Part VIII: Over the Mountains

Spring was announced with a great groan, followed by crashing and grinding as the ice on the river Anduin began to move. What had been a smooth expanse of white snow became a churning mass of broken ice in a matter of seconds. The water level rose quickly over the following week, and the spring flood overflowed the river’s banks. It took nearly a month for the water levels to drop again to the point where it was safe to cross the river at the Old Ford.

Bilbo was eager to be on his way. Nearly a year had passed since he had left his Hobbit-hole under the hill overlooking Hobbiton, and he was anxious to get back to it. Faith wanted to be on her way too. She had enjoyed her winter in Beorn’s hall, but this was the longest that she had stayed in one place since she had gotten out of prison. In the years following the destruction of Sunnydale she had become one of the Council’s roaming trouble-shooters (she went where there was trouble, and she shot it (or more often staked, stabbed or beheaded it.)) She had only been in Cleveland because Vi had asked for a little time off so she could prepare for the defence of her master’s thesis.

Beorn’s compound was a riot of colours from newly blooming flowers when they packed up their ponies. The air was full of the black and gold of his bees, busily buzzing from blossom to blossom.

“You don’t have to come with us, Faith,” said Bilbo, as he cinched his saddle tight. “I’m sure that the way to Lórien is a much easier journey.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” asked Faith.

“Of course not!”

“So stop suggesting I go someplace else!” said Faith. “Lórien, or Imladris doesn’t make much difference to me. I’m just as likely to find my way home in either place.” Or unlikely, she didn’t say out loud. “Besides, I’ve grown accustomed to your company. I would like to see you safely across the mountains.” She still didn’t know if her dream had been some sort of prophetic message, but she wasn’t going to take the chance that it might not have been. With or without Bilbo and Gandalf, she was going to Imladris.

“Your company on this journey will be most welcome,” said Gandalf. “Now come, we must be on our way!” He climbed onto the large pony that Beorn had loaned for his use.

Faith climbed onto the pony that had been supplied for her, and Beorn led them all out the gate, and then down the trail that led to the Old Ford. Faith wasn’t a great rider, never having done so until a few weeks earlier, but she quickly got the hang of it, letting her body move with the swaying of her mount. She didn’t really need to guide her pony with her reins; it just naturally followed along behind Beorn, and Gandalf.

They came to the Old Ford in the late afternoon. After a brief discussion they decided to cross the river now, and camp on the far bank, so that their clothes would have the night to dry before they set out again in the morning. The water was still icy-cold, and nearly too deep for the ponies: rising high enough to soak the legs of their riders. In some places they needed Beorn’s size and strength to keep the ponies from being swept away by the current.

The sun had started to sink behind the Misty Mountains in the west when they reached the far shore. Faith stripped off her wet pants to wring the excess water out of them. The early spring day was still warm enough to go with her legs bare while they made their camp, but the evening cooled quickly, so she had to put on her woollen leggings.

Beorn the bear had gone back into the river after they’d crossed, and caught some nice fish that Bilbo fried up for them. After dinner, and the cleanup, Gandalf and Bilbo went to bed, while Beorn and Faith stayed up for the first watch.

Morning dawned, bright and clear. After their breakfasts and packing up the ponies, the time came to say goodbye to Beorn. Faith gave him a hug before they parted.

“I hope that you find your way to your home,” said Beorn, “But know that you will always be welcome in my hall, if you ever journey this way again.”

“I’ll remember that, big guy,” said Faith. “You take care of yourself.”

Beorn said goodbye to Bilbo, Gandalf, and their mounts. Gandalf promised that he would be returning this way, before next winter, and he would bring Beorn’s animals back with him. After a final murmured goodbye into the ears of their ponies, Beorn transformed into a bear, and waded into the river.

They stayed on the western bank, watching until Beorn reached the far shore. He changed back into a man, and waved a final farewell to them before turning away, and starting the trip back to his home. Gandalf, Bilbo and Faith turned their backs to the morning sun, and started the long climb up the old road that led into the mountains.

There was still snow in the high mountain passes, and the weather didn’t always stay fair. Some days were cold and miserable, with a mixture of sleet, and snow, and freezing rain driven by fierce winds. Ice on the rocks made the footing treacherous. They were sometimes delayed for a few days—waiting for the weather to warm, and for the ice covering the rocks to melt—before proceeding along some sections of the trail where a slip could lead to a fall of a hundred feet or more down a steep cliff.

As they got deeper into the mountains, Bilbo took to drawing his sword, Sting, at frequent intervals, and looking at its blade. He told Faith that it would glow blue if there were any Orcs about. These mountains had been crawling with the creatures, only a year ago, and the eastern slopes were still the main range of the Wargs.

Bilbo never saw even a glimmer of blue on his sword, and though they heard some Wargs howling in the distance, they never saw any. The Wargs, it seemed, remembered Faith hunting them over the winter, and weren’t risking coming close to her.

There came a day when Bilbo got so nervous about the possibility of Orcs attacking them that he drew Sting completely from its scabbard, and carried it in front of him, resting on the pommel of his saddle. This was a day that they traversed a narrow ledge above a deep valley. Gandalf was wary here too, for they were about to pass the entrance to the cave in which they had taken shelter from a storm, and had been captured by the Orcs during their previous crossing of these mountains, last summer.

“There!” said Gandalf, just past noon. “There is where the cave was.”

