Chapter 4

Gandalf insisted that all work stop when the meal was ready, and everyone sat down to a quick supper.  It was no reflection on Sam’s cooking that most of the Fellowship hardly tasted their stew; their minds were on the swiftly-approaching evil, not food.  Even Pippin picked at his dinner.  He dangled a piece of the coney he had been so proud of bringing down and finally pushed it away with a groan.

Gimli bolted his dinner so quickly that he choked on a piece of rabbit, and Legolas had to pound on his back to dislodge it.   The dwarf had used the fallen boulders and smaller rocks outside to build a barricade taller than the hobbits’ heads.   He was anxious now to return to his labors; he and Boromir wanted to further raise and strengthen the wall so that the coming creature could not push it down by main force.  Boromir’s hands were torn and bloodied despite his gloves, and he spent some time clenching and unclenching his hands around his sword hilt to be confident that, when need demanded, his grip would be sure.

Aragorn kept rising and standing at the little cavern’s entrance, staring out into the darkness with quiet, inward-turning eyes.  Gandalf came to stand by his side and answered the unspoken question.  “Soon.”

Sam and Frodo still had time to scour the cooking pots before Gandalf called Merry and Pippin back to the cave, where they had been outside filling every available container with as much snow as they could pack in them.  Water was always needed.  The wizard bid the hobbits lead Bill to the rear of the cave and hobble him, and tie a blindfold over the pony’s eyes.  Sam reached up and stroked his soft nose, murmuring to him softly as the pony’s warm breath nuzzled his palm, hoping for an apple or handful of grain.  “Easy there, Bill,” the stocky hobbit muttered.  “There’s a good lad…  Stand still for Mr. Merry, now…”  The pony butted him gently and stood quietly as Merry laid a cloth over the soft brown eyes and bound them tight.

Aragorn ghosted to join the wizard at the entrance, watching the ever-deepening night.  “Gandalf, it comes to me that we might use the pony as bait, if we must.  Perhaps it would turn from us and seek an easier meal.”

Leaning on his staff, Gandalf considered the Ranger’s words.  “I had thought of that, Aragorn.  But we need Bill, in addition to the hobbits’ holding him dear.  I am fond of Bill, too - but our lives come first.   If this were some simple beast, like the cave-bear, I would hold such a plan in reserve.  But this is no natural thing, driven by need and instinct.   It is all hunger and fury and wickedness, and it cannot help but be drawn by what the Ringbearer carries.  Evil calls to evil, my friend, and even were it not driven, its nature would compel it.”  The wizard paused and closed his eyes, turning his face outward.  “Gimli!  Boromir!  Come inside now!  It is very close.”

The man and the dwarf rose from driving support stones into position to rejoin the others.  Near the entrance, Legolas stood his arrows into loosened soil, standing them upright for a quicker catch and draw.  The elf shook his head at the improvised shafts; some were warped, some too short.  Though he had done the best he could, he did not trust them to fly true.  Add the weight of wrapped rags and pitch, and then the fire (if they would even ignite), and it would be a wonder if any struck home.

Standing with the wizard behind the barricade, Aragorn unsheathed his long sword.  Boromir and Gimli joined him silently, weapons in their hands.  Behind them, Gandalf drew Glamdring, and the elven sword rang with a clear pealing chime.  Legolas loosened his long knives and put arrow to bow.  The hobbits drew their own small swords and arrayed themselves around the pony at the very rear of the cave.  Frodo found himself pushed back against the wall.   When he tried to edge around to the front, Sam turned and said, “You jus’ stay there in back, Mr. Frodo.   It’ll have ‘ta come through us to get at you.”

“Sam, no.  I –“

“Ring-bearer!”  Gandalf’s voice echoed through the cavern.  “Keep back!”  The wizard moved to stand before the hobbits, turned and held himself at guard.

And it came.

From his position behind all the others, Frodo saw only a flash of pure and absolute white, a huge form that moved with unimaginable speed.  It was as if all the snow about them converged and congealed into one massive figure; vaguely man-shaped, covered with coarse white hair with claws and great long tusks, and sized out of all imagination.  It had to stoop to see into the cave, reaching down to lay its five-fingered hands on the topmost row of Gimli’s wall.  Absently, Frodo noted that its hands were larger than his own chest, and the black, shining claws emerging from them the length of his forearms.

Frodo had only a moment to regard the creature, before those huge arms tensed and Gimli’s carefully constructed wall tumbled like a child’s toy blocks.  The creature hooted, a most odd and unnatural sound coming from that mass of snow-encrusted white hair.  Not bothering to clear its way, it lifted one enormous five-toed haired foot, far too large for its body, and stepped over the barrier.  It had not even been slowed down.

Enraged by the creature’s utter disregard of his labors, Gimli leapt to the fore, howling a battle-cry that brought the snow-beast’s red eyes to him.  The long-handled axe swung in an arc aiming for its knees, seeking to cripple it.  With that unfathomable speed, it moved aside and Gimli followed the swing of his axe to be pulled around behind the thing.  The creature turned to follow his movement, and its wide, fanged mouth opened in a grunting laugh.  Aragorn and Boromir rushed it from the right and left, each seeking to slice into its sides.  Faster than they could close upon it, the creature swung back and its long arms, longer than the sword-extended arms of the men, reached over their heads and came down on their shoulders, knocking them aside.

