eyes narrowed. "I care not for that trifle, as you have asked of me. Do you question my honor?"

He spoke in a way similar to the beginning of their journey all those months ago, short and annoyed. "I'm sorry," Luna muttered, pulling her boots off slowly. "I shouldn't have said anything."

He let out a deep breath. "No, you shouldn't have. But you are tired, we all are. Get some rest, that mountain will not be tame on any of us tomorrow."

She crawled into her blankets, savoring the warmth they brought as winter closed in around her. This was what she feared the most of their travels and she was grateful it would be now, at the beginning of their journey. She had never experienced a true winter, at least that she could remember. The snow that capped the mountain ahead was the first snow she had seen since her childhood before Dol Amroth. She hardly remembered what it was like, but she knew she would not fare well in the cold.

More than the cold, however, she noticed Boromir's eyes creeping back onto Frodo, and the thought of climbing the mountain was replaced by concern for him. For she knew he lied when he said he did not think of the Ring.


When their rest was over, the company prepared to brave the snow, gathering at Boromir's suggestion, a bearable amount of wood each to warm themselves, should fire prove necessary to face the cold. As they began to climb, Luna met snow again for the first time since her distant childhood. The snow was light at first, dusting the mountainside in a thin blanket, but the further and further they climbed, the snow grew in height. Luna's feet sank into the frozen water, but the moisture thankfully did not penetrate her Elf-made boots.

As they neared midnight, the snow began to fall at an alarming rate, packing itself into the trail of the mountain. Their pace slowed as Luna and the other Big Folk had to help the Hobbits through the thick piles of white. Gimli denied every offer of assistance, trudging through at his own pace. "How high have we climbed?" Luna called to Aragorn, whose figure, like all of her companions, was becoming hard to see through the thick fall of snow.

"Not even high, yet," he called back. "This is what I feared."

"I wonder if this is the contrivance of the enemy," Boromir said. "They say in our land that he can govern the storms in the Mountains of Shadow that stand along the borders of Mordor. He has strange powers and many allies."

"His arm is long, indeed," Gandalf agreed.

They decided to rest for a while so that the Hobbits could catch their feet again, but after the break, the snow continued to fall at such alarming rates. Luna swore she would utter not a single complaint on this trip, for she knew it would be all too easy for some to view her as the weak link, only brought along to help feed the others and assist only when needed. She had learned years ago that, if that was what men thought of her, there was nothing she could do to change that. All she could do was prove, at the very least, that she was not a burden. So, though she could no longer feel her fingers beneath her gloves and her arms begged to wrap around her chest to keep her warm, she gripped Merry's shoulders, helping him over the mounds of snow, wondering how their bare Hobbit feet could be surviving the plunges of ice.

Her assistance to them did little good, however. It became clear that the Hobbits could go on no further. Even Boromir showed signs of struggle. His face, which had turned red with cold, was now going white. "That's enough," he said, making his way towards her and Merry. "You're killing yourself helping them through the snow."

"I am far from dead, Boromir."

"You cannot see your face. Flushed red it was, to help keep you warm, now you match the white of the snow. Come here." He pulled her into him and he began to rub at her back and her arms. She thought of protesting, but whatever warmth was to be found on this mountain, Boromir somehow still possessed it and she couldn't resist.

Around them, the rest of the company halted. The wind grew to sharp speeds, cutting through any exposed skin they all had. Rocks began to fall from the cliffsides. "We cannot go further tonight," Boromir called to the front. "There are fell voices in the air. These rocks and snow that fall, it would seem are aimed at us."

"I fear you are right," Aragorn said. "This cliffside will have to serve as our shelter for the night."

"Shelter?" Luna heard Sam mutter to Frodo. "Well if this is shelter, then one wall and no roof make a house."

They all gathered together as close to the cliffside as they could. Luna tried to muster up strength to help set up the campsite, but Boromir continued to hold her close and pulled her with him to the ground. With his help, though she was far from warm, her muscles started to thaw and crack back to life, allowing the tension from the cold to release while in his arms. Her eyes soon began to droop. "Luna?" Boromir whispered, but she did not stir. "This will be the death of the Halflings, Gandalf," he said.

"The death of them or the death of her?" Gimli said.

"The death of all of us, if we do not find a way through this," Boromir snapped. "They already need assistance raising their legs through it. Soon it will bury you too, Master Dwarf. We must do something to save ourselves."

He huffed, but said nothing further.

They stayed in silence for a bit longer. Luna's shivering soon started again and Boromir could tell she no longer slept, though she kept her eyes closed. The Hobbits too were awake, but the snowfall had engulfed them. Aragorn and Legolas had to help fish them out from under the blanket that had grown atop them.

"Boromir is right," Gandalf said after a time, pulling something from the pockets of his robes. "Pass this around. Just a mouthful each, for everyone. It is miruvor, the cordial of Imladris. Elrond gave it to me at our parting."

When the vial reached Boromir, he brought it to Luna's lips. "Give mine to Frodo," she said, opening her eyes for the first time. "Or whomever needs it most."

"Please drink, Miss Luna," Frodo said, the shiver gone from his voice. "You will feel better, I promise. I already do."

Boromir whispered in her ear. "Do not be a fool. You have nothing to prove."

"The Dwarf would disagree."

"The Dwarf should learn to keep his opinions to himself. Drink from the vial, Luna."

She wanted to protest again, but could see the color coming back to the Hobbit's cheeks. She allowed Boromir to tilt the vial into her mouth and she took a gulp. It was warm, much warmer than his arms and as she swallowed, it brought strength back into her bones. Her eyes opened, wide awake and a sense of calm overcame her. She watched as Boromir took his own drink and passed it to Aragorn and felt his arms tighten around her once again with a revitalized strength.

"What do you say to fire?" Boromir asked. "The choice seems near now between fire and death."

"Build a fire, if you can," Gandalf agreed. "If there are any watchers that can endure this storm, then they can already see us, fire or not."

It took multiple tries before they admitted flint would not grow a fire for them in this weather as the snow continued to fall. Though the miruvor had done a great deal to steady Luna's spirits, it did little for the cold that had started to consume her from the inside. She thought of climbing further up the mountain, where the snow probably fell even thicker and faster and admitted to herself that she would not be able to make it much further. Through rest, she had managed to regain feeling in her fingers, but she knew that as soon as she started walking again, using her hands to move the Hobbits through the snow, she would lose that feeling all too fast. Her nose and cheeks would burn with the pain of the wind and chill.

She couldn't believe she had lost her nerve almost as soon as the quest had begun.

Gandalf pulled out his staff and spoke a whispered incantation. Almost immediately, a blue flame burst from the top and the Wizard used it to light the pile of wood at their feet. The entire group huddled around the flame, savoring the warmth. Luna thought about the flames going out and her nerve died yet again. It was no use. They would have to turn back.