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Wings and Fire	By : Bones Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Het - Male/Female Views: 5885 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, to include places and characters, are the property of JRR Tolkien. I do not make any money from this work of fandom.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
So...I fuckered up and posted chapter 5 up here before I posted chapter 4...my bad. Here's 4 and I'll post 5 in just a second.

Chapter 4 – The Mountain and the Watcher
                In the first days of their trek toward the Red Horn Pass the weather turned from tolerable and mildly warm to bitterly cold. On the third day, the hobbits wrapped themselves in extra layers, pulling their cloaks in tightly to keep the chill away. Even Boromir and Aragorn pulled their own cloaks from the packs that Bill carried, wrapping themselves in the thick cloth and pulling the hobbits in close to their sides to share their warmth. Gimli, acclimated to such weather, paid no mind to the cold at first, but after the fifth day, when the frozen wind began to bite at his face and hands, he to sought the warmth of extra layers. Only Gandalf, Legolas, and Leiawen seemed completely unaffected by the chill air; the air around the Dragon turned almost instantly to steam from her massive heat and the Elf…not once did his feet so much as sink into the snow that grew ever deeper by the hour.
                A week went past and their progress was slow, but they had finally made their way from the roots of the mountain to the foot of the Red Horn Pass. Pippin and Merry were huddled close to Leiawen beneath her cloak; she kept her arms about their shoulders, preventing them from falling as the rocks of the mountain pass were slick from the wet of the snow. Her warmth, insulated by the thick cloak she had donned only a day before, heated their hands and faces, making the bite of the wind less harsh.
                “H-h-how d-d-do you d-do it-t-t?” Pippin asked, the chattering of his teeth lessened enough for him to finally speak.
                Leiawen looked down at him, an expression of confusion marring her brow. “Do what?”
                The poor, miserable hobbit buried his face against the soft, warm leather of her armor that wrapped around her middle. “S-s-stay s-so warm?”
                She gave him a sad smile and shook her head, leading them on behind the Grey Wizard. Merry looked at his friend from around her, his face losing the red color from the wind’s chill. “It’s p-probably just a D-Dragon thing, Pip.”
                Behind them, she heard the sound of someone falling and turned; it was Frodo, he’d lost his footing and was tumbling back down towards the Ranger. Aragorn caught the boy thankfully and helped him to his feet, but a look of dismay cut across Frodo’s features and he started patting himself down. The Ring, it must have come off in his tumble down the path.
                “Stay here,” she told the two hobbits at her sides, quickly making her way towards the Rind bearer.
                He looked up after searching his shirt, his gaze sweeping over the snow, and then his expression changed completely. Leiawen saw the Gondorian kneel down and pick something up, she heard the tinkle of metal on metal and halted several strides from him. The man stood with the chain in his hand, the Ring hanging from it, and he gazed at the gold metal trinket with a look somewhere between awe and despair.
                “Boromir,” came the Ranger’s voice as he, too saw that the other man had possession of the Ring.
                Dread flowed through the Still-Cursed and the urge to either fight or run took hold of her. As the man continued to stare into the Ring and listen to its whispered lies, she fought against the urge to run as her instincts all but screamed at her to get away. Though she did not want to fall under the Ring’s sight or that of its Master, did not want to be a slave to the Deceiver, she could not, would not, allow the Gondorian to have it. So her hands strayed to the hilts of her swords, tightened around them, and she waited.
                “It is a strange fate,” the Gondorian said in a voice that was almost a whisper, “that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing...” With his other hand he made to grasp the Ring and her grip upon her weapons tightened further.
                “Boromir!” Aragorn said again, more firmly this time and it jostled the Gondorian from his trance. “Give the Ring to Frodo.”
                The man swayed back for a moment before starting forward, walking to the hobbit with the Ring in hand. “As you wish,” he complied, lowering the item.
                Frodo snatched it away from him by the silver chain, leaning back into Aragorn’s form with a look of distrust and uncertainty upon his face. Leiawen’s grip upon the hilts of her swords lessened but she did not release them fully.
