These Lovely Scars (Lord of the Rings Fanfic)

Over

"The passage south is being watched." Gandalf says as we all pack up and get ready to leave. "We must make for the pass of Caradhras." I look to Aragon, and he points to the looming mountains not far ahead. Again, I feel like a child for not knowing anything about the world, but then I remind myself that this actually is my first time outside of Rivendell. The thought is scary and saddening. The mountains are covered with caps of fresh white snow, and that weird feeling comes back to me again. The faintest sliver of a memory tugs at the back of my mind, trying to free itself. Gandalf puts a hand on my shoulder. Only then do I realize that I have been staring blankly at the mountains, probably looking like a fool. I shake the feeling from my head and face him. I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it. "Don't fight it. Let them come." That's all he says to me. I stare at him a bit awkwardly as he pats my shouler and moves with the fellowship. This is not the first time he has said something like this to me. I understand what he is telling me, but I don't want to. I don't feel ready.

• ⧫ • ⧫ •

It takes several hours, but we finally find ourselves climbing up the mountain, trudging through the snow that seems to get deeper and deeper as we climb higher. I hang at the back of the group, trailing along while lost in my own thoughts. The sensation of familiarity is growing stronger, and it leaves me with a lingering paranoia. I tell myself that it's just the white of the snow all around us that's doing weird things to my mind, but I feel like I'm telling lies to myself.

I can't stop thinking about it.

I don't even know what I'm thinking about. It's not really even a thought, but more a feeling. Yet it stays in my mind.

Needless to be said, the higher we go, the colder and stormier it gets. I am doing alright, considering the fact that I've never walked in snow before (in this life at least), but I still hang at the back of the pack. The hobbits are struggling, though, and for obvious reasons. Because of their height, they trudge much deeper in the snow than the rest of us. I am surprised that Sam has been able to keep hold of the pony.

"Mister Frodo!" Sam shouts, breaking me out of my reverie. "Someone, catch him!" I turn to see what's happened, but I am too late. A force knocks me backwards, and then do I realize that Frodo has stumbled down the hill and brought me with him. We tumble a few yards down, until finally I manage to stick my foot out and stop us from falling off the mountainside entirely. The fellowship has turned to us, and Aragon and Legolas come to help us.

I have snow all down my back and under my clothes. I am freezing and wet, and I couldn't possibly feel more uncomfortable. "Sorry Adrianne," Frodo says sheepishly. At this moment, I realize the strain the ring has had on him in such a short period of time. Though his nose and cheeks are pinched red from the cold, he has dark circles under his eyes and looks tense. Different from the bright faced hobbit I first saw in Rivendell.

I take Legolas's hand graciously as he helps me up. The warmth from him spreads though my body and instantly makes me feel better. Giving him a thankful smile, I momentarily forget about the cold. "Thanks," I say. Then I turn to Frodo. "Are you okay, Frodo?" I ask as Aragon pulls him up. "That was quite a tumble you took."

But he's not paying attention. He pats frantically at his chest, as if feeling for something. The ring. As if on cue, all of us snap our heads uphill, where the ring lays glittering in the snow. The gold stands out against the white of the snow, and we all stand in place as if in a trance. Who dares to pick it up?

But of course, Boromir. He walks over to it without taking his eyes off the shining circlet and picks it up. The ring hangs suspended in the air by a thick silver chain, which Frodo has been wearing around his neck. I can almost imagine Boromir slinking the chain over his own neck and walking off with it, the one ring in his posession. "Boromir," Aragorn says warningly. "Give the ring to Frodo." Boromir ignores him and continues to stare at the ring, which hangs in front of his face, right in his reach. "BOROMIR!"