Chapter 6
For a little while, the spirits of the Fellowship had been lifted as they clambered down the stony way of Caradhras, glad as they were to be leaving that perilous path. Yet those grateful feelings were soon quelled when they looked upon the alternative route.
The Gate of Moria loomed before them like the will of Sauron given form, determined as he was to drive them back. The brilliant craftsmanship, wrought from Ithildin, was carved expertly into the wall of sheer rock face that rose above, smothering each heart with fear and doubt. Every eye was upon it as they descended the steep valley that fell at its feet, and leapt across the stagnant streams and tributaries that spluttered along the base. The moon, shining brightly, was released from behind the confines of a cloud and beamed down upon the ancient metal, lighting its face as no other element could.
"Ithildin," explained Gandalf, as they drew closer. "It mirrors only starlight and moonlight."
And indeed, as they came before it, the slithering veins of silver on its surface grew broader with the nightlight, and became thick belts of design that revealed several ancient images.
"There are the emblems of Durin!" cried Gimli.
"And there is the Tree of the High Elves!" said Legolas.
"And the Star of the House of Feanor," said Gandalf.
Beside them, something in the heart of Mariel was dampened, for she looked upon the great labours of Elven smiths long past, uniting the three races of Men, Elves and Dwarves, and as ever, Sueth found no place there.
"What does it mean," asked Merry suddenly, "by 'speak friend and enter'?" And looking they saw that he recited the words that appeared in an arc across the door-head.
"That is plain enough," said Gandalf. "If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open."
"But what is the password?"
Gandalf spoke no reply but drew back his sleeves, and pointing his staff like a sword before him, commanded the doors in a tongue that only Legolas and Mariel of the Elves, and Aragorn like an adopted member, could understand.
Nothing happened. The doors stayed firmly shut, and to increase disappointment, no break between the doors was visible, and so to force them apart seemed even less of an option. Gandalf attempted another language. The reaction was as before. Five more attempts, and nothing changed.
The Company sat down, ready to endure arduous hours of dwindling possibilities and the wizard's bad temper, which worsened with each failed try.
* * *
Amdenia tried to bar feeling from her heart, and respond only to her cruel nature, to which she was more inclined. Yet it was failing. Moria stood before, and duty to Sueth, yet she knew she would not go. She prayed that the Company would be forced to find another way, long as that might prove, but even as she thought it she knew it wouldn't occur. Mithrandir would no doubt solve the mystery of Khazad-Dum.
How long she waited on the small ridge above the valley where her sister stood, she had no idea. The figures below her were too distant to depict, Elven though she was. She peered into the damp gloom, and was hit by another pang of remembrance. Perception of the eye had always been a source of jest between herself and the one she loved. Both Elven and keen-eyed, they had nonetheless sought to outdo the other in each of the senses. He had always beaten her for eyesight – he could have seen the tail feathers of a bird flying four leagues abroad.
She shook herself and came back into reality. Hours were passing with slow but unstoppable steps. She leaned over the head of Aradstar, and fought to pierce the falling darkness with her own eyes. The Company had arisen, all crowding towards the Gate as though suddenly expecting something. A grey cloaked figure before it stepped back and as if following in his wake, the Doors of Moria began slowly to grind open.
Gandalf had remembered the password. They would proceed into Moria.
Amdenia would not follow them. Resentfully, shamefully, she pulled Aradstar about and started back the dim way she had come.
* * *
The doors began pull themselves ajar, and in each member of the Company began to awake a fresh feeling of despair, going into that dark place. Eventually the two stood fully open, and the first of the Company prepared to go inside. But just as they stepped over the terrible threshold, an anguished cry came from the back of the group.
They whipped round, and saw Frodo slithering out of sight, dragged backward by one huge tentacle.
Sam cried aloud, and sprang forwards, reaching for his sword – the other hobbits followed suit. Aragorn wasted no time in responding and Gimli wrenched an axe from his waist; Boromir raced beside Aragorn, Gandalf ran forwards, staff at the ready, and Legolas let fly a deadly arrow. It planted itself deep in its target, and the monster, crying in pain, reared up.
