-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.

Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild.

Note: I have gone through much toil trying to bring up excuses this story might fit in with the event of the books. I can only guess that this comes a good two years to two and a half before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring and the War of the Ring. I had to figure a way to get Legolas back in Mirkwood before the Council scene so Gollum can do his thing, and Aragorn on the prowl with the hobbits. I think this slides in okay. With the help of Tehalanae (and some other wonderful people) on the Mellon Chronicles group (shameless plug for Cassia and Sio) I took her estimates and plugged them in with some average traveling time to get my overall time this story takes up, and I think it works! One more thing. I’m relying on the observation from both book and movie that as in the last one, Imladris is almost held in an eternal autumn. That is why it is only just now fading, and for one it started so early as seen in Rising Storm. I actually made this observation before PJ or whoever said it in the Extended Edition DVD. I’m so pleased with myself. ‘Nuff babbling.

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Shadows on the Snow

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Aragorn crouched near the crackling fire. The wargs had drawn much closer this night, their courage was growing. As sickening as it was, he knew that if the pack struck as a coordinated body, then they would certainly overwhelm the three travelers. What was worse was the sleepless nights and grueling travel had begun to tell on all of them, except perhaps upon Legolas, but even he, as an elf, seemed to shine less in the darkness.

Now and then they would hear one of the wild beasts utter a guttural growl and the flicker of the firelight would reflect on long fangs. It was when Aragorn could see the trunk like forearms prowling just beyond sword reach that Legolas covered his hand with the sleeve of his cloak and reached into the fire. Gingerly he withdrew his hand, stood and threw a glowing object into the midst of the wargs. The beasts yelped and snarled in surprise, drawing back quickly into the shadows as the burning ember fell among them. Legolas looked after them, gauging their every movement with his keen eyes. "That may hold them for a while," he said softly. "But I doubt it will work for long. They will learn that they have no need to fear it."

"Now who’s being disparaging?" Aragorn muttered, sitting back on his heels. He shivered, shaking off the snow that had collected on his hunched back. The snowfall had yet to cease. Thought it did not hinder them so much now, but at this rate it was only a matter of time before the horses’ legs would become ensnared in the drifts. Even though their chances of making it through the night were dim, they had to start planning their next move. If the wargs were miraculously overcome, then the most reasonable action would be to head back to Imladris with all haste. But if the wargs still haunted the forest and they somehow got free and into the open plains first, then perhaps they could push on to a friendlier wild. He was still wary of stopping in any of the small villages which dotted Eregion at intervals. Elves had once dwelled in Eregion, but they had since all but vanished from the land, leaving men to dwell there. Though the reasons were unknown, there was yet a tension between the Firstborn and the men of the wild. Some of the bad blood could have been carried over from the Dunlending men who by word of mouth could have spread the false horror tales of the elves.

Aragorn shook his head at these thoughts. Men, he thought, even though human blood coursed through his veins, he could not help but feel separated and forever at odds with his own people. They spoke of the elves’ pride with scorn when they could not see their own folly. He was drug from the musing of his mind when Legolas rose again and hurled another firebrand into the midst of the wargs. Already he observed the wargs were becoming immune to the fear. "Soon I will have to start using my arrows," Legolas muttered, half to himself.

The beasts had even sooner begun to draw in again about them. They were tightening the noose about the travelers’ necks. Legolas winced as the flames scalded his hand, but still he threw the burning embers into the pack. This time it did little, to nothing. There was a sharp growl and then one of the huge beasts lunged ahead of his elders. Before the warg had chance enough to snap his crushing jaws, there was yellow and green fletched arrow protruding from its neck. The pack withdrew again, caring nothing for their dead number. It was by his own foolishness that he second-guessed his elders.

Legolas counted approximately to a round number, eighteen perhaps, and all far too large for his liking. So they waited, the firebrands doing nothing to hinder or scare the beasts away. Fasse, now wide-awake and trembling in his boots, stood back to back with Aragorn beside the blazing fire, his staff gripped tightly in his shaking hands. The wolves drew near again. Legolas’s bow was taut. The horses quivered and stamped, snorting and throwing their heads. The elf felt their instinctive fear, but he could also feel their loyalty. Their was no sound, save for the pop of the fire and the soft breeze. Even the wargs were quiet.

Then all hell broke loose.

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Wargs from all sides leapt in one sudden frenzy. Legolas could loose only one arrow before the beasts were slashing at him within close range. His white knife flashed with a light of its own blocking fang and claw. The snarling wargs were all about him.

