-Shadows on the Snow-

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (violence)

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters.

Special Note: In this chapter I introduce the character Roheryn (though he was in earlier chapters unnamed). I introduce this Tolkien character differently than the way it is thought that Roheryn was given to Aragorn. Though I really don’t like changing things from the way it really is, I have taken the liberty to say that Lady Arwen did NOT give Roheryn to Aragorn. I did however keep to having the horse be somehow connected to Arwen by the name. So please don’t get mad at me for changing it. If PJ makes unnecessary changes…(so that doesn’t make it right but…). This is fiction, I’ve said that a million times.

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Shadows on the Snow

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Falmarin, and the black struck a ghostly site flying down the shadowed streets, one glowing eerily, while the other bled into the black night like a gaping hole in the air. That is it was magnificent if you didn’t notice Gorban lopping behind with Nienna goading him faster. The grey elvish horse had sensed his master.

Then from the shadows materialized a group of men, torches raised. Falmarin screamed in rage at the inconvenience. He had no time for this delay! Two men drew near to quickly retreat again as two sharp hooves struck out. The black beside him pivoted sharply at Gorban’s gasping bray. Three men had managed to throw a noose over the donkey’s head, drawing back quickly and tightening to the rope tightly around the creature’s neck. Gorban thrashed and pulled, bucking and fighting to be loose of the choking thing. The donkey rushed a man, butting his head forcefully into the unlucky mortal’s chest, sending the man flying back. But again, the noose yanked him back. Gorban brayed in rage, one of the packs on his back caught his captor in the stomach, unfortunately ripping it off as it got caught. But the result was the man’s grip loosened just enough to allow the donkey to pull away, aided by the teeth of the black.

Falmarin had had enough. The elvish horse drew back on his hocks, muscles coiling like iron rope. Never had any man in all Hollin witnessed a horse leap the way that Falmarin did.

---

For a moment, for all the time that Legolas had to think, he regretted having not surveyed the safety of the fall. But in that same split second, he knew he needn’t worry about a thing. With a sharp twist, he landed faultlessly astride Falmarin. The snort that the grey chastised him with sounded absolutely peeved. No doubt, the horse had already sensed his rider’s injury and was preparing a scathing lecture.

Aragorn landed likewise, though on whom, he was not entirely sure. The horse was foreign to him, yet…yet there was a feeling, a feeling of strange familiarity. For the present he pushed the thought aside as best he could. The black shifted, balancing the rider carefully and precisely, almost undetectably.

Fasse did land in one piece at least, though not quite with the finesse of his two counterparts. The breath was knocked out of his lungs with an audible whoosh when he landed draped across Gorban’s bony back like a sack of potatoes. The lumpy donkey brayed, suddenly twisting his head and hitting something hard against the wizard’s noggin. Fasse yelped, grabbing at the article, then realizing that it was his staff chortled nervously in abashed thanks. His chortle turned quickly into a frightened howl as the lumpy donkey lunged off at an awkward gallop after the two larger horses with Fasse clinging desperately to his back.

Already lights were flickering to life in the small huts and shops as the ruckus woke villagers. Bringing their candles and lamps to the windows, they peered out with wide eyes at the sight of the horses and riders tearing down the snow and mud churned lane with the shouts of men following. But their rage was in vain, as the speed of the horses was not to be matched by any in all Hollin save the horse that Nevens had lost to the elf.

Nevens, at that very moment stood shaking on the stairs of the manor. The small man screamed at the hapless guards to ride out and find the elf, but his power would be short lived.

"Master Nevens, you are relieved of your duties." A much taller man, with a voice deeper than the mines of Moria commanded the former horsetrader’s thoughts.

Nevens turned slowly to face the highest official in this certain settlement of Eregion. "Sir! What are you doing here?"

"You allowed the elf and man to escape and so you have failed in your duties." The powerful man motioned another to his side. "Bind this man, I will decide his punishment in the morning."