                “I care not,” the man brushed off and Aragorn gave him a look she could not completely see before the other man ruffled Frodo’s hair and turned away. He slung his shield over his shoulder, high on his back, and headed back up the Pass.
                Leiawen watched him carefully, her eyes following the man as he walked past her without so much as a glance in her direction. Then she looked back toward Frodo and Aragorn and saw the man release his sword with a breath of relief before he looked up at her. The two of them shared a glance for a moment before both came to a silent understanding; the Ranger gave her a nod and she released her swords before going back to Merry and Pippin.
                As she looked to Greybeard she saw the question in his eyes. She shook her head once as she gathered the two shivering hobbits back beneath her cloak. The Son of Gondor was falling under the Ring’s hold.

                Wind and snow whipped around them as they made way on the side of the mountain. Sam was bitterly cold as Leiawen all but carried him through the trench Gandalf cut through the snow just ahead of them. He was sure that he had never been more greatful for anything in his life as he was for the Still-Cursed Dragon’s warmth. He was wrapped tight in his cloak, his face buried against the heat of her neck even as snow and ice gathered in the long dark strands of her hair.
                The stout hobbit just barely saw Legolas walk past them through the white flurries. He was walking on the snow as if he didn’t weigh anything! Elves sure were strange folk, but then, of course, so was the woman carrying him because the snow was melting away from her just as quickly as it fell.
                “There is a fell voice on the air,” he heard the Elf remark.
                Sam felt the Dragon stop walking and adjust her grip on him, wrapping her arms more securely around his waist. He listened closely, trying to hear what Legolas had; and a moment later, over the roar of the wind all around them, a voice spoke in a strange tongue. The words were strange to him, dark and full of power.
                “It’s Saruman!” Gandalf yelled out, warning them all.
                Leiawen let out a curse and just as she did Sam heard the break and rumble of the rocks overhead. He looked swiftly upwards, careful not to knock his head against the Dragon’s as he searched for the source of the sound.
                “Quick! Against the rock face!” she commanded, seeing the falling rock and snow before he did.
                Then she turned and set him against the wall of stone and covered his body with her own. “It will be all right, Sam,” she assured against his growing fear. And then everything crashed around them, the voice still chanting.
                “He’s trying to bring down the mountain!” he heard Strider yell. “Gandalf! We must turn back!”
                “No!”
                Leiawen moved, picking him up once more. “Hold on tight, Sam, this is not yet over.”
                Sam gripped onto her with every bit of strength he possessed, but he was cold and scared. Then he saw Gandalf standing on the edge of the outcropping, his staff raised high above him, speaking words, shouting them, into the air. The words were different, not dark like the ones Saruman spoke, but powerful all the same.
                “He’s fighting back,” the Dragon explained, trying to calm his fears as he felt her cutting a trench through the snow in Gandalf’s stead, “trying to persuade the mountain to sleep.”
                There was a spark and clap of lightning that struck the mountain in a great flash, then rocks were falling again. Sam felt the Dragon turn again, caging him against the wall once more as a second avalanche of snow and rocks fell upon them. This time, though, they were buried in it.
                Even though it was dark and cold he could make out the lines of Leiawen’s face as she crouched around and over him. He could barely believe it but because she had shielded him the way she did, the snow all around them was more like a cave than the all-consuming way he had feared being buried in it.
                “Sam?” he heard her call out weakly.
                “I’m all right,” he told her truthfully, overwhelmingly grateful to her once more. “Thank you, milady.”
                Now he knew for certain that no matter what anyone else could ever say Leiawen was good. She had saved his life, was still saving his life, and bore the weight of he-couldn’t-guess-how-much snow all while making sure he didn’t freeze to death. He was in awe of her selflessness as she was bent over him, the white both melting from her heat and trapping it at the same time. For a moment he wondered if she was hurt but then he saw the strange light of her eyes as they opened and she spoke.
                “Gather as much of the heat as you can, it will get very cold soon.”
