The ice-chilled wind stung Anyaelia’s face. She shut her eyes tightly, protecting them from the hard snowflakes that melted on her face. Her crossed hand’s pulled firmly against her arms as she treaded lightly across the snowy path, barely leaving a mark.
Her eyes opened and through the blur of snow she could see shadows, her comrades. In the distance the shadow of Legolas could easily be seen as he bounded ahead of the group, his arrows swinging back and forth upon his back.
Anyaelia’s concentration wavered as she tried to guess which shadow was whose, and she tripped over an upturned boulder. She fell into the deep, cold snow and lay still. There was no energy left in her to pick herself back up.
She felt the familiarity of her body drifting out of consciousness. As her body gave in to the deathly warmness surrounding her, she felt her body being pulled out of the warmness. Her eyes opened wearily onto a noble face, Boromir.
He shouted to her over the noise of the screaming wind.
“Are you alright?”
She nodded her head slowly; pieces of snow fell from the glistening crown that began to emerge in her hair. She leaned on him for support as they carried on.
Coming into view in front of them, two small shapes emerged, Merry and Pippin. With Aragorn leading them along. Anyaelia’s ears picked up a small sliver of sound echoing through the Mountains. Legolas heard it as well; he shouted a warning to the others.
“There is a fell voice on the air!”
As Gandalf shouted a reply a piercing crack shattered through the air. Piles of ice and rock fell from above, barely missing hitting the group.
“He’s trying to bring down the Mountain! Gandalf! We must turn back!”
Aragorn’s voice drifted on the wind, Anyaelia agreed, but Gandalf did not. As he shouted an objection he stood upon the edge of the cliff face. His staff he held in front of him as he chanted into the air.
The other voice grew louder and a mass of snow fell from above. Anyaelia screamed in terror as snow surrounded her, her lungs burned for air, but all she could breathe was snow. Her eyesight began to blur as she gasped to breathe, everything around her began to darken.
Her body was torn from the snow and her lungs filled with air, she looked up at her saviour and stared into the face of her lover. She clutched him, not wanting to let go. All of the Fellowship was accounted for, they huddled together trying to warm themselves whilst they determined their next course of action.
“We must get off the Mountain!” Aragorn stated to the others.
“We must take the Pass of Rohan, or take the road west to my city!”
Anyaelia stared at Boromir in disbelief and Aragorn objected at the idea.
“Rohan takes us to close to Isengard!”
“If we cannot go over the mountain, I say we go under it! Let us go through the Mines of Moria.”
Anyaelia watched as Gandalf’s face fell at the name, she wondered what he was thinking. His face remained grave as he uttered a reply.
“Let the Ringbearer decide.”
All eyes were fixed on the small figure, covered in snow as he stood in thought.
“We will go through the mines!”
Gandalf murmured under his breath, all but Anyaelia heard what he had said, and she became worried that maybe the mines were not a good idea. But she had no choice; she followed behind the others, with Legolas by her side. They started the long, cold journey back down the mountain.