Next chapter. Yay! This is a long one; nearly 8 and a half pages on Word. My thanks to all those who follow and review this story, I really appreciate it. :)
While I was writing this I did a lot of thinking and a few questions I hadn't asked myself or anyone had asked me before crossed my mind. One of them being "Does Faolan wear shoes?" I've decided, yes she does wear shoes when she's not in wolf form; her feet aren't like hobbits'. They'll probably be like boots, good for travelling and stuffs. Another question was "What would her voice sound like?" Obviously, it's a female voice, and given the origins of her name, I thought it would be suitable for her to have a slight irish accent. Just a few bits of info there to help build up more on a picture of Faolan.
I also had many an interesting thought regarding future chapters but I'm not going to share them until the time comes I'm afraid. I don't think there's much else to say other than have fun with reading 5,554 words! ;D
Climbing the foothills was easy enough for the company, of whom all had grown accustomed to walking for the majority of a day and the wildness of the terrain. At first the ground was only flecked with small patches of untouched white snow, but as they continually gained altitude the patches grew larger in size. Some of them spread out wide, while others turned into mounds that one could easily be swallowed in if they were not careful with their footing.
High above the valleys and lesser hills, the sky was a pure and clear blue, and on the slopes the Fellowship waded through a thick blanket of snow. The air was much thinner at such heights and everyone tired quicker from the lower amount of oxygen available. Faolan took to her wolf form on this part of the journey as her thick coat of grey and white fur kept her warm and her paws prevented her from sinking into the snow drifts. This time she led the group, forging a path through the snow with her powerful legs and deep chest that the others followed in, the compacted snow forming an easy path. Because Faolan wasn't sure where she was heading, Gandalf was second in line giving instruction when they needed to climb yet another slope or turn to another direction. The going was slow and steady as the hobbits, dwarf and men often slipped on some snow that moved under their feet, or fell and rolled back down. Faolan was surprised to notice that Legolas slipped less often than she did, in fact, he didn't waver once; despite the temperature and uneven lumpy surface, he still stood tall and confident. "These creatures will never cease to amaze me," Faolan thought to herself as she looked back at the company to assess how they were progressing.
It was a bright, clear day and the sun's light reflected off the sheet of snow that surrounded them, accentuating the brightness. It was times like these when one could not decide whether they too hot or too cold and became irritable as they wrestled with the dilemma. Frodo, like many of the others, had developed a cold and was lagging behind with Aragorn who encouraged him to keep going. The company halted when a call from the ranger caught their attention. Faolan turned to observe the situation, as did her companions, the snow crunching beneath her paws. The hobbit dusted off the flakes from his clothes as Aragorn lifted him up and checked that the Ring was still safely around his neck. A glint of light on the slope caught the she-varg's eye; the chain must have fallen from Frodo's neck as he rolled down the slope. The Gondorian man lifted the silver chain and held it up to his face, gazing at the Ring wonderingly.
"Boromir," Aragorn said quite calmly, trying to draw his attention.
Boromir seemed to be caught in some sort of trance as he began muttering words only just audible to Faolan's ears. "It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing."
A sharp growl escaped Faolan's throat and her hackles rose. This man could not be trusted; she would have him travel up front where she can keep an eye on him.
Aragorn called louder, "Boromir!" The man snapped out of his trance and returned back to earth and back to the snow topped mountain. "Give the Ring to Frodo," Aragorn almost growled the command, and Faolan could see him covertly grip the hilt of his sword.
Boromir hesitated for a second before stepping forward with the chain and Ring outstretched. "As you wish," he said coolly, as if trying to sound innocent, "I care not." A few of the other members may have been fooled, but the she-varg certainly was not. She allowed herself to relax when Frodo snatched the Ring from the man's grip.
As the tension began to diffuse, the company continued up the slope and Faolan bounded through the fresh untainted snow ahead of her. The rest of the day continued in much the same manner; idle chatter occurred between one another, they made one or two stops to relieve themselves and regain some energy, and of course people continued to fall over much to the amusement of the Elven prince and she-varg.
By dusk, the peak had become steeper and more treacherous. The Fellowship came to a halt and began to settle down as Gandalf noted they could not travel in the dark for fear of someone falling over the edge. For a second, the thought of giving Boromir a little nudge off the ridge crossed her mind. When she realised, she scolded herself for thinking such thoughts and feared that Ring was having a murderous effect on her, beckoning to the killer instinct in her blood. Faolan sat on a bare patch of rock, a few yards away from where the less furred members of the group bunched together, looking up at the sky thoughtfully; dull grey clouds were beginning to gather and the wind had picked up as gusts of cold air ruffled the wolf's fur. "I have a feeling the weather is not looking good for tomorrow," she gave a soft bark to the wizard.
