Chapter 2       

Aragorn watched as Boromir carried the hobbit gently, almost tenderly, back to where the others waited.  Pippin’s curly head lolled as he nestled against the Man’s warmth.  Aragorn smiled to himself; it was one of the very few times he had ever seen the youngest hobbit quiet.

After a brief discussion over the sleeping youngster’s head, the rescuers had decided to trust to luck and hope that the advance party had seen the smoke from Pippin’s desperate fire and halted.  Legolas had gone on ahead to carry news of the found one to the rest of the Fellowship.   Unable to run over the deep snow with elven lightness, the two men trudged after. 

Boromir shifted Pippin in his arms and the little one coughed in his sleep and snuggled closer, burying his face into Boromir’s shoulder.  Thinking Boromir might be weary of carrying the hobbit, Aragorn offered to bear Pippin the rest of the way.   To his surprise, Boromir refused.

“I will carry him, Aragorn.  He is no heavy burden.  Someday…  Someday, I hope to carry my son so.”

The Ranger lowered his arms and smiled.  “We will have many opportunities to do so, my friend.  Our sons and daughters will delight in their old fathers’ tales of adventure.  I can see you now, surrounded by sturdy lads and beautiful lasses, one or two in your lap, their eyes wide as you exaggerate your feats of valor.”  Boromir huffed softly and grinned at him.  Aragorn returned the grin then his countenance sobered again.   “Someday…   May that someday be not too far off.”

“Aye,” Boromir responded softly.   “I will look forward to that happy future.”  He pulled his cloak more tightly around Pippin, tucking in a few stray curls.

When they reached the others, one would have thought they had saved the world.  To the three waiting hobbits, it was so.  Merry spotted them and let out a whoop the moment they crested the ridge behind which the Company waited.  Sam dropped Bill’s curry brush into the snow, and Frodo, holding the pony’s head, turned and shoved the rein into Gimli’s hand.  The three nearly knocked Boromir down in their anxiousness. 

Pippin was laid gently down so that he could be inspected by his fearful friends and kinsmen.  Opening bleary eyes, Pippin returned their embraces enthusiastically, all the while boasting of his bravery in the Wild and of driving off the white wolf.  Sam busied himself putting together a cold meal for the youngster while Pippin regaled them with tales of his adventure, and Aragorn did not protest when a half-wafer of sweetcake was added to the youngster’s fare.  Laughing softly at the excited hobbit’s tumbling words, the three rescuers exchanged glances among themselves.  They had seen the beast’s tracks.  Aragorn had lain his hand next to one of the paw prints – it had almost equaled the spread width of his fingers.

After Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas had also a quick bite, Gandalf insisted they move out.  The Fellowship had halted in a small hollow between two rises, but it was too exposed a place to rest and prepare a meal.   Aragorn wanted Pippin to ride with Frodo on Bill, but both Frodo and Sam protested that the weight would be too much for the small pony.  Giving in, the Ranger allowed Frodo to walk, the first time permitted the Ringbearer since his illness.  It was hard to say which was the more pleased; Frodo at being allowed to walk with the others, or Pippin, at being allowed to ride and rest his aching legs.

The sun was westering before Gandalf called a halt.  Scouting ahead, Legolas had located a shallow cavern, sheltered beneath a steep overhang of rock.  Exploring further, the Elf had reported a defensible opening, narrow at the front and widening towards the rear.  Musty and cold, it was still better than sleeping on frozen snow in the open.  Frodo had been returned to the pony’s back some hours before, and Boromir again carried Pippin.  Pippin had protested that he was quite able to walk now (thank you very much, he added) but upon being carried, had promptly fallen asleep again.  Aragorn resolved to keep an eye on him; though he seemed fine, the lump on his forehead was still swollen and obviously painful. 

