AVALANCHE

Chapter 17 --- Out of the Blue

When everyone awoke, early the next morning, Aragorn and Legolas had already been gone for several hours on their hunting expedition; the Company would not move on until they returned.

Frodo wanted to find out if riding Bill would be easier on him than walking (or being carried), and Sam led the pony, with Frodo astride him, around in a slow, easy circle.

"See there, sir? If you hold on with one hand and the gear is packed all around, you should be able to stay on quite nicely, even with a bit of dizziness still. You'd enjoy Mr. Frodo's company, Bill, wouldn't you?"

Boromir smiled at the sound of the hobbits' laughter, something he had greatly missed of late. He turned to share a word with Gandalf and saw the wizard gazing into the sky, frowning and clutching his staff.

"What is it?"

Gandalf pointed northeast. A small flock of birds, perhaps half a dozen in number, was flying in their direction.

"We have company."

"Friend or foe?" asked Boromir warily, stooping to retrieve his shield. The birds grew closer.

"Crebain," muttered the wizard, unsheathing his sword, "very large ones. They waited, Boromir, until our archers were gone."

"Say now, Bill, settle down. Settle down, I say!" Sam couldn't imagine what had gotten into the normally docile pony, now whickering nervously and skittering about.

Suddenly Gimli let out a yell as two of the birds separated from the group and flew straight at the skittish pony, while the other four continued their descent directly to where Boromir, Gandalf, and Gimli were standing.

"Frodo, get down from there!" Gandalf bellowed. "Get down!"

The terrified pony reared up to defend himself from the enormous birds suddenly flapping and screeching in front of him, and Frodo found himself flung violently into the air, landing on his back on the spongy ground and just missing a large, shallow puddle. The small explosion of lights and pain that shot through his head from the impact left him dazed and hardly able to move, and his wrist had been slammed painfully against his chest, but he knew that something far more dire had happened. The Ring was no longer around his neck.

Boromir and Gandalf brandished their swords in front of them as they tried to run to the hobbits' aid, but the birds flew wildly about them, hindering their advance. With a roar, Gimli swung his axe straight up and hit one of the crebain; with an explosion of feathers and a hoarse croak, the enormous bird dropped to the ground. With his shield as protection from the beaks and claws, Boromir felled one bird that blundered too close to his long, gleaming sword. Swinging his staff and sword about him, Gandalf dispatched another. The remaining bird started to fly off in a panic.

"There must be none left to report back to Saruman," Gandalf muttered to Boromir. The man took careful aim, and before the bird could escape he hurled his sword straight and true, bringing it down.

To Pippin, it appeared that everything was happening in slow motion. There was a blur of large, black shapes, then Bill rearing back in terror. He saw Frodo fall in one direction, while the chain about his neck flew off in another. The chain, with the heavy golden Ring attached, landed just a few feet away from where he stood, falling with a plunk into a large, shallow depression of icy water before sinking into the mud. Bill was still bucking and prancing with agitation, cutting off his view of Merry. There was shouting and a roar from Gimli, and Pippin drew his sword with a yell. Sam was running to Frodo's side, then suddenly whirling about and drawing his own sword against a black shape that drove him to the ground.

Pippin looked up and saw that one of the huge birds was nearly on top of him, screeching in triumph; it wanted... not him, it didn't care about him. It saw... it was heading right for...

Pippin dropped his sword and threw himself headlong into the puddle, landing with a splash. He gasped for breath as the frozen water seeped through his clothing. No time, where is it... He groped beneath him until his fingers felt the chain. Closing his fist tightly upon it, he waited for the agony about to strike; the tearing, stabbing, rending of beaks and claws and evil intent.

Pippin shuddered as something heavy landed on top of him, driving him further into the water. It was so cold, he couldn't breathe... Suddenly the weight on him disappeared, and someone was lifting him up, pulling him free.

"Pippin, are you hurt?"

Pippin shook his head at Boromir and looked about wildly. What had happened? "Not hurt, just c. . cold and wet," he said, dripping and shivering.

Sam had thrown himself on top of Frodo, shielding him with his body. A bird lay dead at his feet, Sam's sword dripping with blood.

A few feet away lay a second bird, the one that had fallen on him, Merry's sword embedded in its breast.

"Merry threw his sword at it," Boromir said, shaking his head. He looked at Merry with a grin. "Excellent aim, my friend!"

"Thanks," said Merry, still a bit shaken. "I saw what you did, and thought it was the only chance to keep that thing from tearing Pippin to bits; I was afraid I might skewer him." He and Sam helped Frodo to his feet. "Are you all right, Pip? This is hardly the time for a bath!"