"Let us hope the storm passes during the night," he replied, somewhat worried, "It would be dangerous to walk the ridges in a blizzard."
Faolan nodded in agreement. Perhaps, if the weather did prove to be bad, they would have to stay where they were until to worst was over.
Dinner was cooked by Sam, now officially the company chef. That evening it was an improvised stew, comprised of whatever foodstuffs they had with them with a little bread on the side, to warm the Fellowship up on the inside and lift their spirits. When Faolan joined the congregation and sat on her rump, she did not require a spoon but instead lapped the liquids up from the bowl and gulped down the meat and vegetables – chewing was barely necessary in her canine form, especially when the morsels were as small as they were. During and after dinner, the Fellowship took the opportunity to unwind and sat around the little fire, wrapped up in their cloaks and talking mostly about the journey, Gandalf being Faolan's translator when she took part in the conversations. At last the tiredness kicked in and the last person went to bed, leaving the mountain quiet, except for spitting of embers and light gusts of wind.
The weather had not cleared up the following morning; the storm clouds had thickened and obstructed Caradhras' summit from view. Gusts had turned into gales, blowing flurries of snow in the faces of the company. Gandalf insisted that they press on as quickly as they could in the hope of getting over the mountain before the storm really began to show itself. The sleepy hobbits were nudged awake and had a meagre breakfast as they travelled.
They trudged single file along the ridge, Legolas in front who seemed to walk on top of the snow rather than through it, completely unhindered by the intensifying storm. Faolan ploughed a path through it as she had done before, but the strong wind was against her, forcing her to push through with all the strength she could muster. As the day progressed the snow began the pile up, making it impossible to the vargkyn to walk normally; she resorted to leaping in high arc to break up the snow before her. This was extremely hard work and eventually Faolan stopped, panting heavily, her hot breath turning into vapour as it met the freezing air. Failing to notice that the she-varg had stopped, Gandalf bumped into her, causing her to yelp with shock.
"Why have you stopped, Faolan?" he yelled to be heard above the howls of the wind, "We must keep moving!"
"I cannot go any further until I have rested," Faolan growled, getting increasingly irritated, "You try forcing your way through four feet of snow in a gale, see how you like it!"
The wizard did not speak but retorted by taking the wolf by the scruff of her neck and pulling her behind him. He then proceeded to carve a path out of the snow with his staff. The she-varg grumbled to herself as she padded to the middle of the line next to the shivering hobbits, Merry and Pippin. Sam and Frodo had taken shelter in Aragorn's cloak. They were affected by the cold the most as their colour went almost blue. She lowered her ears slightly and invited them to huddle up to her warm pelt and share her body heat. They pressed their small frozen frames against her flanks as they walked steadily on Gandalf's forged path.
The elven prince stopped and stood on the precarious edge, ears perked listening intently for something. "Can you hear that, Faolan?" he called from ahead, aware that her hearing would match his own.
"I can hardly hear anything because it's so damn windy!" she replied with a harsh growl, "Not that there's any point in my answering, you can't understand me."
"There is a fell voice on the air."
Faolan focused, trying to block out the wind and listen. There was a deep echoing voice, but the she-varg couldn't decipher what it was saying. She snapped at the air, as if to force it to cease.
Gandalf held his hat on his head as a strong waft of air threatened to whip it off. "It's Saruman!" he yelled over the wind. A sudden crack sounded high above them as huge rumps of rock came tumbling from the taller reaches of the peak. Everyone leapt back against the rock face as the boulders plummeted past the ridge and landed somewhere in the fog below. Faolan wondered how that many rocks could fall from the same point at once.
Aragorn called out desperately, "He's trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we must turn back!"
Gandalf refused. He stepped up to the edge and chanted something, most likely a spell, over the hills. Just as Saruman's voice echoed, Gandalf's chant bounced off the walls of the mountains. Not completely sure what was actually happening, Faolan watched with confusion and concern, unsure of what else to do. There was a flash of lightning and a crash. The she-varg looked up, gold eyes squinting. A great load of snow was falling straight towards them. Faolan let out a whimper before she and everyone else threw their bodies against the rock. There was a loud thundering sound and an immensely strong force that knocked the wolf of her paws.