Aragorn was lifted from his feet and thrown into the cavern-wall, falling with a choked cry.   The thing followed and lifted one enormous fist to smash the life from him.   Boromir was upon the ground, groaning, trying to pull himself up.  Gimli was just pulling himself to his feet, just turning back behind him to the battle.  White-faced, Gandalf strode forward, his staff glowing in one hand and Glamdring gleaming from its light in his other.  Before he could close with it, a flaming arrow flew past him and buried itself in the crusted hair.  The creature hooted again, falling back from Aragorn’s still form to bat its great hands at the arrow imbedded in its shoulder.  The arrow extinguished itself in the thick fur and as the hobbits watched in horror, it closed its hand upon the shaft and withdrew it, giving that contemptuous, grunting laugh again as it rubbed at the slight crisping of the fur, the small burn the only evident damage.

Legolas nocked another flaming arrow and let it fly, and another, and another, in the space of a breath.  These the snow-beast did not even acknowledge.  One, made of warped firewood, flew past before its eyes and it did flinch slightly, but the others buried themselves harmlessly in the hairy pelt and the flames died.  Legolas abandoned the rag-wrapped, pitch-smeared shafts and sought his own, managed to shoot one deep into the creature’s side.  Roaring, it twisted toward the elf, red eyes gleaming with rage.  It screamed again as Gimli’s axe bit deep into its back, drawing a copious amount of blood.  Snarling, it turned and claws raked along the dwarf’s chest, from one side completely across his body to the other.  Without a cry, Gimli fell and did not move.

Almost a smile quirked the creature’s face as it took another step into the shallow cavern.  Blood streamed from the wound in its back, matting in the white hair, but it did not seem much inconvenienced.  Like a dog it lifted its face into the air, and sniffed.  Then its enormous head turned towards the rear where the hobbits crouched, and it moved towards them.

Still groaning, Boromir dragged himself to his feet.  Aragorn, too, had struggled upright, one hand held to his bleeding forehead.  He staggered to the side, sword clasped limply, unsure of his balance and confused.  The snow-beast grinned, malice glinting in its red eyes. 

But a stronger call drew it forward, diverting it from the hurt it wished to enjoy.  The creature sniffed again, and its awful eyes centered on the small figure pushed in back of the others.  The taller figure before them raised the bright light it held and the snow-beast’s eyes narrowed against the glare.   The second taller figure joined the first, bow ready, and the creature hesitated, wary of the veiled power it felt in the first and the masked light it felt in the second.   But desire burned in its black heart, and what it desired sang to it of possession.

Ignoring the two taller figures, it reached over their heads to catch up the tiny thing that held what it desired.  The four-legged thing with them screamed and bucked and would have interested the creature much more, had it not been for the continuous whispering in its mind.  The three tiny figures cried out and crowded the fourth against the wall as the two greater figures raised its sword and staff, and the second its bow.   Then the snow-beast stumbled backwards, a shrieking hoot in its throat, as its great clawed hand sought the blood and flesh that a moment before had been its eye.  It screamed again as its remaining eye exploded in a shower of wet tissue.

Pippin lowered his sling-shot, fighting against the sickness rising in his throat, and tugged on Frodo’s arm.  Frodo was staring at the beast, shocked beyond responsiveness.  “Frodo, come on!”  The Ring-bearer looked at him blankly.  “Come on!  It will follow you!” 

Frodo felt a large hand descend on his shoulder as Gandalf met Pippin’s eyes.  Together, they half-dragged him towards the front of the cave.  Shrieking, hooting, the beast was rolling on the ground, clawing at the empty sockets.  Legolas pushed Sam and Merry back when they tried to follow.  As the Ring-bearer passed within feet of the writhing form, its blood-soaked face turned sightlessly towards him, and it reached out desperately.  Gandalf pulled Frodo against him, and pushed Pippin ahead to gain the entrance.  The beast crawled slowly after them, followed them outside.  Dimly it knew through the fog of pain and desire that the others who had sought to hurt it moved out of the way, except for the still one with the axe. Totally in thrall, the creature ignored them.

Out in the freezing darkness, the creature seemed to lose the trail it hunted.  Unsteadily, still swiping at the blood flowing freely from its sockets, it rose to its feet.  Faces grim, Legolas, Boromir and Aragorn moved forward to finish it off.  With a push to each small back, the wizard directed Pippin and Frodo to edge past it and all three darted back into the cave.  The creature turned to follow and slammed its head against the rock ledge at the lip of the entrance.  Small stones fell upon it, into the empty sockets.  The creature threw back its head and screamed again, throwing up its great arms, claws reaching.   Sightless, wounded but still powerful, it scrabbled blindly at the stone shelf.

Its claws hooked on the larger stones and instinctively, the creature pulled.  One of the great stones came loose, knocking forward another.  In a moment, the tumbling stones had become a rockslide, dropping huge boulders down on the entrance.  One struck the beast and knocked it to the ground, and another crashed directly onto the bloodied head.  The beast jerked and exhaled almost a sad sound, and did not move again as stones rained about it.

Dust and flying snow filled the air, setting the hobbits to coughing.  Those near the entrance staggered back into the shallow interior, fleeing stones the size of the hobbits’ bodies.  The falling stones crashed against Gimli’s wall, piling upon it, merging with it.  The entire rock shelf was coming down.  In moments, the entrance was blocked.  They were trapped.

* TBC *