It was huge. Tentacles flailed everywhere and in the centre yawned a gaping and razor-filled hole – it's mouth. Frodo, screaming, was being directed towards this, but the Company set against this. The two Men slashed at the slimy arms tirelessly, and the hobbits stabbed without thought.
Mariel stood, rapt in horror for a second. And then a thought came to her.
There would be no suspicion this time – this time no one would blame her. The monster had the Ringbearer, and if she let him be killed, the council would have to agree that at least the Ring had now been prevented from reaching Mount Doom. The Fellowship would fail, she would remain blameless, and the evil purpose of the Ring could be buried until another was foolish enough to attempt it and she was far away.
For a second, the delicious possibility swam in front of her like the answer to all her troubles.
Then to her ears once again came the sound of pain and terror. She opened her eyes. There was chaos.
"Mariel!" screamed Legolas, leaping in front of her to aim another arrow, "why do you not help?"
Speechless she stood, for less than a moment. Then she ripped out her long sword and hacked at a tentacle. "For the Company!" she cried, and continued to plough through the putrid and endless arms. Frodo was suddenly released as the arm the held him was severed by Aragorn; he fell to earth and into the ready arms of Boromir, who turned and ran into the open doors of Moria. The others followed, now terrified once again as fury passed. They charged in, and not a second too soon; behind them, the monster gave a cry of rage, and raised new arms against them, clawing and smashing at their sanctuary.
The walls shook, the door gave way under the force of dozens of tentacles, it crashed into stone and rubble and the Company was left standing in absolute dark.
There was no other way out.
They would have to brave the long dark of Moria.
A light glimmered from somewhere.
"Follow my staff," aid Gandalf grimly, and with heavy hearts they began to trudge away.
* * *
Several leagues away, trees swayed with the dull winds in the dimness that had thrown itself upon the land. Here the flat plain dipped into a shallow basin, and in the centre of it, an irregular hill grew up as if in protest; the climb to the top was steep but short-lived, for the rise was stunted before it had barely gone twelve paces, and the underside dropped away into a thin strip of shelter, and it was here that the tall figures of Dianor and Felren stood restlessly in the mounting gloom. A small fire was smouldering into embers at the furthest point from the outside, and their horses stood close by, gathering what little heat they could from it, and regarding nervously the ill-tempered faces of their masters.
"The council cannot yet be two days gone by," said one.
"Patience!" snapped the other. "Should we set out now, our hopes could all be gone on the impatience of one foolish decision."
"I said nothing," retorted the first, "except that the council cannot yet be departed by more than days. I merely wondered over it because we have nothing to judge it by. I suggested nothing."
"Then I am sorry," replied the other, and he did not mean it, and this was plain.
"What road shall we take when we do ride again?" said the first, at length.
"Through Dunland," said his companion, "across the Fords of Isen and through the Gap of Rohan to the place where the Rohirrim abide."
"Isengard is wary. War springs up everywhere, we may be seen as a threat."
"We will be seen as nothing more than two lonesome travellers."
"Of Elvenkind?"
"Perhaps, but then we also know how to fight like Elvenkind."
At this the first speaker fell silent, but his mind was still loud with defiance and mistrust. Eventually he could not restrain further speech.
"What shall we gain by letting the council pass before us?" he asked.
"Freedom," spoke the other, "the ability to do as we will, without our actions finding themselves monitored. Although we must remember that many of our kind is abroad, and it is not just the council that ride – though that is where the main threat lies."
"How many days to remain here?" said the other desperately. "My legs beg to feel foreign soil!"
"I remember not that your legs ever carried you," replied his companion dryly. "Rather that it was your poor horse. Three days we shall abide in this area."
"Three days!" cried the first, and as if in protest, he strode towards the edge of the overhang, where faint glimmers of daylight were still struggling. His fellow traveller turned irritably to the fire, but presently there was a shout of dismay from the second figure, and he whipped round and ran to him.
"What! What is it?"