There after it went quiet. The muffled sounds of her companions struggling and gasping for air could be heard. They had been buried under tonnes of snow and fought to get themselves free. Faolan panicked briefly, scrabbling with her forepaws to dig her way out. Eventually her muzzle and forelegs burst through the surface and she snorted and coughed from the snowflakes that found their way into her mouth and nostrils. The bodies of her companions also emerged from the mound, flailing about and shaking the snow from their hair and clothes.
Boromir spoke up this time, much to Faolan's annoyance. She could understand why she would be suspicious of him due to his attraction to the Ring but there was no real reason for her to dislike him this much. Then why did she feel such emotions? "We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan, and take the west road to my city."
"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn butt in with his own thoughts.
Gimli then suggested an alternative route, "We cannot pass over the mountain. Let us go under it. Let us go through the Mines of Moria."
"I'm not really bothered which way we go, as long as it's away from the cold and snow," Faolan growled, growing impatient.
"Let the Ringbearer decide," Gandalf said, seeming a bit hesitant. It was Frodo's quest and it only made sense that he should be the one to decide how they go about the journey.
Frodo looked up in surprise, then glanced at Sam for reassurance and guidance. The company sat quietly for a minute, eagerly awaiting the hobbit's decision. "We will go through the mines," Frodo said confidently, his decision made.
Faolan leapt out of the snow mound with renewed spirit and energy. "Great! Let's get out of this horrible storm," she said trotting to the front of the line. It wouldn't really have mattered which way Frodo decided they would go, as long as they weren't on the slopes of Caradhras, Faolan would still have reacted the same way. Gandalf relayed her instruction and the group formed the single file line again. Faolan was planning on finding perhaps a cave that they could shelter in while the remainder of the storm passed, but she didn't know this territory at all and wasn't sure if there were any caves or if they were vacant.
Already the blizzard began to gently ease into light snow shower. After around an hour's more walking, Faolan spotted an apparent gap in the rock face. She excitedly bounded over to inspect it. There was a rather sizeable opening here, but it was blocked up with large rocks, possibly from the rock fall caused by Saruman. She gave a determined growl as she began to shift the rocks, pulling them away from the opening with her large paws, starting at the top so that they didn't fall on her. The others watched as they noticed rock after rock rolling from the ridge over the edge into the clouds below.
"I've got it!" the she-varg barked when the last rock revealed an opening wide and tall enough for man and pony to pass through. She gestured for the others to stay where they were while she inspected the cave. Padding silently into the mouth she kept her senses alert for any sign of living creatures. Eyes penetrating through the darkness, she could see to the back of the cave which is about three yards from the entrance. There were no shapes of any beasts, nor were there any distinct scents; this cave had not been occupied in a long time. Outside the Fellowship waited anxiously for Faolan to reappear or let out a yelp or a bark. A wait that seemed to last for hours, but only in fact lasted a couple of minutes, finally ended when the she-varg's muzzle appeared round the corner unmarked and unharmed. "It is safe," she declared, and Gandalf gestured for the company to go inside.
The cave floor was bare and dry; much more comfortable to sleep on than snow and ice. And there was plenty of space for them to move around, unlike on the ridge where the space was so narrow that everyone gathered in a clump at dinner time and when they slept. Bill the pony was certainly happy to have more space being the largest out of all of them. A fire was quickly lit near the mouth of the cave for light and warmth that the freezing members huddled around. When Faolan found herself a comfy spot, she let herself flop onto her side and sighed deeply. "I ache, all over," she groaned, feeling her overworked muscles cry with agony. She did not eat that night but fell straight to sleep, exhausted. Faolan was quite capable of surviving long periods of time without food and missing one evening meal was hardly a problem.
Faolan was so deep in her slumber that she missed the conversations and everyone going to bed. She was quite content up until she jolted awake from a disturbance outside. Lifting her head off the stone floor, she rotated her ears listening for any peculiar sounds. Among the sniffling of those who had developed colds, the wind outside and Gimli's snoring, there was nothing. As it was still dark outside, Faolan guessed that it wasn't yet dawn, and prepared to go back to sleep when she heard a howl. It was not the howling of the wind between the mountains, but the rallying howl of a wolf. Had Faolan accidently lead the Fellowship into a wolf pack's territory? The she-varg slowly and shakily lifted herself up so as not to cause too much pain in her muscles, which still ached from so much walking and leaping. It was likely that the wolves were heading out to hunt at this time of day and Faolan positioned herself as a look-out outside - they may have caught her scent, or the scent of Bill, thinking they would be easy prey.