                He gave her a nod and then she pushed herself up, her legs extending and her arms pushing outwards simultaneously. She was trying to keep the mounds of snow from caving in on him, he realized. And once the top opened up, a breath of frigid air dropped down; he was glad she had warned him. If she hadn’t, he would have stood up with her and caught the blast full in the face. Instead he remained huddled against the wall until she picked him up and tucked him back underneath her cloak again.
                The wind continued to roar and whip all around as Sam looked around for the others. They were cold and covered in snow but thankfully, blessedly alive. Gimli was shaking snow from around him with a growl and blew clumps of it from his face and beard. Strider has a hold of Frodo and though he was shaking with cold Sam was just grateful his friend was safe.
                “We must get off the mountain,” he heard Boromir call up to Gandalf. “Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the West Road to my city!”
                “The Gap of Rohan takes up too close to Isengard!” Strider countered.
                “If we cannot pass over the mountain let us go under it,” Gimli said. Sam saw the grim look on Gandalf’s face as Leiawen turned to the Dwarf; whatever Gimli was suggesting, the Wizard wasn’t likely to agree with. “Let us go through the Mines of Moria.”
                “We can pass over the mountain; with Saruman silent it sleeps now!” the Still-Cursed insisted before she turned and Sam could no longer see Gandalf’s face.
                Sam didn’t want to stay on the mountain anymore. No matter how warm she tried to keep him, the wind still bit at his feet and the Dragon couldn’t ward off all the other dangers of the mountain. The avalanche had taken a great toll on her and she was exhausted; when he managed a glimpse of her eyes he could see the wariness there and he felt it as her arms shook from exertion. Slowly but surely, she was wearing down and he didn’t know how much longer she would be able to hold out going the way they were.
                “Let the Ring bearer decide,” he heard Gandalf proclaim.
                Frodo looked like he didn’t know what to do; but then, he wouldn’t want to make this decision either. Everyone was cold, miserable, and tired, but there had to be a reason why Gandalf had lead them to the Red Horn Pass.
                “We cannot stay here!” Boromir urged, holding Merry and Pippin close as they shook and shivered. “This will be the death of the hobbits and the Dragon cannot save them all!”
                “Frodo,” Gandalf said, bringing him from within his thoughts and back to the situation at hand.
                “We will go through the Mines,” he said with a certainty that was not present on his face.
                “So be it.”

                It had taken the Fellowship a fortnight to get as far as they had up the mountain and to the Red Horn Pass, but the trip back down had been considerably quicker. They took the road to Moria and as they descended the air became much warmer until the Dragon no longer had the hobbits huddled against her and she packed the cloak away. The cold of the mountain had, in truth, not disturbed her, she had only worn the cloth to keep the chill from the hobbits as they sought the warmth her body let off.
                Now they drew ever closer to the Gates of Moria and Leiawen could feel the power of the Ring growing. Whatever dark creatures came near would surely be drawn to it and she hoped that no matter what happened in the days ahead, she would not become one of them, She felt it, something she could not put into words, and she dreaded what may come of the Road through the Mines.
                “Frodo,” Greybeard called from before her. “Come and help an old man.” He gathered the young hobbit to his side and they walked together. “How’s your shoulder?”
                The boy looked up at the Grey Wizard, “Better than it was.”
                She had heard tell the boy had been stabbed by a Morgul blade wielded by the Witch King; he was very lucky to be alive to speak of such a thing.
                “And the Ring?” the two stopped and looked at each other. “You feel its power growing, don’t you? I’ve felt it, too. You must be careful now, evil will be drawn to you from outside the Fellowship and I fear from within.”
                They watched suspiciously as Boromir passed them. “Who then do I trust?”
                “You must trust yourself,” she heard Greybeard say to the boy as she drew closer. “Trust your own strengths.”
                “What do you mean?”
                It was what her old friend said next that confirmed the Still-Cursed’s fears.
                “There are many powers in this world, for good or for evil, some are greater than I am.” She caught the barest glimpse of the Grey Wizard’s face as she walked past the two as well. “And against some I have not yet been tested.”
