Barbossa, who had finally grudgingly accepted his blanket back, merely raised an eyebrow and glanced disdainfully down at Jack. "I've a better idea," he replied, putting an arm around Jack's shoulder and smiling insincerely. "How 'bout I stay with the group, while you set off in the opposite direction? Then, if ye find anythin' worthwhile, ye can hunt us down again an' report it."

"We will not go much further today, Frodo," Aragorn assured the hobbit. "We must take advantage of what daylight we have, for I will not risk traveling these slopes at night."

Nor will I, Barbossa thought wryly. He still wasn't even sure how he and Jack would manage to avoid the moonlight tonight without the protection of the tall rocks.

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“There isn’t a tent.” Gandalf spoke up over the loud wind, “Light are our packs, and only the most essential supplies were brought. And as long as the wind and snow are pursuing us in this manner, it is wisest not to rest for even a moment.”

“But Gandalf!” Boromir said as he turned around urgently, “The little ones cannot continue on like this for much longer!” This was true. Even now Sam’s steps were growing slower and slower- and Merry and Pippin hadn’t the heart to joke about.

Gandalf nodded sharply, but said nothing in response. His gaze seemed firmly set and determined to make it to the top of Caradhras.

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"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Aragorn nodded in agreement with Gandalf, then continued. "A tent would be of little good with these unpredictable winds anyway," he pointed out. "We will hopefully be able to find some shelter under a cliff or outcropping. If you seek further protection from the elements, you can burrow down into the snow and shield yourself from the winds that way. But for now, we must continue to press on. It is unusual to see so much snow this far south, but hopefully it will soon subside and make our passage easier."

Barbossa glanced up at the overcast skies, privately hoping that it did not. The snow made the journey even harder, true enough, but as long as it was snowing, it would also remain cloudy, and that would mean a far easier night than the one before. He may have been undead, but he still needed to get at least a small amount of sleep eventually.

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When Frodo fell back, the Ring had slipped off, and now lay glistening in the snow. Boromir quickly stooped forward to pick it up, his original intentions to keep it out of the pirates sight. But once his hand grasped the chain, his whole being was feeling with an irrepressible desire, a need to keep it, claim it for the sake of Gondor.

For the moment, the pirates and the need to keep it secret was gone from his mind, as he gazed at it, held up to his face.

"It is indeed a strange fate, that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing."


Gandalf watched, his heart stopping at the site of the Ring.

No, these men should not have known about it. Now there would be more questions to answer, more ways to try to deviate their minds from the Dark Lord's power invested in this little object.

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"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Aragorn immediately stopped as well, watching the scene with a carefully guarded expression. Outwardly, he appeared to still be relatively relaxed and only minorly interested, but in reality every muscle was already tensed for action and his heart filled with dread. "Boromir," he called out as calmly as could be afforded in the situation, his hand subconciously drifting to the hilt of his sword. "Give Frodo the Ring."

Barbossa frowned slightly in bemusement. He'd noticed early on Frodo's apparent fixation with the gold ring he carried, though there seemed to be nothing outstanding about it. Why, then, did everyone react so whenever it was brought up? His frown deepening, he continued to observe the proceedings carefully.

Boromir continued staring at the object for a long second, but his eyes shot up at Aragorn's words. He was just as strong as this man, this one who would claim the throne of Gondor. He smiled slightly, trying to lighten the subject again, and stepped forward, handing the Ring back to Frodo.

"It matters not," he said, feigning a light heart and smiling. One hand tussled Frodo's hair casually, just to ensure he was still on good terms with the hobbits. Sam stared, would have glowered had it not been so cold.

Inwardly, Gandalf breathed relief. He had made the right choice, and now they had to cling to the vain hope that the pirates would not question this.

Vain hope, indeed.

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"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Aragorn relaxed fractionally and removed his hand from his sword. The crisis was averted for the moment, but from now on he would be keeping a closer eye on the Gondorian. They could not risk this mission being compromised. Nodding almost imperceptibly in Gandalf's direction, he turned around and continued walking as if nothing had happened.

Barbossa watched the exchange closely, but still said nothing. It was not until the unspoken conflict had apparently been resolved and everyone had resumed walking that he purposefully moved to the front of the group and fell into stride alongside Aragorn. "I cannot speak for my companions," he said quietly, "but know that I am no fool. I know when somethin' is bein' kept from me."

Aragorn regarded the man carefully before inclining his head slightly in agreement. "As do I," he replied pointedly.

Undaunted, Barbossa persisted. "There be somethin' 'bout this quest that we're not bein' told. If we're goin' t'be facin' opposition, we deserve to know why."

"And if we are going to be traveling with complete strangers from another world, we deserve to know whatever it is that they are quite obviously trying to keep from us," Aragorn said mildly. "But we all have our own little secrets."

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"What was that?" Elizabeth murmured, low-voiced, to Will. Why had such tension pervaded the air the instant Boromir's fingers brushed the little trinket? Was it more than it seemed? And why had Aragorn's hand suddenly flown to the hilt of his sword?

The hobbits conversed in low murmurs and suddenly Elizabeth was unsure that theirs was the only secret. She raised her eyebrows at Will beside her - intriguing.

Merry observed these events with a contemplative sort of look, rather more serious than was his wont, but he was too cold to make much of it besides murmur to Pippin - "Should watch that 'un."

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The mutual glance between Aragorn and Gandalf had signified many things; Boromir's weakness, the pirates curiosity, and even the need for a rest. If only for Frodo's sake. His paused, and called for the rest of the company to come to a halt. They were somewhat against a mountain side, and it provided a little break from the unrelenting wind.

He produced a small flask which Elrond had given him in Rivendell. "Miruvor," he said, "We will all benefit from a small drink of it. But only a sip, for I haven't much and it isn't to be wasted. Everyone," he added, with a glance at the pirates, "...may have a drink from it."

With one sip, Sam suddenly felt warmed down to his very toes. The taste of it was very pleasant, and lingered like warm honey in the mouth. He smiled, and handed the flask to Frodo next.

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"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Barbossa merely glared down at Jack in response to the younger pirate's query. Not even one day into the journey, and he was already rapidly remembering exactly why the mutiny had taken place only three days into the voyage, rather than on the return journey as originally planned. If they hadn't left Jack on that island, Barbossa would have shot the man himself-- which probably would have been the better option, in retrospect. But add to that the fact that they were in the middle of nowhere -and in another world altogether-, the fact that they'd been this close to lifting the curse when they departed, and the fact that he was stuck in the middle of this bloody snow with no other option than to follow the lead of another, and Barbossa was quite understandably in a foul mood at the moment.

Aragorn halted at Gandalf's command and leaned up against the cliff slightly while he waited. The flask was passed from one person to another, and Aragorn gratefully took a sip when his turn came. He wasn't terribly weary yet himself, but the warmth that came from the miruvor was welcome indeed. "Drink," he said, passing it to Barbossa. "It will do you good. This place has a poor effect on all of us, and we cannot afford to despair yet. We still have far to go."

Barbossa accepted the flask and regarded it hesitantly. He still wasn't convinced that it would actually do any good, but it seemed as if all eyes had fallen on him. Smirking humorlessly, he lifted the flask in a slight salute and drank just enough to appease any onlookers. As he swallowed the strange liquid, he could have sworn that for the briefest moment he tasted something faintly sweet, but it was only a moment and so fleeting that it was just as likely to be his imagination mercilessly tormenting him with faded memories. But imagination or no, he could not deny that the cold seemed a bit less bitter, and that at least some of the weariness had fled from his limbs. Purposefully reaching past Jack, he passed the flask to Elizabeth.