The cave entrance was now buried under a recent rock fall, which made Bilbo relax considerably. He let out a great sigh of relief as they passed it, and he was considerably cheered when they made camp that evening.

“We are nearly to the top!” Bilbo told Faith as he prepared their evening meal. “And from there, it will be all down hill to the First Homely House at Imladris!”

Faith pretended to share his good cheer, but she didn’t. This leg of their trip had gone too well for her liking. Their luck had been too good, and that was sure to be balanced out by some bad luck soon.

They finally reached the top of the highest pass. The day was warm, and the sky was a cloudless blue. The lands to the west of the mountains lay below them in waves of green that stretched to the horizon. Bilbo peered at the landscape eagerly, as if hoping that he could catch a glimpse of the Shire, though that land was still too distant, lost behind the curvature of the world.

The way down was no less treacherous than the way up had been, though the weather had continued to warm, and they were delayed by ice and snow less often, and when the rocks were covered with ice, it melted more swiftly.

They were caught traversing another ledge as the sun was setting a few days later. They were all on foot, leading their ponies along the narrow way. The bottom of the valley below them on the left was already lost in the shadows of night, and a cliff rose up on the right. Gandalf had misremembered how long this ledge was, and had been sure that they could reach the end of it—where there would be a wide alpine meadow in which they could camp, and let their ponies graze—before nightfall. The sun disappeared behind the mountains while they still had a long way to go, and the path would become even more treacherous in the dark.

Gandalf had passed what looked like an innocuous pile of moss-covered rocks, when it moved. “Troll!” cried Bilbo as the creature rose up onto its slab-like toeless feet.

Gandalf turned, raising his staff. A bright flash of white light came from the head of it. The troll cringed away from the light, and lashed out with its club. It caught Gandalf with a glancing blow. It was still enough to knock him flying through the air. His staff fell to the ground, and Gandalf vanished over the lip of the ledge.

“No!” cried Bilbo. He drew Sting, and rushed forward to where Gandalf had disappeared. The troll caught him with the back-swing of its club, smacking him back against the wall of the cliff rising above them. Sting was sent spinning away from him, and clattered to the ground behind Faith.

Faith drew her sword and charged at the troll. She parried a blow from its club, and struck at the creature’s neck. It felt like she had struck a rock, and her blade shattered with the impact. She was left holding the hilt, with barely six inches of blade attached. The troll swung its club again, and this time it connected with her, knocking her back along the ledge.

Bilbo groaned on the ground, drawing the attention of the troll back to him. It raised its club, and smashed it down with enough force to turn Bilbo into a bloody smear on the rocks, and it would have if Bilbo hadn’t managed to roll out of the way at the last instant. The troll raised its club to try again.

Faith saw Sting lying beside her. She grabbed the short sword, and threw it, with all her might. The blade completed a perfect single revolution as it flew through the air, and stabbed into the troll’s shoulder. The troll roared in pain, and dropped its club. It reached back with its other hand, to grab the Eldar blade, and pull it out. The blade sliced into its hand, and it dropped it to the ground.

The troll seemed to have forgotten about Bilbo now. It moved toward where Faith was still sitting on the ground. It had also forgotten about its club. It reached down toward her with both hands.

Faith rolled back as the troll leaned over her. Her feet came up into the troll’s stomach. With her back braced against the ground, she pushed up and out with both legs, throwing the troll away from her. It landed on its feet, but it was still moving backwards. It stepped back to regain its balance, but its foot met only air. Its arms windmilled as it tried to recover, but it was too late. The troll vanished off the ledge, only a few feet from where Gandalf had gone over.

It seemed like several seconds before Faith heard the crash of the troll’s impact below them. She crawled to the edge, and looked down. She could see a cloud of dust, and a tumbling landslide in the talus slope of broken rock at the foot of the cliff, but she couldn’t see the troll itself, or any sign of Gandalf.

She heard Bilbo crawl up beside her. “Gandalf?” he asked.

“I don’t see him,” said Faith. She moved to her right. “I think he went over more this way.”

“I am here!” called out Gandalf from below them.

“There!” cried Bilbo, pointing to a hand grasping a rocky outcrop.

“Hang on!” said Faith, “We’re coming!” She looked around for their mounts. Each of them had a length of rope as part of their supplies, but there was no sign of them. Gandalf and Bilbo’s ponies had bolted ahead along the ledge, and hers and the pack pony had bolted back. There was only one thing to do. “Hold my feet,” she told Bilbo.

Faith lay on the ground, extending her upper body down over the edge. Bilbo placed his full weight across the backs of Faith’s calves as she reached down. Faith was keenly aware that he didn’t really weigh all that much. If this didn’t work all three of them might end up following the troll down the mountainside.

Faith moved as much of herself off the ledge as she dared, with Bilbo acting as a counterweight. She was barely able to reach as far as Gandalf’s wrist. She grabbed it, and lifted him far enough to reach a higher purchase on the cliff face, where he could hold on long enough for her to move herself back a bit to a slightly less precarious position, before she grabbed him again, and lifted him higher.

It took a couple of repetitions to get Gandalf high enough that his feet were no longer swinging in the air, and he could find the footholds he needed to climb the rest of the way back onto the ledge by himself.

Faith pulled herself back up onto the ledge, and rolled away from the edge. She lay there for a moment, catching her breath. “You gave us a bit of a fright there, G.”

“Today was not my time to fall into shadow,” said Gandalf.