                Leiawen could feel that he knew what was coming and as the Dwarf remarked upon the sighting of the Walls of Moria, the sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach grew. Whatever awaited them within the Mines, it would not bode well for their Fellowship.

                “Dwarf walls are invisible when closed,” Gimli told them, knocking his axe against the stone face.
                “Yes, Gimli. Even their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten,” Greybeard said, searching the stone for something.
                Leiawen had seen many Dwarf walls over her lifetime but regrettable knew very few of their secrets. Some revealed themselves in fire, others in moonlight, though there were few remaining that required the blood of their own masters in order to be found. They were made with great magic and skill, complicated and tricky devices, oftentimes temperamental if not the right word said at the right time or if the weather was ill. As she walked along the great stone wall behind Greybeard something thudded within her and she went completely still. She waited for a moment after the thud subsided and took a breath to calm her nerves. It was probably nothing.
                “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” the Firstborn commented harshly.
                The Still-Cursed went to say something over her shoulder but stopped as the thud came back, pounding through her in time with the beating of her own heart. The blood in her veins coursed faster, like a flood in her ears. There was something here, something close, it was watching them. Her senses flared out, searching for something, anything that might be out of place, but all she saw was the water. For some, strange, reason, she felt a surge of strength not her own flow through her…something was coming.

                The Dragon was standing at the edge of the water as if she was looking for something, but even with the sharpness of his eyes, Legolas did not see anything. Nearby, Aragorn and Dam were taking the packs from Bill’s back, setting them on the ground as the hobbit gazed sorrowfully at the small pack animal. The Mithrandir was still uttering spells to the Doors of Durin and he couldn’t help but shake his head at the Dwarf whom had lead them here.
                “The mines are no place for a pony,” Aragorn comforted the stout hobbit, “even one so brave as Bill.”
                “Bye-bye, Bill,” Sam said in farewell the pony, removing the lead rope and bridle.
                The man sent the pony off and looked down at the hobbit, “Don’t worry, Sam, he knows the way home.”
                A splash came from the water and from the corner of his eye he saw the Dragon’s shoulders jerk back, startled. Merry and Pippin were throwing stones into the pond before them. As Pippin reached back to throw another the Elf saw Aragorn grab his arm to keep the rock from flying. The man and hobbit’s eyes met for a moment. “Do not disturb the water,” he warned before looking out over it again.
                Something was in the water, he knew. Though he could not see it, it was there, like a splinter against his mind. He should have sensed it earlier and he was almost ashamed that the Dragon had felt it first, for that must have been why she could not take her eyes off of it. Perhaps, though, two creatures of the darkness could feel one another and that was how she had come to know of it first, in which case he was not ashamed.
                Aragorn walked over to her and stood at her side, “Are you all right?” Concern tinged his voice and Legolas could not imagine what might compel his friend to feel even the slightest bit of worry for the Still-Cursed. She did not answer though, and the man put a hand upon her shoulder as the Mithrandir threw his staff down in frustration.
                “Milady? What is it?”
                Legolas watched on as she turned to him with her strangely glowing eyes. “”It’s watching us.”
                Boromir walked up behind the two and together the three looked out over the water. When he followed their gazes, he saw it too; small waves of movement upon the surface. They were forceful, purposeful movements, not remnants of ripples from the hobbits throwing rocks, but of something beneath the water.
                “It’s a riddle,” he heard Frodo say and the waves changed direction suddenly, growing stronger, more forceful.
                “Get ready,” the Dragon warned, her hands straying to the black swords at her hips.
                “Speak friend and enter. What’s the elvish word for friend?”
                “Mellon,” Gandalf told the hobbit as the waves started coming from other directions as well. There might be more than one of them…
                Then the doors creaked with the protest of stone against stone and swung open; thank the Valar. Legolas, Aragorn, and Boromir all turned from the water and helped to usher the others through the doors. The Elf watched from the corner of his eye as the Dragon backed away slowly, her hands still upon her weapons; she did not turn away until she was past the entrance.