And so you could say that this was the untimely and abrupt end of Nevens’ part in this tale. He was condemned for betrayal to his people, but then later after a death of old age, some said he had been framed. Twisted isn’t it?

---

The snow lay nestled in the crooks of the bare branches of the trees, and strewn in an even blanket as deep as the horses’ cannon bones. It was a blessing that it was only this deep. If the winter turned out to be harsh as expected, then they would need to travel with all haste.

Situations were definitely not for the best, and yet not for the worse. They had taken stock of their supplies, finding that half of their gathered items had been ripped from Gorban’s pack. Still, they were not completely without supplies. By Aragorn’s approximation, they were around two weeks out of the borders of Rohan. Unspoken, but known to Legolas, that was adding in potentially bad weather. They did not speak of it for Fasse’s sake. The wizard was frazzled enough by their near escape. Morning had risen, shadowed by heavy clouds. They might have been free of the iron bars of the prison of the town, but they had yet to be free of the wild.

Aragorn settled into the easy jog, the black kept easily at, despite the snow. If he closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to drift, he could almost imagine he was back on Ralamir, jogging easily through the meadows near Imladris. The black’s gate felt so much like his Ralamir had…

Legolas noticed the shift in his friend’s demeanor. The warring feelings drifted plainly across Aragorn’s face. The elf could not determine whether it was for the better or for the worse. It seemed that the man was lost in thought and memories from the smile that touched the corners of his lips at times. Legolas knew that look well. "Are your thoughts ever attuned to the Lady?"

Aragorn looked at his friend, who bore knowing grin. "Why would make you think that?"

Legolas laughed. Falmarin snorted. "Just the dreamy look in your eyes, and the slouched posture."

The ranger subconsciously straightened. "You know me too well, Master Elf." He leaned forward in the saddle, which had previously been born by Ralamir, patting the black’s neck.

"What shall you call him?" Legolas nodded to the horse. He watched Aragorn’s reaction to his question closely, fearing that the man would not accept this friendship the horse offered him.

Strider pondered this, then smiled lightly. "Roheryn, I think."

Legolas let out a cry of indignation. "You cannot be serious, Estel! You are speaking of a horse, man, not a scarf." Falmarin twitched his ears.

"A horse would be a proud bearer of such a title," Aragorn defended.

"I do not think the Lady Arwen would find it such an honor that you thought a horse worthy of being named after her." He held up a hand, begging the black’s forgiveness, "I mean no offense against you, understand."

"Of course she would, you know as well as I that the Lady is a lover of horses."

Legolas could not help but laugh. "You are a strange man, Estel. But he is your horse now and it is to be your choice. Roheryn it is. At least you did not name him Arwen." Roheryn tossed his head, whickering deeply, pleased, whatever the meaning, to have a name. Any friend of the elf would be his master.

---

The snow had begun to fall again after a short respite. It was not a heavy fall, but it forebode of worsening weather. Fasse huddled atop Nienna, Legolas’s cloak wrapped tightly around him. If the elf said he didn’t need it, who was he to pass up an extra source of warmth? With his staff across his knees, he struck a pitiful sight. At least there had been no more wild beasts. That is, of course, besides the three horses and Gorban. At least they weren’t continuously trying to gobble him. He hoped that as long as the elf and the man were here to hold the carnivorous beasts back he might be able to sleep, for a short time at least.

The dull light of day had been short lived. Already the grey, dreary illumination had faded to near total darkness. Aragorn had yet to call a halt, much to Fasse’s dismay, saying that when yet he could see the way, even in the dimmest light, he would not stop. "I have no desire to become a frozen artifact to be stumbled upon some thousand years from now."

But eventually, even to Aragorn’s near faultless tracking, it became too hard to see even Roheryn’s ears in front of him. He dare not risk becoming lost, or walking in circles. Reluctantly, they took shelter beside the hallow of a fallen oak. They dug in beside it, carving out a nest in the snow just large enough for the three to huddle close. Aragorn noticed with slight amusement that Legolas looked none too thrilled at the prospect of spending the night in such close contact with two very, pungent, individuals. The elf had wrinkled his nose ever so slightly and volunteered, a bit too eagerly, to take the watch for the night.

