Well, it's been AGES and AGES, but I finally found some time and inspiration to post a chapter. Hope you all enjoy! Also, this is my longest chapter yet! Huzzah.
Please take a moment to REVIEW if you get a chance. I love hearing what people think!
Disclaimer: ALL of this is Tolkien's. Anariel is mine but she is a poor shadow inspired by Tolkien's genius.
Several days passed by, each one feeling much like the one before – tired feet, cold hands, blisters, rocks, and the intermittent rush of finding a place to hide as the crebain flew overhead. But slowly, Caradhras seemed a bit closer and their progress became more evident. Sam was ready to find "that fiery mountain" and Anariel laughed grimly to herself at his optimism, not having the heart to tell him just how far they were from journey's end.
Anariel shivered and pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, tucking loose strands of her hair into her collar. The wind had gone round to the northeast and the chill was unmistakable. Winter was deepening. Anariel caught whispering behind her and glanced back to see Aragorn and Gandalf deep in conversation. She only made out a couple words before Aragorn's soft but deep voice seemed to be picked up by the wind and carried straight towards her.
"I think no good of our course from beginning to end, as you know well. But we must go on; and it is no good delaying the passage of the mountains. I do not trust the Gap of Rohan since the news of Saruman. And who knows which side the Horse-lords now serve?"
"Indeed, but there is another way…the secret way that we have spoken of."
"Let us not speak of it again! Not until it is plain that there is no other way…"
The voices faded off and Anariel could no longer make out any words. She frowned to herself and shivered. She wondered at this "secret way" that Gandalf mentioned and that the Lord Aragorn seemed so loath to speak of. She had heard genuine fear in his voice. What could be so terrible and so grim? There was no other pass over the mountains…not over the mountains. Anariel quickly lifted her head and darted a glance back at Aragorn. Gandalf was no longer beside him but had placed himself further up the line beside Frodo. Aragorn seemed deep in thought, studying the ground before him as if it held the answers to all of life's riddles. But he felt her eyes and looked at her sharply with his grey eyes. He smiled. And Anariel forced her head forward before she did something silly, like blush or trip. But she felt an answering smile tug at her cheeks and her face did not feel quite so cold.
But still, the worry that was so clearly emanating from Aragorn had her on edge. And her mind soon returned to her reason for examining him in the first place. The only other way that Gandalf could possibly be referring to…and she felt cold once more. Her only comfort was that Aragorn at least seemed somewhat confident that the pass of Caradhras would prove successful. But Gandalf didn't seem quite so confident. She must wait. That was all she could do. Wait and see.
Aragorn's mind was a blizzard of doubts and fears. As they neared Caradhras, its sides glowing dim red in the setting sun, his heart grew heavier within him. Gandalf had grudgingly agreed to pursue the mountain pass. Aragorn knew that Gandalf would be more than happy to be proven wrong in this instance. The pass was much preferable to the other way. But Gandalf's heart told him that they would be driven to darker ways. And Aragorn trusted the wizard's wisdom and intuition far too much to not be affected by his premonitions. But Aragorn would not risk her…the company. The company and their mission—they could not risk it on a whim. Caradhras may be watched, it may be dangerous but the danger seemed the far lesser evil to risk than that other path. He could not protect her…them nearly so well in the darkness of the mines.
He felt her eyes and glanced up, flashing a bright smile before he could even think of what he was doing. She was so…radiant. There was no other word for it. He knew that to the eyes of the elves she was fading, her elven glow lost to the choice of mortality. But to him she was fire. It wasn't just because of her hair, though it did show like a splash of dragon-fire amidst the dull grey garb of the fellowship. No, it was her spirit and the warmth of her soul, the fiery passion of her personality and the quick smile that lit her sparkling blue eyes…
He shook himself out of his musings just in time to avoid tripping over a log that was lying across the path. She was a flame—but a flame that could be extinguished at any moment. And that was why they must make every effort imaginable to cross the pass. The other option was too dreadful to think on.
Curse Boromir! Why did he have to be so…practical? She grumbled as a sharp knot of wood sank into her back and she hoisted the faggot of wood higher, pushing her once more wayward hair off her face. She grudgingly acknowledged the sense in having each person carry a bit of wood up the mountain…even though she had said that it would take hardly any of her powers to prevent hypothermia. But would they listen? Aragorn's eyes had twinkled and Legolas had outright chuckled at her when she had told Boromir that if he expected her to carry a block of wood up the mountain to warm his toes, then he should not expect any help from her if a block of ice fell on top of him. She thought he must have picked an extra large, extra pointy piece of wood for her in retribution. It kept sliding and the path was getting narrower.