                “Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves!” the Dwarf proclaimed, a proud smirk upon his face. “Roaring fires, malt beer, red meat right off the bone.”
                Legolas was not much impressed as he chanced a look around; this was not right. Something about this place was of, it carried a heady scent, one he could not place.
                “This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin,” the Dwarf continued on, explaining as Gandalf blew a light into his staff. There were corpses everywhere. “And they call it a mine. A mine!”
                He knelt to examine one of the corpses that littered the floor and stairs. It was a Dwarf! “This is no mine,” he heard Boromir say, “It’s a tomb.”
                “No. No!” Gimli cried out, finally seeing the carnage and death all around them.
                Legolas pulled an arrow from the dead Dwarf and examined the nock and point. It was there, just where the head split off and curved outwards. “Goblins!” He pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back and made ready his bow as Aragorn, Gandalf, and Boromir all drew their swords from beside him.
                “We make for the Gap of Rohan,” Boromir urged. “We should never have come here. Now get out of here. Get out!”
                They all backed out of the mines, but Legolas had forgotten two very important things. The first being whatever manner of creature or beast that lie in wait beneath the surface of the water, the second being that all four hobbits were the closest to the entrance out of the entire group of them.

                Leiawen had been a more than a few strides from the entrance when Frodo cried out, the other three hobbits grabbing him as something tried to pull him into the water. She turned around to see them grabbing his arms and pulling them back towards the entrance of the Mines, trying to keep him out of the water.
                “Strider! Leiawen!” Sam call and Aragorn’s head snapped towards them. He was running back through the doors with the Still-Cursed as Sam attacked whatever had grabbed ahold of Frodo and then both he and the Dragon were beside Frodo as it retreated into the water.
                “Here it comes,” she said, both of her wickedly curved, black swords drawn and at the ready; the muscles in her arms coiled and awaiting the first swing.
                All at once several tentacles speared their way from the water and knocked the hobbits away from Frodo, then one picked him up and hung him upside down over the water. Aragorn, Leiawen, and Boromir charged in after the terrified, screaming hobbit, slashing their way through the tentacles to get to him as Legolas let loose one arrow after another. When one tentacle would drop the hobbit, though, another snatched him up and then the creature’s face came up, out of the depths.
                It opened its gaping maw just as he cut down another tentacle, but again it grabbed Frodo with another. The Ranger chanced a glance at Leiawen, wet and furious as she fought alongside him; and then she did something completely unprecedented. She lept, a distance which should have been impossible, and landed upon the creature’s face. With a yell that held an echo of a roar, she stabbed down and thrust the blade of one sword deep into the beast’s mouth. Just as it let out a pain-filled cry, it both released Frodo from its grasp and bit down upon the Dragon’s arm.
                Aragorn saw Boromir catch Frodo as Leiawen hollered in pain and anger. He went to help her after pushing Boromir to the shore, but she leveled him with a furious glance from her glowing eyes.
                “No!”
                He didn’t understand. She was trapped, trapped by her right arm which the creature bit down upon with all its strength. Why would she not want his assistance?
                And then the beast screamed. Writhing about, it tossed her from where she had stood upon its face and she landed in the water with a splash and a curse. In the confusion of the beast’s pain and struggle, Aragorn pulled her up and they made their way out of the water. Then it started coming after them.
                “Into the Mines!” Gandalf shouted, helping him with Leiawen as they reached the shore.
                Legolas let loose another arrow, the projectile sinking deep into the creature’s eye.
                They ran into the darkness of the Mines just as the maddened creature hauled itself from the water. The entrance and first hall crashed behind them in a deafening rumble of shattered rock and stone. The way back was gone, he realized, holding on to the Dragon as she struggled to walk; they couldn’t get out the way they had come in. That could mean only one thing…
                “We now have but one choice,” Aragorn heard the Grey Wizard say as he knocked his staff against the ground and a light steadily grew from it. “We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard, there are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world.”
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Wings and Fire