"There!" cried the other wildly, pointing to the dim shadows in the distance, where shapeless shades of grey merged into one impenetrable black.
"What?" demanded his friend. "I see nothing!"
"Amdenia!" hissed the first urgently; "she rides back!"
Dianor peered into the depths of evening, and also drew back in panic. "Quickly!" he commanded, "put out the fire and prepare to ride."
"She is barely a mile out!" protested Felren. "She will see us depart and even you have not a convincing alibi to support our case."
"We will have even less chance if we remain here! She will ride straight past. Mount Doradfun and let us ride as quickly as possible! Night will cloak us!"
Protesting, Felren stamped on the fire and scattered the ashes to dissuade her tracking skills. Snatching up his cloak he fastened it round his neck, and leapt onto Doradfun, spurring him out of the shelter. Underneath Dianor, Madraciun breathed almost soundlessly, aware of the urgency of the moment. Casting a look back, the two saw a shadowy figure just emerging from the black night, head down.
"Now!" whispered Dianor. "We shall get no better chance."
With barely more than a rustle, the two horses bore away their riders at unmatchable speed.
* * *
They had been three days in Moria, and Mariel knew that Gandalf mistrusted her. As he slowly led the Fellowship through deep and terrible tunnels which they could never have endured alone, he saw his glance rest minutely on her, with barely anymore suspicion than could be visibly noticed by a mortal. But Mariel saw it. She now knew that he had seen what was in her heart in the last attack, and knew that like the others, she longed to turn back – but unlike the others, she had been ready to let Frodo fall to his death. Mithrandir, she saw, had meant nothing of the words he spoke to her on the mountain; or he did, but now she realised he had been tactful in avoiding pledging unto her his trust, because in it he recognised the peril that no other had seen – not even fair Legolas.
He knew and suspected too much. She could not allow herself to suffer both him and Galadriel in Lorien.
He would have to die.
Almost wordlessly they travelled the incessant gloom of the relics of an ancient time; forgotten ruins of a magnificent world that some would try to resurrect. On the fifth day, they found the great hall of Khazad-Dum – far beyond the wonder of all present: and they also found the tomb of one of Gimli's kinsmen.
"They are dead then," said Frodo, casting a sad glance around at the skeletons that littered the floor. "I feared it was so."
Gimli knelt tearfully by the tomb.
"No," he wept, "it can't be."
Catching sight of something, Gandalf passed his staff and hat to Peregrin, and eased a heavy book from the lifeless grasp of one of the dead.
The last messages of the fallen dwarf were not joyful tidings to the weary ears of the Fellowship.
"We cannot get out," he read. "We cannot get out. They have taken the Bridge and the second hall."
"Their end is cruel," muttered Boromir pityingly.
"Drums, drums in the deep." Gandalf paused awhile now, contemplating the last writings and wondering whether it was wise to disclose them to the fretful Company.
"What does it say?" pressed Frodo.
"We cannot get out," repeated Gandalf. "And…they are coming."
He closed the book resolutely. Muted terror had fallen upon the Fellowship.
"How…" began Aragorn, but he was forced into silence by a horrible noise.
Wheeling round, the Company as one man, turned to the well by which Pippin stood. Next to him, the remains of a skeletal dwarf were clattering noisily to the foot of the shaft, which seemed a mile off. The sound jarred through the utter quiet and ripped horror across all their hearts. There was a bang (Pippin winced) a thud (another wince) and a final clang before silence once again.
The Company exhaled.
"Fool of a Took!" exclaimed Gandalf angrily, wrenching back his hat and staff from the quaking hobbit. "Throw yourself in next time and save us all the trouble!"
Pippin looked downcast and dared not catch the eye of any, most of whom were glaring at him. Gandalf jammed the hat back on his head and began towards Legolas and the two Men, but a sound even worse than Pippin's foolish curiosity emitted from the depths of Moria.
Footsteps, thousands of them, were crashing upwards and coming ever closer to their small room. Everyone froze. Mariel felt chilling apprehension such as she had never experienced, freeze her every bone. Each person had gone very pale.
Gandalf sighed.
