Chapter Text
The Fellowship had travelled for merely half an hour when the roaring of the wind picked up again. The rocky cliffside rumbled and tiny pebbles rained down upon the travellers. Legolas’s ears twitched and he turned towards the wind, that same fell voice as on the climb before crawling to his senses. But before he could mention it, Lindewen took off her hood and spoke in the language of old:
“Greetings, oh Caradhras, you mightiest of mountains! Your snowy crown glitters beneath the rays of the sun and many people lay buried beneath your towering height. Silver-voiced Saruman compelled you to strike down the travellers who tried to pass you; such commanded the Wizard of White who hides a blackened tongue. But why should you, oh nature's cliff-faced child, be bound to the orders of any man, even if his voice carries the tone of the Ainur? And so I ask of you, a humble maiden at your feet - I beg of you, oh giant of ancients, to let us walk upon your ground unharmed, to let us continue this quest for the freedom of Arda's kind. Let us pass to the mines where Durin sleeps! Shelter us behind a curtain of snow if your stoic grace allows it! If your protection be with us, we will forever be grateful. I swear by the light of the sun, the stars and the moon that I will sing your praises as long as my name is Songmaiden!”
The mountain roared. A low grumble sounded from the earth and the wind howled. But a smile spread across Lindewen’s face. With a grand accord of wind and earth, the snow whipped around the travellers, obscuring their vision. Then, it all went quiet. A hint of sunlight peeked through the clouds and gentle snowflakes fell upon the heads of the Fellowship. Lindewen gave a dancer’s bow to the mountaintop, then pulled her hood back over her head and walked on as if nothing had happened.
“And you said you would be no help,” Aragorn muttered.
“Gandalf could have done the same,” Lindewen replied.
“I tried and failed,” Gandalf said.
“Did you speak to Saruman or Caradhras?”
To this, Gandalf did not reply.
So, the Fellowship travelled onwards, around the blood-stained mountain towards their goal, with no path nor signs to guide them. Yet Lindewen walked surely onwards. She had loosened the lining from her cloak and wrapped it around herself like a blanket. Lightly, she walked over the snow, her feet barely sinking into the layers of white. Snowpaws trotted next to her, gently plowing a path for the Fellowship to take. Mapleleaf and Cloudfur, meanwhile, had settled down on his back, trying to snuggle into his warm fur as much as possible. Behind Lindewen and her animal companions followed Gandalf, then Aragorn with Frodo and Sam, then Boromir with Merry and Pippin. Gimli walked as the rear guard, with Legolas wandering alongside the group as he nearly floated above the snow.
But when they left Caradhras behind and continued alongside Celebdil, the weather changed, and the mountain that was supposedly kinder turned cruel. The travellers tried to bury themselves in their cloaks, but it was not enough to keep out the cold. The wind howled and the snow pierced the Fellowship like tiny icicles. Lindewen tried to raise her voice again, but it would not carry over the cry of the gales. Gimli’s beard had almost turned whiter than Gandalf’s from the layer of snow caught in it and it was unclear where his helmet ended and his cloak began. Even Legolas’s elven grace seemed mired by the bitter cold and Gandalf was clutching his hat and staff as if the wind’s iron hands were trying to take them from him. Merry and Pippin, meanwhile, clung on to Boromir like little cubs to their mother and Boromir held them close, sheltered them with a bear’s endurance. Frodo, meanwhile, looked as though he were fainting, and Sam looked close to crying, while Aragorn could do nothing but hope they would reach the Mines of Moria soon.
Amidst the blizzard, Lindewen turned around and looked upon her companions. When she saw the suffering of the hobbits, her heart ached. They were Shire-folk, she remembered, who had never been outside the peaceful meadows of that cozy place. And here they were, taking on a journey too grand for even the strongest of men to endure, wholly unprepared yet forced by faith to do so. What cruel iniquity. What tragedy. What weather so unkind.
Without thinking twice, she slid off her cloak and fully parted the cover from the lining. Gently, she placed the cover around Frodo and Sam, watching as they gripped it tightly with shaking hands. Then, she wrapped the lining around Merry and Pippin, and Boromir’s hands brushed hers as he helped her. His brows furrowed and tapered downwards as he looked her up and down. She stood before him in nothing but her puff-sleeved blouse, her bodice and her bound-up skirt.
“Won’t you freeze?” he asked with a raspy voice.
Lindewen smiled and her voice quivered a little as she replied: “Why should I? What harm could befall me when my spirit is strong?” She ran her hand across his cheek, then over Merry and Pippins’ heads. “They’re only petals.”
With those words, Lindewen returned to the front of the group, not paying any mind to Gimli’s worried scoff. He grumbled something about elves and their weirdness, only to glance over at an equally worried Legolas. If it was not elven hubris that had led her to such foolish acts and statements, what else could have crossed her mind? Hypothermia? A hobbit’s equivalent of heatstroke caused by cold weather?
But at the front of the group, Lindewen seemed wholly unperturbed. She ran her hand through Snowpaws’s fur and hummed a curious song that lingered on the wind. Legolas’s eyes widened and even Gandalf was in awe as a wondrous sight greeted the Fellowship. As Lindewen continued on her path, the snowflakes gathered in her hair and turned to elderflowers right before their very eyes. They wove themselves along her braids and gathered in her collar, on her belt and in the pouch created by her bunched up skirt. Indeed, the cold didn’t bother her, and the snowflakes turned to gentle petals upon her skin, just like she had said. As she led the group onwards, she walked as if she were an apparition, her movements so smooth, too smooth to belong to an earthly being. It was like an otherworldly dance. Wherever she stepped, a bed of petals remained on the snow, and tiny flowers were carried on the wind to land upon her friends’ clothes. She moved as if she were in a trance, off in her own world where the icy wind of reality faded away.
In fact, this may have been the case, as when she led the Fellowship to a gap within the cliff-face, she failed to notice that the piled-up snow made her too tall to pass and smacked her forehead right against the ceiling. The impact made a bunch of petals rain down upon her shoulders and she stumbled backwards, sinking into the snow – and she would have fallen too, if Gandalf hadn’t caught her. Ears low to the side and red with embarrassment, she hissed in a language that nobody could understand – except for Gimli, who snorted. Immediately, Legolas shot him a death stare, then hurried to the front to help Lindewen get her bearings. She gladly accepted his help in pulling her out of the snow and rubbed her aching forehead. Meanwhile, the rest of the Fellowship descended into the cavern after Snowpaws.
“You alright, lass?” Gimli asked, still slightly amused yet audibly worried.
But Lindewen couldn’t help a chuckle. “You heard nothing,” she instructed.
“Of course not, I was at the back of the group,” he said, suppressing a laugh. “But I’ll be asking about what I didn’t hear later.”