Chapter 11

Apparently the furred beasts were not fond of fire. Torches were made to hold back both night and wargs and the group set off, swords in one hand and torches in the other. Drizzt was gratified that they allowed her to hold a torch as well, albeit a small one. The heat was welcome as her slippered feet tread lightly over the inch-deep snow. It was warmer now that they were down in the foothills of the Misty Mountains rather than its peaks but it was still far from comfortable. The wind, at least, had all but ceased.

She was a little bitter that the first weapon they'd granted her was one that would burn away to nothing in all-too-short a time. The message was clear that they still didn't trust her to act sensibly while not under direct supervision. Legolas was quite possibly the worst offender of late. It was sickening the way that Aragorn acted like she was a mind-injured beloved but still not quite as annoying as Legolas's penchant to talk to her like a child ever since her age was revealed.

Irritation and rage steamed inside her until her body no longer felt chill. Briefly she wondered if this was the trick to Legolas's immunity to cold but decided he was far too blank-faced to let rage rule him perpetually. 'If only I had my swords.' This would have been a great time to save the day and earn the respect of all (or, in much of her experience, jealousy and enmity), but even if she were to nab a dagger from one of the hobbits she'd have no chance to use it. Both Legolas and Aragorn were infuriatingly competent in matters not pertaining to her, easily felling two wargs near a hundred paces back from the party with dead-shot arrows. No other wargs showed themselves, either giving them up for easier prey or waiting for reinforcements. Drizzt guessed the latter

As the fellowship breached the treeline it occurred to Drizzt that she had no idea what Moria was. The explanations the others gave to the hobbits as the group continued their brisk walk illuminated little. The descriptions varied from a mine (Boromir) to the most glorious city ever built (Gimli) to a dank place unfit for life (Legolas) to vague words of unease from Gandalf. Her unfamiliarity with some of the words made it even harder to form a mental picture of the place, but with enemies at their heels she felt it inappropriate to speak - especially when the dwarf was loud enough for all of them.

Rather than another mountain pass they seemed to be headed into a dead end. A rather foul-smelling dead end at that. Drizzt settled down to rest near a stagnant pool as Gandalf glared at a stone wall.

"Another impassable mountain?" said Drizzt. "This is becoming a habit."

Gandalf grumbled at that, puffing on his pipe with greater intensity. Drizzt restrained herself from saying anything further. The hobbits were making enough complaints on their own after Frodo translated her comment for them. She'd be more concerned if this wasn't a relatively defensible position thanks to the pond and high cliffs. It'd be a whole lot better if there was an escape route though.

"Maybe I could climb up?' The rock face was quite sheer but if she magically lowered her weight again she could likely manage it. With a bow and a sword she could circle around and start picking off anything following them. Or, if they still refused to let her take weapons, perhaps carry a rope up so that the others could follow. But she wasn't going to do any of that just yet. Best to wait until the tepid warmth coming off the pond warmed her fingers and toes so that she could actually feel out the crevices in the rock for footholds. Besides, the group would appreciate her efforts more if she let them stew for a bit.

"These are dwarf doors," said Gandalf. "They are the only thing that stand between us and Moria."

"The walls of Moria!" exclaimed Gimli, voice so loud that the echo off the cliffs could likely be heard for miles. Drizzt had thought that grey dwarves in the Underdark were nasty things but these surface dwarves occasionally gave her the urge to strangle them so they didn't hurt her ears. "Long have I wished to see the famed artisanship of my kin."

Drizzt's eyebrow rose at that. Was she mistaken about the meaning of the word 'artisanship'? "Neisa cliff?" she asked haltingly in Westron. She wasn't fond of sounding silly but she was curious enough to warrant speaking the unfamiliar tongue in front of the group.

Gimli was taken aback by her actually saying something not in Elvish but swiftly recovered and belted out his answer. "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The seams are hidden with magic and skill so that not even their own makers can see them when closed."

"So how are we supposed to find them?" asked Pippin, thankfully saving Drizzt from having to formulate such a long sentence.

"We search," said Gandalf. "Everyone start looking. There should be a hint or a lever somewhere to open it."

Everyone save Drizzt started probing the rock face, running their hands all over it. Normally she'd be quite good at this sort of thing but until she recovered from the cold it wasn't worth the bother. Best to just sit by the apparently hot spring fed pond and warm up, even if it did stink worse than a goblin. Besides, her seat gave her an excellent view of the fellowship's antics. Merry in particular was hilarious as he started licking the rock in search of a clue, spitting sand out of his mouth every few seconds.

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