Other wolves began to join in with the howl, readying themselves for the hunt. Faolan sat boldly, waiting patiently for their arrival. She was beginning to get bored; she was actually looking forward to contact with other canids whether friendly or not. Just in the nick of time, the crunch of a hunter's pawsteps in the snow to her right caught Faolan's attention. A male common wolf came into view followed by four other hunters. This had bold dark markings and evidently the leader. His second in command stood beside him, subordinates behind.
"You won't find any food here, my friends," Faolan addressed them calmly, still sat upright at her post.
The pack stopped and tilted their heads puzzled.
"What business do you have in our territory?" the leader growled, ears pressed forward and tail raised.
Faolan turned her muzzle away respectfully so she did not provoke him. Though she was bigger than the bulkiest wolf of the pack, there were many of them and probably could overpower her together. "My companions and I are just passing through. And, if I'm honest, we would not have come this way if we had known it was your territory; I picked up no scent at all. You might want to improve on your marking skills if you want to prevent this from happening again."
The male snarled, stalking towards Foalan and confronted her, sizing her up. "You've got some nerve for an intruder. Who are you travelling with? They are not wolves, I can tell by their scent. You've got men and dwarves in there...and ponies too."
"They are my friends," Faolan retorted standing up tall, demonstrating her size, "And I won't allow you or your packmates to hurt them." Her eyes followed the wolf cautiously as he paced back and forth, as if look for a weak spot.
"Friends?" he asked disgusted. "Men are no friends of wolves!"
Faolan growled defiantly, "I am not just a wolf! I am a vargkyn! Now, leave us be."
The pack quietly muttered remarks among themselves and quickly silenced when their leader shot them a dominant glare. "Give up the pony," he growled, "and we'll allow you and your "friends" to pass through unharmed."
Faolan glanced back at Bill who shifted and snorted nervously. "I'm afraid I cannot do that."
The male held his tail horizontally, crouched in an attack stance and growled, baring his teeth, "Then you shall be fed to the pack."
Adopting a defensive posture, ears and lips pulled forward in a snarl, her own tail raised horizontal, Faolan taunted, "I'd like to see you try."
In a rage, the male lunged forward, jaws open ready to close around Faolan's throat. Anticipating this, Faolan leapt to the side and from behind grabbed the wolf by the back of the neck with her larger, more powerful jaws. The male yelped with sock as the she-varg held him in a pacifying grip. The wolf's second in command leapt forward to protect his leader, before Faolan dragged the submissive male to the edge of the ridge and held him over a thousand foot drop. "Come any closer and I drop him," Faolan growled through a mouthful of scruff. She wouldn't kill one of her kin, but hoped that the threat would be enough to force the pack into submission. The beta skidded to a halt and lowered his ears, glancing at his leader, worried.
Back inside the cave, Aragorn awoke, hearing the commotion outside. Quietly pulling his sword from its scabbard, he slowly edged to the mouth of the cave to investigate. Faolan's ears turned back as the man's footsteps echoed off the cave walls. "Be gone," she growled sternly at the pack, "You won't trouble us again."
The pack complied and disappeared up the slope just as Aragorn stepped out. The leader whimpered fearfully, and Faolan lifted him back up onto the ledge. The she-varg addressed him, "And that goes for you too."
Spotting the man outside the cave, the wolf lowered his body, ears flat and tail tucked tightly between his legs. "Go!" Faolan snarled, snapping at the wolf's rump. He yelped and darted away after his pack.
She exhaled deeply, calming herself down, and turned to pad back into the cave and get some more rest. Aragorn gazed at her, somewhat shocked about the wolves and confused about what happened. Knowing that they was little point in Faolan explaining at that precise moment, she nuzzled his hand as she passed him, reassuring him that everything was now alright. The man seemed to get the message as he followed the vargkyn back into the cave. Faolan curled up in her previous resting spot and reflected upon the confrontation with the wolves. "It's good that I came; if I hadn't half of these people would be dead or seriously injured," she thought to herself and assumed a little canine smile. She was happy to be where she was and the role she played, no matter how strenuous, cold or annoying it may get.