"They are coming."
For a little while, the spirits of the Fellowship had been lifted as they clambered down the stony way of Caradhras, glad as they were to be leaving that perilous path. Yet those grateful feelings were soon quelled when they looked upon the alternative route.
The Gate of Moria loomed before them like the will of Sauron given form, determined as he was to drive them back. The brilliant craftsmanship, wrought from Ithildin, was carved expertly into the wall of sheer rock face that rose above, smothering each heart with fear and doubt. Every eye was upon it as they descended the steep valley that fell at its feet, and leapt across the stagnant streams and tributaries that spluttered along the base. The moon, shining brightly, was released from behind the confines of a cloud and beamed down upon the ancient metal, lighting its face as no other element could.
"Ithildin," explained Gandalf, as they drew closer. "It mirrors only starlight and moonlight."
And indeed, as they came before it, the slithering veins of silver on its surface grew broader with the nightlight, and became thick belts of design that revealed several ancient images.
"There are the emblems of Durin!" cried Gimli.
"And there is the Tree of the High Elves!" said Legolas.
"And the Star of the House of Feanor," said Gandalf.
Beside them, something in the heart of Mariel was dampened, for she looked upon the great labours of Elven smiths long past, uniting the three races of Men, Elves and Dwarves, and as ever, Sueth found no place there.
"What does it mean," asked Merry suddenly, "by 'speak friend and enter'?" And looking they saw that he recited the words that appeared in an arc across the door-head.
"That is plain enough," said Gandalf. "If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open."
"But what is the password?"
Gandalf spoke no reply but drew back his sleeves, and pointing his staff like a sword before him, commanded the doors in a tongue that only Legolas and Mariel of the Elves, and Aragorn like an adopted member, could understand.
Nothing happened. The doors stayed firmly shut, and to increase disappointment, no break between the doors was visible, and so to force them apart seemed even less of an option. Gandalf attempted another language. The reaction was as before. Five more attempts, and nothing changed.
The Company sat down, ready to endure arduous hours of dwindling possibilities and the wizard's bad temper, which worsened with each failed try.
* * *
Amdenia tried to bar feeling from her heart, and respond only to her cruel nature, to which she was more inclined. Yet it was failing. Moria stood before, and duty to Sueth, yet she knew she would not go. She prayed that the Company would be forced to find another way, long as that might prove, but even as she thought it she knew it wouldn't occur. Mithrandir would no doubt solve the mystery of Khazad-Dum.
How long she waited on the small ridge above the valley where her sister stood, she had no idea. The figures below her were too distant to depict, Elven though she was. She peered into the damp gloom, and was hit by another pang of remembrance. Perception of the eye had always been a source of jest between herself and the one she loved. Both Elven and keen-eyed, they had nonetheless sought to outdo the other in each of the senses. He had always beaten her for eyesight – he could have seen the tail feathers of a bird flying four leagues abroad.
She shook herself and came back into reality. Hours were passing with slow but unstoppable steps. She leaned over the head of Aradstar, and fought to pierce the falling darkness with her own eyes. The Company had arisen, all crowding towards the Gate as though suddenly expecting something. A grey cloaked figure before it stepped back and as if following in his wake, the Doors of Moria began slowly to grind open.
Gandalf had remembered the password. They would proceed into Moria.
Amdenia would not follow them. Resentfully, shamefully, she pulled Aradstar about and started back the dim way she had come.
* * *
The doors began pull themselves ajar, and in each member of the Company began to awake a fresh feeling of despair, going into that dark place. Eventually the two stood fully open, and the first of the Company prepared to go inside. But just as they stepped over the terrible threshold, an anguished cry came from the back of the group.
They whipped round, and saw Frodo slithering out of sight, dragged backward by one huge tentacle.
Sam cried aloud, and sprang forwards, reaching for his sword – the other hobbits followed suit. Aragorn wasted no time in responding and Gimli wrenched an axe from his waist; Boromir raced beside Aragorn, Gandalf ran forwards, staff at the ready, and Legolas let fly a deadly arrow. It planted itself deep in its target, and the monster, crying in pain, reared up.
