Chapter 116. We reach the bottom of the Mountain 

I fall into a dream as we make our way ever downwards, my head nodding to the rhythm of my steps, though a part of me retains some awareness of Tall Hat, who is walking immediately in front of me, that I should not tread on his robes or, worse, his heels should he stop suddenly. I am possibly exercising too much caution, as he has shown no signs of suddenly stopping since we left our “house”, as my Sam called it (or was it “shelter”? Or was he saying it was not a shelter? My mind muddles as I ponder the question). Nevertheless, I do not care to risk vexing the Old One in his current mood, for he seems more grim than I have ever perceived before in the time of our acquaintance.

Yet I cannot help myself from baulking as we round the corner near the bottom of the descent, only to be confronted by a wall of snow rearing far above my head. I think I understand now what the Other Big Man (the one with the shield) meant when he said they had thrust a lane through the drift.

I have not seen a “tunnel” before, as far as I can recall, but what I am looking at resembles what Merrylegs described to me in one of our peaceful conversations while grazing in that blessed Valley now far behind us. What the Other Big Man called a lane bears little resemblance to the lanes of my remembrance, even the ones that wound through the shady Breewood with trees arching to either side and meeting overhead, fresh and green in the Springtime, golden in the Autumn, bare and black against the Winter sky...

No, but seemingly solid walls of snow rise on either side of the path and meet together at the top of the opening, which is perhaps a little higher than our Big Men, though Tall Hat must crouch and duck his head or risk losing his headgear upon entering.

The Other Big Man has trudged steadily into the midst of the snow, my Sam upon his back, and disappeared! I cannot see them! It is a trap!

And so our wizard is rather uncomfortably situated as he comes to the end of my lead rope and is pulled up short.

Trembling, I stand fast. Though I dread his ire, I fear that yawning snowy mouth still more.

For the first time, the Dwarf speaks to me. ‘Come now, Pony. This is hardly the place to take your rest.’

Perhaps, and perhaps not.

In any event, I see Tall Hat bend his head further as he begins to move backwards out of the trap. I breathe a sigh of relief that he, at least, is safe, though my mind is clouded in grief at the loss of my Sam. A part of me wants to plunge to his rescue, fighting my way to the centre of the snowy snare. Another part of me would whirl about, were the path only wide enough, and flee – but where would I go?

And so I stand, trembling.

Tall Hat straightens and regards me thoughtfully. I bow my head, too ashamed to meet his gaze. Then I cannot help but shy my head away as he reaches out to me, but instead of the blow I’m half-expecting (such a response would have been inevitable from my old misery), I feel his hand settle upon my head, coming to rest between my ears. I hear him mutter, It is as I foresaw... even to enter the Mines would be too much to ask... 

I try my best to understand but cannot, for I am only a pony. And then I feel his keen regard soften, and he lifts his other hand to stroke my neck as he now murmurs reassurance. Warmth and strength seem to flow from his touch before he takes his hands away again.

Somehow encouraged, I lift my head again, to see him slowly unwinding his silver scarf from his neck. All is well, Greatheart, he says in the tongue of horses and ponies, his coal-black eyes catching my gaze and holding it until...

But something soft envelops my head and covers my eyes, while all the time our wizard whispers his reassurances.

When I feel the gentle tug at my lead rope, I step forward without thinking. Though I cannot see where I am going, all my training dictates that I must follow the guiding pull. As I feel the path rise under my feet, and then fall again, I am reminded of my encounter with the fearsome bridge when I first came to that blessed Valley, where my guide shrouded my head and led me to safety on the far side of the stream.

I can only trust that there will be safety of some sort where ever it is that Tall Hat is leading me.

And so it is! For when my eyes are uncovered, and I see the wizard winding the silver scarf about his neck once more, tucking it under his grey cloak, I also see all the rest of our party gathered together again! My Sam is restored to me, safe! All my hobbits are here, including the Master (just now being lowered from Our Big Man’s back), as well as the Fair One and our two Big Men. And though I cannot see the Dwarf, I can still feel his weight on my back, so yes! All of us are here.

But as the Master’s feet come to rest upon the ground, as if in response to feeling the touch of his toes, the Mountain voices a deep rumble, and a cascade of slithering snow and punishing stones falls all around us. I shy away, with my entire body and not just my head, though there is nowhere to go.

At last the Mountain is silent once more. As the air clears, I see my companions crouched against the cliff, arms over their heads in a vain attempt at sheltering themselves from the pelting, half-blinding spray. Indeed, I think I remember hearing a smothered yelp or two from the Youngest hobbit in the midst of the deluge. I know I will bear some lingering bruises of my own into the next few days.

From my back, I hear the voice of the Dwarf, crying out, ‘Enough! Enough!’

And I deem, he is not addressing me, for I have planted my feet once more and am standing as steadily as I may, considering the circumstances.

I have the right of it, for he adds that we are departing as quickly as we may! His words are not completely accurate – I am standing as steady as a rock, and my companions are crouched against the cliffside, after all. However, I seem to understand that his words are aimed at the Cruel Mountain we have just descended.

And perhaps the Mountain has heard his words and taken them as a promise, for the light is growing stronger around us as the clouds above us begin to break apart. Even as I see my companions cautiously straighten up from the cliff, and Our Big Man moves to help the Dwarf slide from his high perch on my back without upsetting, the smell of impending snow lessens and then disappears completely.

I choose to take it as a good omen, though I know not where our path may lead us next.

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Author notes:

Some thoughts here are derived from “The Ring Goes South” from The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

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