Faolan woke again a couple of hours later by the sound of morning activity in the cave. As they had breakfast and packed away their bedding, the vargkyn stretched her still aching muscles and yawned, deadly jaws parting, displaying rows of sharp teeth. She proceeded to clean the dirt of the cave floor from her fur when Legolas, who was stood outside surveying the weather, strode back in with urgency. The paw prints from Faolan's encounter with the wolves were still visible and the elf had noticed them with concern. "I think something occurred outside during the night," he addressed the wizard, "I've found around six sets of paw prints in the snow. Five of them were quite small, the other was slightly bigger."
Faolan paused in mid-lick, tongue poking out between her lips, and her ears perked. Aragorn, who knew that Faolan was involved with something that happened outside the cave, turn to the she-varg. Feeling obliged to explain, Faolan caught their attention with a gruff bark before describing the event. "That was me. Well...the bigger paw prints were me. The smaller ones were from a group of wolves in search of food. I told them they wouldn't find food here, but their leader was insistent and threatened to kill me if I didn't let them take Bill. But, with a bit of 'persuasion', I managed to see them off. They should not be troubling us again either."
Gandalf nodded, pleased and satisfied at the explanation. He in turn described the situation to those unfamiliar with wolf-speech. "I think we can thank Faolan for saving us from being a wolf's breakfast," he added. Faolan revelled in the praise she received, sitting up tall and swishing her tail. Even those who had their doubts about the she-varg, Boromir, Legolas and Gimli, gave her a pat on the back for saving their lives from the ravenous wolves. She fancied that now they had grown to trust her a little more and thought if she kept up with such deeds she'll gain their trust completely.
The party continued their journey and instead of climbing up the mountain, they headed down the slopes where the blankets of snow began the thin out until there were only a few little patches of white dotting the landscape of dark grey rocks. After a gentle descent throughout the day, Gandalf had led them to a wide lake at the bottom of the slopes. The waters were and black and stagnant; they didn't look very appealing at all.
As they strolled along the stony shore of the lake, the company's spirits were lifted now that they were no longer on the snowy ridges of Caradhras. Many of them began to have idle conversation again as they recovered from the cold weather further up the peak. However, Gandalf often had his arm wrapped around his young hobbit friend, muttering seriously. Faolan didn't catch much of the conversation but she could make out a few words with her sensitive ears; 'Ring', 'power' and 'evil', not necessarily together in the same sentence. It did not sound like a cheerful subject to discuss at all. Faolan also reverted back to her bipedal form, since she no longer needed to plough through deep snow, and also so she could talk with the other members without relying on Gandalf to translate her growls and grumbles.
As they came to a flat cliff face, Gimli gasped, "The walls of Moria." He tapped at the wall with his axe, listening, and explained, "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed."
"That's a handy trick," said Faolan, "especially if you want to avoid uninvited visitors."
Gandalf also searched the wall for the door, "Yes, Gimli, their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten."
The elf muttered to himself, but loud enough just so the dwarf could hear, "Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"That, on the other hand, is not so good," Faolan commented.
Gandalf found an engraving within the rock face and began brushing away the dust with his hand whilst whispering inaudible words to himself. He turned, facing the sky as the full moon was unveiled, followed by an aptly placed wolf howl. The engraving in the stone lit up silver, showing the outline of the door, a crown with seven stars above, a hammer and anvil, two trees and a star between them. On the engraved arch were Elvish runes that Gandalf read out, "It reads, "The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter"."
Faolan turned an ear back and raised an eyebrow. It can never be easy can it?
"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked the question Faolan was thinking.
Gandalf answered with a rather straight forward explanation, "It's quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open." He placed the end of his staff against the star in the middle and began chanting loudly. The doors did not even shudder, unlike the Fellowship who stood out in the cold night. The wizard tried again, this time with different words and his arms raised. Again, nothing happened. Pippin had the nerve to verbally point out the obvious, much to the wizard's annoyance. Gandalf then gave the door a forceful nudge, just in case the doors were perhaps jammed. "I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves, Men and Orcs," he grumbled, still giving the doors a futile push.
Faolan grimaced when the youngest hobbit spoke up, "What are you going to do then?" She issued him a powerful whack on the arm as punishment.
Gandalf responded by barking harsh words, "Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words."
Faolan lowered her ears and her gaze. She did not want to think about what an angered wizard might do to them.
As he calmed down and searched for the correct words to open the doors, the Fellowship sat around waiting. Bill the pony was relieved of his duties and sent home as he couldn't accompany them into the mines, which saddened Sam as he had grown fond of the old pony. Faolan sat on a rock with Merry and Pippin by the water grumbling to herself; she was bored, restless and cold and needed something to preoccupy herself with. She noted what Gandalf had called Pippin earlier and thought it rather curious. "I noticed," she began, "Gandalf called you 'Peregrin'. Is that you're proper name?"
