THE JOYS OF A BEARD
by Soledad
Disclaimer: Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.
Rating: PG – warning, horny Dwarf!
Summary: They attempt to cross the Mountains – and fail.
Author's notes:
As you will see, there are quite some differences compared to both the canon and my own AU-fic. No Saruman here, and not even the fight with the Wargs – for the simple reason that they were not yet present in the earliest drafts. Also, there will be no surprising plot twist this time; the focus is on the supernatural abilities of the Sue and on bad slash aspects, once again.
Quotes are from ''The Return of the Shadow'' (HoME 6) and ''The Treason of Isengard'' (HoME 7). This time a little more than usual – I was unable to resist some incredibly funny lines.
As always, heartfelt thanks to Nemis for beta reading
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''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.
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CHAPTER 10: FIGHTING THE rUDDYHORN
In the late afternoon, before preparations were made for moving, Gandalf spoke to the travellers. As it was his wont, he spoke in long-winding sentences, so that after the second or third one none of his companions was able to pay any more attention – so they tried to find something to distract themselves from the speech of the wizard.
Legolas simply fell asleep, turning away from Gandalf so that the wizard would not see his unfocussed eyes. Gimli stole a hand under the perfect rear of his Elf, making sure that the exhausted archer would have pleasant dreams – after all, it was his fault that the fair Prince found no rest during the sleeping hours. Merry and Faramond, snuggled together, were busily watching Boromir's manly profile, exchanging small words of admiration in a voice too low even for Elven ears to hear – not that either Legolas, or the Princess Dolenganeien(1) would care for them the littlest, but they wanted not to get caught.
The Princess herself, however, was listening to the wizard with the loving attention a wise master would listen to a promising apprentice. She had been longer in Middle-earth than Gandalf, after all, and there was precious little the grumpy old man could have taught her. The Anointed One of Yavanna needed not to be lectured by someone who had not grown up walking these very paths between Rivendale, Mirkwood and Lórinand hundreds of times. Still, she had the courtesy to at least pay some attention to his words, even if her finely educated mind was elsewhere during the whole speech.
The gaze of her very bright eyes met Frodo's weary yet still curious look, and for a fleeting moment the hobbit felt the unrestrained power and infinite wisdom that was hidden behind those seemingly young features of the lovely Princess. His breast swell with pride that this wondrous creature chose to walk with him on the paths of peril and protect him from evils beyond his imagination. He noticed not the glares of bitter jealousy the faithful Sam shot at the same elated person.
''We have now come to our first serious difficulty and doubt'', Gandalf finally said, reaching the end of his introduction while their last hot meal for a while slowly grew cold. ''The pass that we ought to take is up there ahead'' – he waved his hand towards Taragaer: its sides were now dark and sullen, for the sun had gone, and its head was in grey cloud. The hobbits shivered; Merry and Faramond shuffled closer to Boromir, enjoying the warmth of that big, heavy body, and Boromir patted their small butts absently(2).
''It will take us at least two marches to get near the top of the pass'', Gandalf continued. ''From certain signs we have seen recently I fear it may be watched or guarded; and in any case Trotter and I have doubts of the weather, on this wind. But I am afraid we must go on.''
''And right you are, Master Wizard, I fear,'' the Princess sighed. ''We cannot go back into the winter; and further south the passes are held. Tonight we must push along as hard as we can.''
The hearts of the travellers sank at her words. Gimli gave his beloved a firm squeeze, so that Legolas jerked awake in a moment, slightly flushed and still basking in the afterglow of his dreams. Seeing that Gandalf ceased speaking, he made a barely audible, relieved sigh and moved on to get ready for the continuing journey. Gimli was careful enough not to follow him, though several delightful images appeared before his mind's eye about how they could use that small dent where the luggage lay, for more… creative purposes.
The others hurried with their preparations as well, and started off at as good a pace as they could make. The winding and twisting road had long been neglected and in places was blocked with fallen stones, over which they had great difficulty in finding any way to lead the pack ponies. After less than an hour Gimli was already swearing under his breath, first in Westron then in Khuzdul, the sound of which made Legolas feel so hot that he had to forcibly restrain himself from grabbing his Dwarf and vanishing with him somewhere in the dark shadows aside of the road.
Yet he knew they had to be very, very careful, for more and more often he felt the mesmerizing gaze of his sister resting upon Gimli and himself, and it took him all his inner might to force his own mind to think harmless thoughts, in case the Princess should have managed to pierce his inner defences. This was turning into a very… unpleasant journey for the fair Prince.