"Grub and toenails, ‘tis cold tonight!" Fasse astutely observed. He frowned when he noticed that the elf had yet to reclaim his cloak. Hesitantly, he drew the cloak off from around his hunched shoulders, wading stiffly through the snow, laying the elvish raiment beside Legolas.

The elf shook his head, pushing the garment back to the shivering wizard. "Keep it, I have no need of it."

Fasse blinked, then blinked again. "But won’t you?"

The elven prince smiled and laughed, warming Fasse’s heart. "Nay, friend, must I remind you that I am an elf?"

The wizard apparently did not understand the significance. He had heard tell that elves were not as susceptible to the mortal feeling of unpleasant cold or uncomfortable warmth. He had even been witness to a small degree of it in his short travels with Legolas. But, it was really cold! "But wouldn’t your wound at least, eh, downgrade your special-ness a smidgen?"

Legolas chuckled, squeezing the fuddled wizard’s arm. "Don’t ask, just take it. I’ve already had this discussion with Strider." Legolas rolled his eyes at the snort that came from the direction of the ranger.

Well, Fasse certainly wouldn’t argue if the elf wanted to be cold.

---

Much to all of their great relief, that night was absent of any warg attacks, men seeking to imprison them or any other ‘adventures’. Legolas also reported happily that he had sensed nothing that was amiss in the woodland, besides of course that the snows had come far too early. They rose before the dreary dawn when the white land was still hidden from the whisper of the sun. Aragorn brewed a pot – an item that Fasse had insisted upon bringing for which they were all grateful - of tea from melted snow. It was bitter to the tongue, but it warmed the body, unfreezing Fasse’s stiff joints.

Unfortunately for Legolas, Aragorn forbade them from continuing until he had checked over Legolas’s injury. The elf franticly tried to shove off the man’s hands, trying to reason with Aragorn that he, was "just fine". But the ranger would not be put off, and the elf had witnessed his friends stubborn resolution – rivaling the elf prince’s father - when it came to the health of his companion.

Finally, after ten minutes of arguing, Aragorn appeased and satisfied called for them to start the day’s long leg.

Legolas was the envy of Aragorn and Fasse. He sat tall and proud atop Falmarin, clad lightly in his usual raiment of free moving material. Why could he not even get goosebumps?

"The air changes, Aragorn." The elf cast his eyes to the angered sky. "No longer does it forebode of ill weather, it heralds it."

"Then we will continue to proceed with all haste, turning back is not an option now, I fear. The Hollin men will be watchful for our retreat from the elements." Aragorn joined Legolas’s gaze to the horizon, as they passed from the scant cover of trees. "If this weather holds and does not worsen dramatically, we may reach the ruins of Tharbad by tonight. There we may find some shelter for the night." Aragorn nudged Roheryn into a slow jog, the strong horse plowing a way for the followers. In his mind he mapped the course they would take. It would have to remain much the same as the way he had planned before leaving the haven of Imladris. He would not hazard cutting through Dunland from their position. It would be foolish to try and spare a few hours with the threat of running into the hostile folk of that land. He could feel Legolas’s eye on his back, awaiting his decision. "From there we will join the Old South Road."

Legolas’s shoulders stiffened unconsciously. Why was it that his heart shivered from a black breath at the prospect of passing so close to Isengard? Was the wizard, Saruman, not a friend to the free peoples, why should he feel ill towards the Istar? Yet something did quake within him, whispering a warning in his mind. He did his best to push it aside, knowing that all his fears and feelings could not be accurate. After all, he was but a prince, and a trivial one at that. With the rate at which the Firstborn were leaving the shores of Middle-earth, he would most likely never need to bear the weight of kingship.

The elf twisted a strand of Falmarin’s mane in his fingers, absentmindedly. Whatever it was, he prayed that his feelings were misgiving thoughts due to the hard journey. He laughed inwardly, maybe he could even blame it on his wound.