The youngest of the hobbits turned to her a little surprised. He thought she would have known that fact about him, until he remembered that they and Faolan had met on quite urgent and suspicious terms. "It is," he answered, "But friends and family just call me 'Pippin', as you've probably already noticed. I prefer it to 'Peregrin'; that just sounds too formal."
Faolan paused for a short moment, thinking. "I quite like 'Peregrin'," she said, casually repeating the name and listening as the sounds rolled off her tongue. The hobbits gave her puzzled glances. Faolan lowered her ears apologetically – it will take a long time to become accustomed to a large mixed racial group completely. "I didn't like the sound of my proper name," she continued, "So I shortened to something I liked."
Merry joined in with the conversation, "What is your proper name?"
Faolan grimaced before reluctantly reciting it, "Faoiltiama. I mean, what sort of name is that? Mother must have been out of her mind!"
The three of them laughed a little, amused by the vargkyn's outburst. "I always thought my name was quite noble," Merry sat up straight as he pronounced his full name with pride, "Meriadoc."
Faolan thought the name's sound funny and stifled a laugh, "If you say so, Meriadoc."
A chorus of wolves' howling resounded around the lake, echoing off the stone walls of the mountain. Faolan turned her eyes to the sky and let out a low hum as she listened intently to the pack's song. The others merely let the melody fall on deaf ears as they did not appreciate the songs of Wolves as she did.
"What are they saying," Merry asked in a hushed voice, intrigued.
"They are not saying," answered the vargkyn, "they are singing. 'Wolf' is a collective term for the many different Wolf races which are Common wolves, White wolves, Wargs, Werewolves, and Vargkyn. We all share the language of the Wolves, the Vargkyn being an exception as we also speak and understand the Common Speech. Like any other race in Middle-earth, Wolves, except Werewolves because they are just evil, have culture and we like to make up and sing songs as much as any other being. The song that these wolves howl is a sad one. It is an old one that my kind could not hear when it was first sung. It mourns for the time when Wolf kind, particularly the Wargs, was enslaved the Dark Powers and Elves, Men, Dwarves, and all the others were to feel only distaste to Wolves. Personally, I prefer the more cheerful of tales."
Behind them, by the shining stone Doors of Durin, Gandalf cast his staff to one side and sat himself on a rock where Frodo sat. "Oh, it's useless," he grumbled.
Faolan sighed in despair at the thought of being stuck by that cold dark lake for much longer. "I don't suppose either of you know how to open those doors," she said to the hobbits, "Speak, friend, and enter, was it? What does that even mean?"
A thoughtful expression crossed Merry's face, accompanied by a long pause. "What if," he thought aloud, "the wording on the arch was wrong?"
Faolan raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "I'm sure who ever wrote that would take care not to make any mistakes."
"But it is easy sometimes to mistake a word for a different word that is similar."
Faolan didn't quite understand for she could not read or write. But, knowing that Merry's idea was better than nothing, she gave him the chance. "It doesn't make much sense to me, but we can give it a try."
Merry then shot up and rushed over to Gandalf, Faolan following closely behind. "We have been thinking," Merry said hastily, "And we think we've got an answer to this puzzle of a door."
The wizard lifted his head, listening attentively.
The hobbit continued with his idea, "We thought that perhaps the words on the arch were a bit confused, and that instead of 'speak, friend, and enter' it should be 'say, friend, and enter'."
A glimmer of surprise flickered in Gandalf's eyes; Meriadoc may well indeed have solved this riddle. He slowly rose from the rock and said with newly kindled hope, "I think, my little friends, that you may be right. The words are written in an Elven-tongue, so let us try that first, shall we?" He then spoke the elvish word meaning 'friend', 'mellon'.
There was a sudden crack and a thin gap between two doors was visible, at least to Faolan's eyes. The doors parted and swung outwards with the sound of stone scraping against stone, revealing a huge tunnel that lead into the mountain. The she-varg's tail wagged with relief and new enthusiasm. They were free to take the path through Moria.
And that's that...for now. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, and I'll be curious to know how long it took you. xD
Please leave a review, let me know what you think, and if you have any questions (not about Faolan's shoes) then please do ask; I'll be more than happy to answer. :)