The cavern was better than Aragorn had hoped for.  Some great beast had denned there at one time; old bones littered a corner and the rock above them sported great claw-marks.  Two rows of four parallel scars slid down the face of the rock, white against the grey stone.  Stabled in the opposite corner, Bill snorted and jerked against his stake-rope, his soft brown eyes white-rimmed.  The marks were far higher than Gimli could reach, and the Ranger saw the Dwarf staring them grimly.  Aragorn hoped the hobbits did not see them (and thought they would not, with the marks were so far above their eye-level), and quickly beckoned Gimli away from them.

“Aragorn, we should not stay here,” the Dwarf rumbled softly.  “Those marks are fresh.  I have seen such marks in shelters used by cave-bears.  Fell beasts they are…  Some stand fourteen feet tall, and I have seen claws on them longer than the halflings’ arms.  They fear no creature in Middle-earth, and eat anything they can corner and catch.”

The Ranger shook his head.  “The benefits of resting tonight in this cave outweigh the risks, Gimli.  We can have a decent fire tonight and get some hot food into Pippin and the rest of us.  We’ll build the fire near the cave entrance where the smoke can exit but the flames not be seen.  Hopefully, the fire and our scents will discourage the beast, should it return tonight.”

Gimli caught Aragorn’s arm as he moved away.  “Aragorn, heed my words.  I have knowledge of these creatures.  Their eyes are weak so they depend upon their sense of smell.  Our small fire will not discourage it, not when it can smell such delicacies as the pony - and the halflings.”

Boromir joined them.  “What are you two so close about?”  Behind him, Samwise had handed two of his saucepans to Merry and Pippin with instructions to scoop up snow to melt for soup.  They were busy dumping pans of snow into Sam’s cooking kettle, while Frodo peeled potatoes.

Without pointing at the claw-marks, Aragorn explained their conversation.  Boromir eyed the marks over Aragorn’s shoulder, mindful of the Ranger’s caution against alerting the hobbits to them.  “What a rug such a creature would make!  Or a fur-lined cloak!  If we are fortunate, perhaps the animal will return.”

“Fortunate!”  Gimli hissed.  “You do not know of what you speak.  The strength of cave-bears is legendary among my people.  One can topple the tallest tree just by pushing on it.  They are vicious and unreasoning – wound one and it will not retreat.  You will have to kill it.”

“Difficult to make it into a rug, otherwise,” commented the man, walking away to assist Pippin, who had caught his pan under a root and was trying to jerk it free.

“I will warn the watch, Gimli,” Aragorn said softly to the upset Dwarf.  “But we cannot turn down the certainty of shelter and relative warmth for the possibility of danger.  Frodo still needs to be kept warm and Pippin as well.  I will speak with Gandalf, perhaps he has some way of discouraging the owner of this place from returning while we are here.”

The Dwarf frowned into his beard but knew that Aragorn would not be swayed.  The Ranger had never seen what these beasts were capable of and did not truly understand their peril.   Gimli gripped the handle of his axe tightly and resolved that the watch, each watch, would have one who understood the danger at his side this night.

* * * * *

Dinner was a subdued affair.  Legolas had brought down several snow-hares, which were added to the pot, and Sam had produced another superb stew.  All of the Fellowship were tired; the three rescuers from the additional ground they had covered in their searches, and the hobbits from struggling through the deep drifts of snow.  Aragorn regretted the additional strain on the small ones; they had to take two to three steps for every one of his.

At intervals, Aragorn or Legolas would rise and scout outside the cavern, looking for any sign of the cave’s occupant.  Gandalf had stood at the opening for a long time, leaning on his staff and gazing out into the darkness.  Finally the wizard had sighed and returned to where the others were unrolling their blankets and settling down.  Samwise had made Frodo lie down and covered him with extra blankets, watching as his master dropped off.  He looked up, his sandy curls glinting in the firelight, as the wizard sank stiffly to his bedroll near Frodo.

“There’s something out there,” Gandalf said softly.  “Something very large.  I feel nothing from it but hunger.”  He did not add that he felt one other thing … hunger, and hatred.