It was huge. Tentacles flailed everywhere and in the centre yawned a gaping and razor-filled hole – it's mouth. Frodo, screaming, was being directed towards this, but the Company set against this. The two Men slashed at the slimy arms tirelessly, and the hobbits stabbed without thought.
Mariel stood, rapt in horror for a second. And then a thought came to her.
There would be no suspicion this time – this time no one would blame her. The monster had the Ringbearer, and if she let him be killed, the council would have to agree that at least the Ring had now been prevented from reaching Mount Doom. The Fellowship would fail, she would remain blameless, and the evil purpose of the Ring could be buried until another was foolish enough to attempt it and she was far away.
For a second, the delicious possibility swam in front of her like the answer to all her troubles.
Then to her ears once again came the sound of pain and terror. She opened her eyes. There was chaos.
"Mariel!" screamed Legolas, leaping in front of her to aim another arrow, "why do you not help?"
Speechless she stood, for less than a moment. Then she ripped out her long sword and hacked at a tentacle. "For the Company!" she cried, and continued to plough through the putrid and endless arms. Frodo was suddenly released as the arm the held him was severed by Aragorn; he fell to earth and into the ready arms of Boromir, who turned and ran into the open doors of Moria. The others followed, now terrified once again as fury passed. They charged in, and not a second too soon; behind them, the monster gave a cry of rage, and raised new arms against them, clawing and smashing at their sanctuary.
The walls shook, the door gave way under the force of dozens of tentacles, it crashed into stone and rubble and the Company was left standing in absolute dark.
There was no other way out.
They would have to brave the long dark of Moria.
A light glimmered from somewhere.
"Follow my staff," aid Gandalf grimly, and with heavy hearts they began to trudge away.
* * *
Several leagues away, trees swayed with the dull winds in the dimness that had thrown itself upon the land. Here the flat plain dipped into a shallow basin, and in the centre of it, an irregular hill grew up as if in protest; the climb to the top was steep but short-lived, for the rise was stunted before it had barely gone twelve paces, and the underside dropped away into a thin strip of shelter, and it was here that the tall figures of Dianor and Felren stood restlessly in the mounting gloom. A small fire was smouldering into embers at the furthest point from the outside, and their horses stood close by, gathering what little heat they could from it, and regarding nervously the ill-tempered faces of their masters.
"The council cannot yet be two days gone by," said one.
"Patience!" snapped the other. "Should we set out now, our hopes could all be gone on the impatience of one foolish decision."
"I said nothing," retorted the first, "except that the council cannot yet be departed by more than days. I merely wondered over it because we have nothing to judge it by. I suggested nothing."
"Then I am sorry," replied the other, and he did not mean it, and this was plain.
"What road shall we take when we do ride again?" said the first, at length.
"Through Dunland," said his companion, "across the Fords of Isen and through the Gap of Rohan to the place where the Rohirrim abide."
"Isengard is wary. War springs up everywhere, we may be seen as a threat."
"We will be seen as nothing more than two lonesome travellers."
"Of Elvenkind?"
"Perhaps, but then we also know how to fight like Elvenkind."
At this the first speaker fell silent, but his mind was still loud with defiance and mistrust. Eventually he could not restrain further speech.
"What shall we gain by letting the council pass before us?" he asked.
"Freedom," spoke the other, "the ability to do as we will, without our actions finding themselves monitored. Although we must remember that many of our kind is abroad, and it is not just the council that ride – though that is where the main threat lies."
"How many days to remain here?" said the other desperately. "My legs beg to feel foreign soil!"
"I remember not that your legs ever carried you," replied his companion dryly. "Rather that it was your poor horse. Three days we shall abide in this area."
"Three days!" cried the first, and as if in protest, he strode towards the edge of the overhang, where faint glimmers of daylight were still struggling. His fellow traveller turned irritably to the fire, but presently there was a shout of dismay from the second figure, and he whipped round and ran to him.
"What! What is it?"
"There!" cried the other wildly, pointing to the dim shadows in the distance, where shapeless shades of grey merged into one impenetrable black.