As the light dimmed further, snow started to fall. But the gentle snowflakes soon became thicker and thicker, the wind blowing harder and stinging her cheeks. The snow was soon ankle-deep. Anariel stumbled as she hit a slippery spot, her knee buckling. The wood tumbled off her back, crashing down into the small ravine next to the path.
The company halted at the sound of the wood hitting the rocks. Boromir glared back at Anariel.
"I'm sorry?" she said innocently, arching her eyebrow and daring Boromir to scold her. Legolas helped her to her feet and she quickly brushed off her trouser. Boromir rolled his eyes and turned forward. The wind had died down.
"You alright?" Legolas asked. She smiled up at him.
"You worry too much. Beside, I'm better now that I'm not lugging Boromir's foot-warmer along with me."
Aragorn's deep chuckle sounded behind her and she caught his eye.
"The wind has died down since we stopped," she said, suddenly serious. "Coincidence?"
Aragorn's eyes grew grave.
"I have had too much experience with traps, Anariel, to believe that anything is a coincidence."
As soon as they started up the hill again, the wind returned with a vengeance. The snow became a blinding blizzard and soon even Boromir had a hard time continuing on. The hobbits were bent nearly double and it was plain they could not continue if the snow kept on. Anariel was in much the same situation, only being about a head taller than the shortest of the hobbits. Her feet felt like ice and she could hear even Gimli grumbling behind her.
Soon the company halted. They heard screeches and cackles on the air, like a flurry of voices taunting and mocking them. Stones began to fall from the higher cliffs, crashing on the path and whistling past their heads.
Finally, Boromir said the words that Anariel had been praying for since the first rock tumbled terrifyingly close to her head.
"We cannot go on tonight! These stones are not accidental."
"What can we do?" cried Pippin. He was leaning on Merry and shivering violently. Anariel gathered up her strength and pushed her way over to him. She gently placed her hands on his cheeks, her eyes falling shut. There was a brief, dull glow that lit her hands where they rested on his face and her hair grew just a bit brighter. Pippin stopped shivering.
"It's not much," Anariel sighed as she let her hands fall to her sides. She felt a bit colder but the simple transfer of heat had not taken much energy and Pippin looked less like an icicle.
Gandalf was looking proudly at her and Gimli was slightly suspicious. Legolas and Aragorn were smiling while Boromir kept glancing around at the whirling snow.
"We must either stop here or go back," Gandalf said. "It's no good going on."
"It's no good going back either, while the storm still holds," said Aragorn, seeming to tear his eyes away from Anariel's hair where they had been fixed since she'd helped Merry. She tried to keep the blush at bay, but it was hard to do so when she was so cold and the warmth was welcome. At least no one would be able to tell…all of their faces were red and chapped from the icy wind.
"But we have come across no place on the way up that offered more shelter than this cliff-wall we are under now," said Boromir.
"Shelter?" exclaimed Sam. "If this is shelter, what do you consider a house?"
The fellowship now pushed together, as close to the cliff as they could. Anariel found herself gently tugged towards the center of the group, along with the hobbits. Bill the pony stood dejectedly in front, the snow swirling into drifts and slowly creeping up his legs. Anariel felt hands on her hood and looked up. Aragorn was standing in front of her, his hands tugging her hood up over her head. He smiled down at her and she returned it sleepily. The cold was becoming dull and numbing…she knew that she was in serious danger of hypothermia. But she couldn't warm herself. It wouldn't work. Her eyes began to float shut…
Through her hazy thoughts she felt another tug and then warmth, an almost blazing warmth, on her cheek. Slowly, she opened her eyes as her mind began to clear a bit from the added warmth. She saw a familiar tunic and felt a pair of arms wrapped strongly around her. Once again, a cloak was thrown over her head and she recognized the smell, like autumn leaves and pipe tobacco and fresh mountain air. He was holding her again. As soon as the thought came, another wave of warmth crept through her and she lifted her eyes. She could see his chin through the gap in the cloak and she couldn't help but realize that he looked very cold. She was just about to lift a hand to help when his voice rumbled through his chest - the very solid chest that her cheek was now resting on.