Gimli gave one more satisfying thwack with his axe to one of the dead birds, just for good measure, and suddenly noticed that Frodo seemed a bit dazed. Sam and Merry were supporting him between them, but he didn't seem to be aware of their presence.

"Master Baggins, are you injured?"

Frodo looked up, but not at him; Gimli was uncertain whether the hobbit even knew he was there. Frodo was staring straight ahead of him, to where Pippin stood a few feet away, drenched in icy, muddy water, shivering with cold, one hand clenched tightly against his chest.

"Pip," whispered Frodo.

Pippin stumbled forward. Frodo held out his hand, and Pippin's fingers slowly loosened their grip on whatever it was he held so tightly.

Merry and Sam both gasped as Pippin dropped the Ring into Frodo's hand, and Boromir's mouth dropped open in amazement. Even Gandalf seemed at a loss for words.

Frodo's fingers closed about the Ring. Emerging from the almost trance- like state he had been in, he looked about him in confusion.

"Mr. Frodo, are you all right?" Sam asked.

Frodo nodded, even as his legs gave out from under him and he slumped to the ground. With a cry, Sam fell to his knees and threw his arms around his friend.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Just... a bit of a headache," Frodo murmured.

*~*~*~*~*

Legolas and Aragorn returned a scant half hour later. As they approached the camp, they dropped the deer and rabbits they had caught, and gazed about in disbelief. The carcasses of the crebain lay in a pile. Gimli had gathered wood and lit a fire, and Pippin sat huddled in front of it wrapped in blankets. His damp clothes lay spread out on the grass nearby. Frodo was watching anxiously as Merry wrapped strips of cloth around the scratches on Sam's hand and arm. Boromir and Gandalf stood some distance away, pointing to the peak and talking quietly.

Pippin saw their two companions running toward them, and he pointed excitedly at the crebain.

"Strider," he called, "Are those good to eat?"

After the astonished hunters had been filled in on what had happened, and there was no further sign of crebain or any other danger, the fire was built higher so the meat could be roasted and Pippin could thoroughly warm himself. As the story was told and retold from everyone's viewpoint, Pippin found himself the recipient of so many pats on the back and admiring, light thwacks to the shoulder that he began to fear injury. But no matter; for the first time since leaving Rivendell, he felt that he had somehow become a true member of the Fellowship -- and not just someone who needed looking after.

Sometime later, Gandalf looked about for Frodo; he had wandered away from the group and was leaning against a nearby tree, gazing up at the snow-covered peak towering above them. The wizard walked over to join him.

"How's the headache?"

"It's better. Luckily I landed on soft grass and not hard rock!" Frodo looked up at the wizard. "Such a clever attack, Gandalf. Most of the birds acted as a distraction while the others came straight at Bill. At me. They knew I carried the Ring; somehow they knew. It's as if they were waiting for it to show itself. If Pippin hadn't thrown himself on top of it..."

"If he hadn't, indeed..." Gandalf mused. "I suspect the birds' only plan was to keep us away from you long enough for one of them to seize the Ring once it was revealed. It might even now be in the hands of Saruman, if not for Pippin. His choice to safeguard the Ring over himself says much for our young companion."

"I know." Frodo smiled. "Or perhaps it was all an elaborate scheme to finally get all the blankets!"

"Indeed, there is no limit to that scamp's inventiveness," Gandalf chuckled. "If there is only one more icy puddle between here and Mordor, I expect he will find it."

Mordor. Frodo's smile abruptly faded. "An avalanche does not dislodge the Ring from my neck, but a simple fall from a pony does so." He looked grim. "To lie buried in snow would not have served its end, but revealing itself to spies of the Enemy would. It abandoned me when it chose to."

Gandalf nodded at the hobbit's perception. "Yes, I believe that may be true."

"We will be hunted every step of the way," Frodo murmured, "and the Ring seeks to return to its Master. It will never stop. Oh Gandalf, there's so far still to go. How can we possibly achieve this?"

Gandalf squatted next to Frodo and motioned to their seven companions.

"Observe what is possible, Frodo Baggins. A Dwarf and an Elf become friends. The future stewards of the Shire and Gondor meet and form an alliance. The Heir of Isildur emerges from exile." He smiled. "A gentle gardener defends his master with body and sword; and hobbits from the Shire undertake a task which even the Wise dare not attempt." He turned to look at Frodo. "Who is to say what can or cannot be achieved?"

"You forgot the wizard," said Frodo, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Oh? What about him?"

"A mighty wizard toils to cut a walking stick for an injured halfling because he won't permit anyone else to touch his own staff again, ever."

Gandalf chuckled. "You are a most impertinent hobbit."

Frodo grinned at him. "And I'm sure you'll make it a nice, smooth stick. I'd hate to get a splinter. I doubt Aragorn has much left in the way of bandages!"

** TBC **