Chapter VIII – The Doors of Moria

After Elrond's team of elven ninjas had sneakily rescued the Fellowship (they dug them most of the way out, then made themselves scarce as the snow-bound group broke through the thin surface), Boromir sidled up to Gandalf.

"Ohhhh, you are in trouble now," he said, smirking. The rest of the group was too busy arguing through chattering teeth to catch Boromir's satisfied remark.

The hidden two-way microphone in Gandalf's pointed hat crackled. Gandalf cringed, steeling himself for what was sure to be the backside chewing of his life.

To draw the rest of the Fellowship's attention away from Gandalf's 'conversation' with Elrond, Boromir loudly joined their argument, contending that the group should go by way of Minas Tirith.

"Moria!" Gimli was roaring. "We should go through the mines! Nice, dark, warm mines. Salted pork, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. Did I mention salted pork?"

Frodo, red-faced and shivering, spoke up. "That sounds kinda nice. Maybe we should go that way."

"No!" Boromir bellowed, much more loudly than he needed to. "I really, really need to go home. I… uh… I forgot to pack clean socks."

"Oh no!" said Merry and Pippin in unison. They knew how horrific it was to leave home without clean socks (which was ironic, considering Hobbits didn't wear socks).

"Oh, please, pansy human," grunted Gimli, waving Boromir off. "We dwarves only change our socks once a year. And sometimes we skip on leap years." He edged closer to Frodo. "So how about it? Nice warm mines. And all the salted pork we can eat. Think of it: salt. Pork. Together. Pork and salt, and ours for the having."

"No!" Boromir said again. "Not the mines. Mines are dark and dirty and full of dwarves."

Gimli drew himself up to his full height, which wasn't all that impressive. "What're you saying?" he demanded. The dwarf decided, in that moment, that he did not like Boromir.

Actually, Boromir had only been trying to get the company back on track after their disastrous detour; Elrond's location scouts had intended for the group to go to Minas Tirith all along, but Gimli, apparently, had not been informed of this. Boromir cleared his throat to get the dwarf's attention, but Gimli wasn't of a mind to have his attention gotten.

"Well, whaddayasay, Frodo?"

"The mines sound nice and all, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, "but I don't like dark tunnels underground. Reminds me of my aunt's house."

"It's alright, Sam," Frodo reassured, looking very cold. "Let's go through the mines." He glanced side to side to gauge the others' reactions to this decision.

Gimli nodded, pleased. Boromir, Merry, and Pippin looked worried.

Aragorn hadn't been paying attention, as usual. He was making snow orcs, hacking them apart with his sword, and trying to look epic whilst doing so. The lattermost endeavor was not successful. Legolas was closely supervising the ranger, convinced at any moment Aragorn would trip and impale himself on his own sword or some such tomfoolery.

Gandalf seemed to be whimpering to himself over by the cliff edge, scrunched down like a wolfhound pup about to be whacked with a rolled up copy of the Rivendell Daily.

"What's eating Gandalf?" Frodo asked.

"Oh," said Boromir, enjoying himself overmuch, "he's just suffering some gastrointestinal distress. He'll be alright."

The others nodded sympathetically; it had to have been the cram Gimli had brought along.

After a few minutes, Gandalf returned to the group, and his face bore the somewhat purplish cast of one who had only just come off a roller coaster ride of negative emotions.

"We've decided to go through Moria," Frodo announced, teeth chattering.

"Moria?" said Gandalf weakly. He sighed, thinking. That hadn't been where Elrond had intended for them to go, but he had to admit to himself that it would make for tremendous drama. That, and Gandalf had connections there. Secret connections. The wizard nodded, finally. "Very well, Frodo."

Elrond nearly burst a blood vessel. "Moria?! This is going to put the budget over significantly! We're going to have to pay our staff overtime. All the logistics, all the equipment, not to mention the associated risks… gahhhhh!"

"Relax, ada," said Elrohir calmly. "We'll take care of it. Why don't you go sit down and have a nice soothing cup of Earl Grey?"

"Yeah," Elladan chimed in. "Besides, think of how visually dynamic a little jaunt through those mines could be! Darkness, danger, mystery, monsters… could be epic. Could send the viewership through the roof. Remember Who Wants to be a Balrog's Brunch? People love this stuff. Let us handle it, ada."