"This will be the death of the hobbits, Gandalf! We must do something."
She couldn't hear Gandalf's answer but she felt Aragorn shift slightly and then the cloak was pulled back and a blast of cold air hit her face. His grey eyes peered down at her keenly.
"Here. Drink this," he said gently and handed her a flask. As she took a small drink of the familiar cordial, she realized…he hadn't tried to apologize for holding her this time. A smile flitted across her lips and after handing the flask on to Frodo, she only hesitated a second before burying her face once more into his warm, solid chest.
The miruvor revived the company but the snow did not relent. The wind blew louder and the snow whirled thicker.
"What do you say about a fire now?" Boromir asked, only casting a brief smirk in Anariel's direction. She was far too comfortable in her present position to care. She thought Aragorn's arms seemed to tighten around her slightly, but it was hard to tell.
Gandalf assented to trying for a fire but in the snow and wind it surpassed all of their abilities to strike a flame—until Gandalf reluctantly lent a hand. The light of the fire lifted their spirits and Aragorn shifted Anariel closer, keeping her tucked close to his side. Anariel felt the feeling slowly return to her fingertips, though her legs and feet were still like blocks of ice. She turned to peer shyly up at Aragorn.
"My lord, are you not cold? Your back is bearing the brunt of the snow and wind," she asked softly. He smiled down at her.
"It is not so bad, my lady," he teased. But a slight shiver to his voice gave him away and she looked at him thoughtfully.
"Aragorn, if not for you, I would have succumbed to the cold long ago. Let me help." She lifted a hand gently to his face, keenly aware of the weight of his eyes on her face and the roughness of his beard on her palm. Her fingertips rested right below his eye and she let hers fall shut once more. She could feel the warmth flowing out of her hand, seeping into his skin. And then she sagged slightly. That was harder…she had less warmth to give and if it wasn't for the fire she doubted she'd have had that much. She let her hand slowly slide off his face. She felt him shiver again and quickly opened her eyes to glance at his face.
"Are you still cold? Did that help?" she asked anxiously, scanning his face for any sign that it hadn't worked. But then her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were burning. No longer cool grey, they held a fire in their depths that Anariel had not yet seen. He swallowed thickly.
"I am not. And yes. It did."
She was going to be the death of him. He was on fire—blizzard or no blizzard her flame was going to consume him. He'd been worried as soon as the snow started. She was not much larger than the hobbits and significantly thinner. She would freeze first out of the Fellowship, he was sure of it. And then the blizzard grew and grew. She had helped Pippin and he had tried, without success, to ignore the flash of jealousy that shot through him at seeing her small, slim hands cupping the hobbit's face. She was mesmerizing. He had not seen her heal or help anyone yet and he was astonished at how angelic she looked—no, not angelic. Her light was so vibrant and real and very human. She was very human. A thought that was at the forefront of his mind as they were forced to take shelter against the cliff.
He might not be able to give her everything that he might wish, but he could give her the warmth she could not give herself and without thinking his arms immediately reached for her. Not a moment too soon, it seemed, because she hardly even seemed aware of what he had done. Once more, he found that she fit perfectly into the circle of his arms, her soft shape molding to the hard planes of his, her head tucked into his chest. He hesitated to pull his cloak over her face, a face he rather liked looking at with soft, curling lashes resting on lightly freckled cheeks, but her skin was quickly turning paler.
What was he doing? Taking advantage of the situation, a small voice told him. And he almost forced himself to let go of her but her shivers forbade him—he might be enjoying this too much, but he was also legitimately trying to keep her alive. Gandalf's fire meant that he could loosen his grip slightly and remove the cloak. And then her blue eyes finally locked on his and they were bright and blazing and alive and he would never be the same again. He knew this with a finality that startled him. Her soft fingertips rested on his cheekbone like feathers and when she passed heat into his body he felt not only warmth, but fire. Her fire. She had set him ablaze and it was all he could do to not just lean down and kiss her then and there, to set her ablaze as well, to kindle a flame that would never be put out until the time of men was ended.
But the moment passed—the last faggot of wood had been used and the fire was starting to die. He shook himself. It would do no good to give into these desires. He may die. She may…Not the time. He had sworn to himself that he would not ask for any woman's promise until he was sure of his place. His heart had different ideas, but he would not be swayed by it. And so, as the company made ready to head back down the mountain, he forced his arms to release her.
He had never felt more cold.
Please REVIEW! :)