Aragorn felt adrenaline course through his veins as his sword scoured many backs. The wargs were not foolish in their attack or careless in their actions. He had yet to land a killing blow. Fasse, standing with his back pressed to Aragorn’s, whirled his staff catching many of the creatures’ jaws. His eyes were wide with terror, but he did not cringe from the fight. It was out of the corner of his eye that he saw Legolas being cut off from their protective circle. The wargs sought to separate them, and Legolas was being quickly being herded away from them.

The elegant curve of the knife wove mind-twisting patterns, but none of them were for show. The elven archer had hardly enough time as it was to bring to bare another defense against the monstrous beasts. He ducked, twisting below a swiping claw to appear opposite of the warg and deliver a stinging blow to the creatures back. It hardly severed the thick, top skin. He hardly had time to dodge to the side to escape his head being taken off by a leaping warg. Instead, the beast’s teeth sunk into his shoulder. He staggered beneath the weight of the warg, nearly falling. It was Gorban’s hooves who struck a quick death to the warg. Legolas hardly had time to recover before he had to whirl again to block the gaping jaws grasping for his flesh.

His blade singing in the frigid air, Aragorn brought the sword to bare on the nearest snarling wolf. The pressed in upon the two, giving them barely enough room to maneuver. But the moment that either of them struck, the hedge of snarling jaws drew back just out of reach. They seemed to play a game of teasing attack, then all at once they would surge as one body. One could never be prepared enough when this happened.

Aragorn feinted to the left then struck hard at a charging warg, for the first time striking a solid hit. The glittering tip of his blade sunk into the beasts belly. He felt Fasse at his back land another solid hit on one of the wargs skull. The creature yelped sharply, prancing back out of harms way while two others took his place. It was a longer skirmish this time around as the wargs ducked in clawing and growling. As he danced back out of reach he registered that Legolas was now added by something rather large and grey. Then he saw the huge waggling ears. He would have laughed if it had not been such a harrowing moment. It was then, when his attention was diverted that he made a fatal mistake.

The huge warg lunged, his sudden weight sent both of them tumbling. Far too close to the still roaring fire. Aragorn managed to twist onto his back, only to see the gaping jaws falling towards him. His hand grasped something rough. As the teeth flashed before him, he brought the thick branch around, jamming solidly in the warg’s jaws. The beast howled, snapping the branch as if it were but a dried twig in summer. Muscles rippled beneath the coat of thick fur. Aragorn was pinned, and there would be no getting up if help did not come from the outside.

Fasse was busy with his own battle, looking desperately over his shoulder at the unfair wrestling match going on behind him. Helpless with his own fight, he could do nothing but watch.

It was when the jaws all but encased his head, that there was a great rumbling beneath his head, shaking the earth. The warg’s howl of pain was cut short as his body was crushed beneath the might hooves of a dark bay stallion. The warg, bleeding and close to death still rolled to its feet, crouching, a demented light enflaming his yellow eyes as he lusted over the flesh of the stallion. The fight was short, but fierce as the huge warg and mighty horse dueled with teeth and hoof and claw. It was Ralamir who struck the killing blow to the wargs neck.

Aragorn, so consumed in this own fight for survival did not see the blood dripping from Ralamir’s neck, close to his broad chest. What he did see, was an opening. The wargs, many with deep scourging wounds had regrouped with only half of their number yet battling. "Fasse! Make for Nienna!" The wizard gave no sign of hearing, but did as he was asked, beating wargs with his hard staff all the way.

Legolas, hearing Aragorn’s cry, did the same. He spotted the dapple grey, thrashing with all hooves and teeth, the wargs dared not come near the horse. Gorban braying and kicking loped after the elf who was making his dash for Falmarin. Horse and rider met half way, with Gorban close behind.

Fasse clung to Nienna’s neck, as she whirled away from blood-seeking teeth. Aragorn had mounted by grasping the cantle of Ralamir’s saddle and swung up as the great horse charged from the fray. Wargs nipped and clawed at their heels, desperate not to let their prey escape their clutches. It was Ralamir who guided himself from the gathering of wargs, while Aragorn fought off their attacks from the saddle, slashing either side of the horse.