"Very well." Elrond sighed, trudging away to the catering tent for his tea and a therapeutic eye mask.

"Sweet!" the twins said in unison, high-fiving.

"Don't forget," said Erestor, who'd been hiding in the corner of the director's tent. "You have to neutralize the Watcher before they get there. We'll have no end of grief if you don't."

"Don't get your robes in a bunch," said Elladan. "We've already taken care of that, haven't we, Elrohir?"

The Fellowship approached the walls of Moria via a narrow path running parallel to a small lake. The place was shrouded in eerie, misty moonlight reflecting a faint oily sheen on the heavy-looking water.

"Wow," said Merry, "this place is awesome!"

"I don't know," said Sam uneasily. "Looks haunted to me."

"Don't be such a sissy, Sam. Ghosts are for the birds."

"Oh, leave Sam alone," said Frodo, slanting an annoyed look back at Merry. "He can't help it if he's afraid of everything." He turned to Gandalf. "So, uh, where's the door?"

Gandalf looked uncomfortable. "It's… invisible."

"Invisible?"

Gimli nodded smugly, sidling up to Frodo. "We dwarves like to keep our massive partying grounds a secret. Don't want any o' those meddling elves crashing our awe-inspiring, liquor-swilling revelries."

Frodo coughed lightly. "Uh, are you saying Moria's basically a giant nightclub?"

"Yeah, pretty much," said Gimli.

"Awesome, let's go!" cried several voices. Legolas' voice, however, was not among them.

"Giant nightclub, huh?" he scoffed. "Why would we elves even WANT to crash your stupid parties? I could single-handedly drink all the booze in Moria and not even get a buzz. Dwarven lightweights."

"Bring it!" Gimli snarled.

"Ah," said Gandalf. "Here's the door." He stood before what seemed to be a flat stone wall.

"Yes?" said Frodo, moving forward to inspect. "Door, Gandalf? It looks like a wall to me."

"Well, it's not. It's a door. Watch." Gandalf took a small step backward, raised his staff and rumbled, "Open Sesame!"

Nothing happened; there was an awkward silence.

"I thought for sure that would work," said Gandalf. "It worked the last time I was here. They must've changed the password. Hmmm."

"Ooh, ooh, I know!" said Pippin, rushing toward the door. "This one always works at home." He knocked on the wall in a distinctive seven-beat cadence. Nothing happened.

"Fool of a Took," said Gandalf. "These kinds of doors won't open just for the knocking! Let me try another password. This one NEVER fails…." He raised his staff again. "TrustNo1."

Still nothing happened.

"Oh, for crying out loud," said Gimli, "I'll have to use the universal dwarven door password." He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and began. "1-7-3-4-6-7-3-2-1-4-7-6-Charlie-3-2-7-8-9-7-7-7-6 -4-3-Tango-7-3-2-Victor-7-3-1-1-7-8-8-8-7 3-2-4-7-6-7-8-9-7-6-4-3-7-6."

Boromir and Legolas exchanged glances.

"Yeesh, I'd no idea the dwarves' drinking halls were so secure," Legolas murmured in wonder. "The Mirkwood gate password is 'Mi cabello es más hermoso que el pelo de Glorfindel.' "

"It would be that," said Boromir, rolling his eyes.

Suddenly, upon the face of the wall, there grew an image in blue lights depicting two trees with intertwining branches. It was basically the dwarves' neon sign announcing that the party was on (or at least, it had been, a long time ago).

Then the stone wall separated at the center, sliding open with a cheery whoosh reminiscent of the Enterprise's turbolift doors. "Access granted," said the door in a pleasant female voice. "Enjoy your stay!"

"Oooh," said Merry and Pippin, clapping like it was some sort of parlor trick.

But instead of the throbbing pulse of techno music and a sea of ale-chugging and salted pork-munching dwarves cavorting around a bonfire, the group was greeted by a cold, eerie darkness and silence.

"Oh," said Gimli.

"So…" said Frodo, looking around. "Where is everyone?"

Gimli swallowed, growing rather nervous. "They may be… showering?"

"Let me see." Gandalf raised his staff (it was one Elrond had provided, with an incandescent, battery-powered bulb hidden in the top), and it began to glow faintly, illumining the vast entry chamber before them.

It was not a pretty sight. ~