"What?" demanded his friend. "I see nothing!"
"Amdenia!" hissed the first urgently; "she rides back!"
Dianor peered into the depths of evening, and also drew back in panic. "Quickly!" he commanded, "put out the fire and prepare to ride."
"She is barely a mile out!" protested Felren. "She will see us depart and even you have not a convincing alibi to support our case."
"We will have even less chance if we remain here! She will ride straight past. Mount Doradfun and let us ride as quickly as possible! Night will cloak us!"
Protesting, Felren stamped on the fire and scattered the ashes to dissuade her tracking skills. Snatching up his cloak he fastened it round his neck, and leapt onto Doradfun, spurring him out of the shelter. Underneath Dianor, Madraciun breathed almost soundlessly, aware of the urgency of the moment. Casting a look back, the two saw a shadowy figure just emerging from the black night, head down.
"Now!" whispered Dianor. "We shall get no better chance."
With barely more than a rustle, the two horses bore away their riders at unmatchable speed.
* * *
They had been three days in Moria, and Mariel knew that Gandalf mistrusted her. As he slowly led the Fellowship through deep and terrible tunnels which they could never have endured alone, he saw his glance rest minutely on her, with barely anymore suspicion than could be visibly noticed by a mortal. But Mariel saw it. She now knew that he had seen what was in her heart in the last attack, and knew that like the others, she longed to turn back – but unlike the others, she had been ready to let Frodo fall to his death. Mithrandir, she saw, had meant nothing of the words he spoke to her on the mountain; or he did, but now she realised he had been tactful in avoiding pledging unto her his trust, because in it he recognised the peril that no other had seen – not even fair Legolas.
He knew and suspected too much. She could not allow herself to suffer both him and Galadriel in Lorien.
He would have to die.
Almost wordlessly they travelled the incessant gloom of the relics of an ancient time; forgotten ruins of a magnificent world that some would try to resurrect. On the fifth day, they found the great hall of Khazad-Dum – far beyond the wonder of all present: and they also found the tomb of one of Gimli's kinsmen.
"They are dead then," said Frodo, casting a sad glance around at the skeletons that littered the floor. "I feared it was so."
Gimli knelt tearfully by the tomb.
"No," he wept, "it can't be."
Catching sight of something, Gandalf passed his staff and hat to Peregrin, and eased a heavy book from the lifeless grasp of one of the dead.
The last messages of the fallen dwarf were not joyful tidings to the weary ears of the Fellowship.
"We cannot get out," he read. "We cannot get out. They have taken the Bridge and the second hall."
"Their end is cruel," muttered Boromir pityingly.
"Drums, drums in the deep." Gandalf paused awhile now, contemplating the last writings and wondering whether it was wise to disclose them to the fretful Company.
"What does it say?" pressed Frodo.
"We cannot get out," repeated Gandalf. "And…they are coming."
He closed the book resolutely. Muted terror had fallen upon the Fellowship.
"How…" began Aragorn, but he was forced into silence by a horrible noise.
Wheeling round, the Company as one man, turned to the well by which Pippin stood. Next to him, the remains of a skeletal dwarf were clattering noisily to the foot of the shaft, which seemed a mile off. The sound jarred through the utter quiet and ripped horror across all their hearts. There was a bang (Pippin winced) a thud (another wince) and a final clang before silence once again.
The Company exhaled.
"Fool of a Took!" exclaimed Gandalf angrily, wrenching back his hat and staff from the quaking hobbit. "Throw yourself in next time and save us all the trouble!"
Pippin looked downcast and dared not catch the eye of any, most of whom were glaring at him. Gandalf jammed the hat back on his head and began towards Legolas and the two Men, but a sound even worse than Pippin's foolish curiosity emitted from the depths of Moria.
Footsteps, thousands of them, were crashing upwards and coming ever closer to their small room. Everyone froze. Mariel felt chilling apprehension such as she had never experienced, freeze her every bone. Each person had gone very pale.
Gandalf sighed.
"They are coming."