Legolas fared similarly with Falmarin and Gorban. The donkey bravely charged alongside the grey while Legolas defended their right. Then, with a great coiling of muscles, Falmarin launched himself over the head of the last warg, bringing them into open ground. All three horses and the one donkey, broke into a full run. It was a harrowing ride through the forest as the horses were hard pressed to dodge trees which loomed up in the whiteness of the air while the riders were also doing all they could to stay astride. The closeness of the wargs on the horses’ heels goaded them on.

After what seemed like an eternity, they broke abruptly from the heavy forest and onto the white carpeted plains. Never had Ralamir, Falmarin, Nienna or Gorban galloped so hard in their lives. The wargs did not slacken. Leaving bloody tracks even the wounded did not give into their pain. Ahead, but a few miles off, Aragorn saw the dark shadow of the first settlement of Eregion. If they could but reach it…

Ralamir’s hooves churned the snow, his neck was stretched and his nostrils flared to gain as much air intake as he could. He could not fail, it was not an option. Failure would mean death for his rider, not to mention himself. He could sense the wargs close behind, but they were lagging. It was becoming harder and harder to breath.

The blinding white landscape rushed past Aragorn in rushes of burning cold. He spared a glance back and saw that the wargs were indeed falling slowly behind and their speed could not match the elvish horses. It was only when he let the reins loose so that Ralamir could have his head free that his hand, as it slipped down about the horses neck, felt the flow of the life giving substance which streaming down the horse’s broad chest. His heart leapt into his throat as he looked back and saw a trail of crimson following them. When he drew back his hand, there could be no mistaking what the substance was.

Panic welled in Aragorn, almost overriding his thoughts of the wargs in hot pursuit. He could not stop Ralamir to give the horse relief – though he doubted the horse would stop anyway – that would only bring both his own death and the horse’s. Neither could he tell how bad the wound was. There was no other choice but to ride on.

But Illuvitar was gracious in his ways. The wargs dropped back, seeing their prey draw to near to the settlement of men, leaving Legolas, Fasse and Aragorn to run free of their fate. But Ralamir ran on. "Ralamir! Stop this!" Yet no matter how much Aragorn pleaded with Ralamir to halt and let himself be cared for, the horse would not stop until all danger was a league away. Strider was hoarse crying for Ralamir to stop. Ralamir did not stop until they were a half-mile from the village. But the faithful horse had run himself to his end.

Ralamir fell at the very end, sending Aragorn tumbling into the snow. "Ralamir," he cried again in despair as he crawled to the fading horse’s head. The loyal bay’s breaths came in gasping wheezes. Aragorn could not choke back the tears at the sight of the gaping wound at the base of his friend’s neck. But Estel would not let hope go until the end. Ripping his own cloak from his back he pressed it against the mortal wound, cradling the horse’s head against him. Ralamir’s dark eyes blinked slowly, growing dimmer as their light began to fade. Aragorn sobbed as the memories flooded back of his happy days as a child with this horse who’s large, understanding eyes always encouraged him to get back on and try again when he fell. The times when Ralamir had carried him through new territories; the times he and his brothers had raced across the plains. Aragorn bowed his head, burning tears scorching his frozen face. "No, please, Ralamir. Don’t go, please." His voice cracked at the end as the horse gave one last gasp; then they closed, forever. In the faithful companion’s last moment, his dark eyes had held Aragorn’s, with more peace than Aragorn doubted he would ever feel again. Ralamir had succeeded in the end, now he could rest.

The silence of the white expanse was broken with Aragorn’s helpless sobs, even as they were muffled against Ralamir’s soft bay neck. Aragorn clutched the horse to him like an abandoned child. Then Falmarin who stood at Ralamir’s side, let forth a great cry that pierced the air with grief. The delicate grey moved to mourn beside the weeping man, his head bowed. But Aragorn was oblivious to anything or anyone.

Legolas knelt at Aragorn’s side, saying nothing but draping one arm over his friend’s shoulder. Tears of his own grief stung his eyes, both for the loss of the dear horse, and for his friend’s mourning. He wished for nothing more than to give up here and rest, and allow Aragorn to rest, but he knew that this could not be. As cruel as the truth was, the wargs would follow their trail for the meat of the horse. Legolas would not dishonor Ralamir so. "Come Aragorn, let us lay him to rest." The elf had no way of knowing if he even heard him.

Aragorn could not calm his weeping, he could not hear or think of anything else besides his sorrow. He would not relinquish the horse to Legolas for a long while, his face remaining buried in Ralamir’s smooth black mane. For all that the horse had done for him, this was how he was repaid. It was not right. Silently, unconsciously, he whispered one word broken, "Ralamir."

TBC…