* * * * *

It was Merry who had the watch, Pippin and Frodo being excused this night, when twin globes of green fire stared into his eyes from less than twenty feet away.  The glowing green globes were at least five feet off the ground.   Merry made a sound between a choke and a squeal and pushed back against Gimli.  The Dwarf was instantly alert and on his feet.

“Wake the others!” Gimli ordered.  “Go!”  A hard shove between the shoulders woke Merry from his paralysis, and he darted past the Dwarf to shake Aragorn’s shoulder, then wake Gandalf and the others.  Legolas was the first armed, crowding the hobbits into the bone-strewn corner behind the defense of his bow. 

“Build up the fire!” Gimli bellowed.  After a moment’s hesitation, Sam ran past Legolas to comply, with Frodo right behind him.  They began throwing the stacked faggots into the flames.  “Make noise!” the Dwarf shouted.  “Shout!  Scream!  They do not love great noise!”  So saying, he let loose a battle-howl that raised the hair on the hobbits’ feet.  The others added their cries while unsheathing their swords, ringing metal echoing in the confined space.  Merry threw himself on Sam’s pack and pulled out his cooking pots, began slamming them together.  Pippin up-ended the soup kettle and started pounding on it with a stone, while emitting such a high-pitched yowl that Legolas almost dropped his bow to shelter his ears with his hands. 

All nine of the Company were shouting, shrieking.  The pony aided their efforts with wild whinnying cries, plunging on his tie-rope, and Merry and Pippin pounded on Sam’s pans.  The green globes vanished for the briefest of moments then suddenly rose into the air.  Up, up, they rose.  The cave-bear stood up on its hind legs to regard them quizzically.   The enormous muzzle tilted back to test the air, drawing off teeth as large as a man’s fingers.  Recognizing that the beast was not intimidated by the racket, Gimli caught up the small dagger he wore at his belt and after a moment of internal agony, slashed off one of the thick braids in his beard.  He threw the treasured braid into the flames and flapped his tunic at the smoke to drift it outwards.  The overwhelming stench of burnt hair rose from the fire and drifted on the wind to the sensitive nostrils of the bear.

The great beast sniffed again, then sneezed.  It dropped to all fours and coughed, then rubbed at its great nose with a clawed paw the size of  Sam’s soup kettle.  It coughed again, eyes closing as it struggled against the painful overload of its paramount sense.  Crouching close to the fire, Sam swore he saw its little piggy eyes tear.  With a sudden, convulsive movement, the bear turned and was lost into the night.

Quiet was instant, except for Pippin’s continued effort.   Other than that, there were only the sounds of their panting breaths and the nervous shuffling of the pony.

“My pans!” cried Sam, in the same instant that Gimli bellowed, “My beard!” 

Aragorn lowered his sword and laughed shakily, relief evident in his strained face.  “Master Gimli, if ever do I fail to heed your words in the future, I beg you to remind me of this incident.  Legolas, would you see if you can track the beast, to ensure that it has departed?  And Merry, will you please silence Pippin?”

Pippin, his small hands pressed tightly over his own ears, had shut his eyes to better concentrate on producing his ear-splitting yowl.  Merry reached over and shook him and the youngster fell silent.   Prying his eyes open, Pippin remarked cheerfully, “It’s gone?  I chased off a wolf and a bear!  You lot owe me!”

* * * * *

The last watch before dawn was Gandalf’s.  Legolas had returned after nearly an hour, having tracked the huge paw prints far into the distance.  Gimli had gone to his bedroll at last, confident in the wizard’s ability to detect and defend the Company against all threats.  Tracking the beast with his own powers, Gandalf had located it far away and still moving.  But that was not the great, hungry mind he had felt earlier.  Something else was out there, something huge.  The bear’s mind held no hate, no wickedness; it was only a beast, with a beast’s hungers and needs and fears.  This was something else.  And it was coming towards them, at speed, with evil intent.  Glancing back to where the Ring-bearer slept quietly, the wizard feared he knew what drew it on.

* TBC *