The night grew deadly dark under the great clouds; a bitter wind swirled among the rocks. By midnight they had already climbed to the very knees of the great mountains, and were going straight up under a mountain-side, with a deep ravine guessed but unseen on their right. Suddenly Frodo felt soft cold touches on his face. He put out his arm, and saw white snowflakes settle on his sleeve. Before long they were falling fast, swirling from every direction into his eyes, and filling all the air. The dark shapes of Gandalf and Trotter, a few paces in front, could hardly be seen.
''I do not like this'', panted Sam just behind. ''Snow is all right on a fine morning, seen from a window; but I like to be in bed while it is falling.'' He restrained himself from telling whom he would prefer to share said bed with. As a matter of fact snow fell very seldom in most parts of the Shire, except the moors of the Northfarting. And though hobbit children enjoyed making snowballs greatly, snow was generally considered a nuisance by grown hobbits who loathed to have cold toes.
The little gardener tried to get closer to his beloved master, trying to keep him warm, but Frodo only had eyes for the lovely Princess, who seemed to float near them weightlessly, and the smile she shot at them warmed their insides like by wonder. The cold seemed not to bother her at all, though even Legolas accepted the shared cloak of Gimli, no matter how peculiar they looked, with the Elf stooped almost to the ground, in order to be at a similar height as his comrade.
Gandalf halted. Frodo thought as he came up by him that he already looked almost like a snow-man. Snow was white on his hood and bowed shoulders, and it was hanging in big lumps from his bushy brows.
''This is bad business!'' said the wizard. ''I never bargained for this, and left snow out of my plans. It seldom falls as far south as this except on the high peaks, and here we are not halfway up even to the high pass. I wonder if the Enemy has anything to do with it. He has strange powers and many allies.''
''We had better get all the party together'', said Trotter. ''We do not want to lose anyone on a night like this.''
For a while they struggled on. The snow became a blinding blizzard, and soon it was in places almost knee-deep. Legolas wrapped all the limbs he needed not for going around Gimli, in order to keep his Dwarf warm – they looked like some many-legged, mystic creature, under their shared cloak.
''It will be up over my head before long'', said Merry. Faramond was dragging behind and needed what help Merry and Sam could give him. Frodo felt his own legs like lead at every step and gave Faramond, who was at least kept warm by his two comrades, envious looks.
Boromir rolled his eyes, grabbed the two youngest hobbits and tucked them under his fur-lined cloak – Merry and Faramond wrapped their legs around his hips and waist, nearly knocking him off-balance, clinging to him desperately and burrowing their curly heads in the crook of his neck from both sides.
The Princess leaned over to Trotter and said something to him in Elfish(3). The Ranger left her side reluctantly, but he did stumble back to Frodo's side, lifting him with a sigh, and wrapping him into his own cloak, just like Boromir did with Merry and Faramond. Frodo was too weary to even hug him – he just lay in the Ranger's arms, trembling.
Suddenly they heard strange sounds: they may have been but tricks of the rising wind in cracks and gullies of the rocks, but it sounded like hoarse cries and howls of harsh laughter. Then stones began to fall whirling like leaves on the wind, and crashing onto the path and the rocks on either hand. Every now and again they heard in the darkness a dull rumble as a great boulder rolled down thunderously from hidden heights in the dark above.
The party halted. All were panting with fear, and for a fleeting moment, even the Princess seemed to become paler than usual. But she overcame her fear so quickly that no-one noticed it.
''We cannot get any further tonight'', said Trotter. ''You can call it the wind if you like, but I call it voices – and those stones are aimed at us, or at least at the path.''
''I do call it the wind'', answered the Princess solemnly, cutting off a lengthy answer from Gandalf with practiced ease – after all, the wizard had been a frequent enough visitor in her father's court to figure out his habits; ''but that does not make the rest untrue. Not all the servants of the Enemy have bodies or arms and legs.''
''What can we do?'' asked Frodo. His heart suddenly failed him, and he felt alone and lost in dark and driving snow, mocked at by demons of the mountains. He felt hot tears swelling up in his big, cerulean eyes, and his rosebud lips – now slightly blue-ish from the cold – were trembling with fear(4).
''Stop here or go back'', answered Gandalf, ere the Princess could silence him again. ''We are protected at present by the high wall on our left, and a deep gully on the right. Further up there is a wide shallow valley, and the road runs at the bottom of two long slopes. We should now hardly get through there without damage, quite apart from the snow.''
After some debate they retreated to a spot they had passed just before the snow came on. There the path passed under a low overhanging cliff. It faced southwards and they hoped it would give them some protection from the wind. But the eddying blasts whirled in from either side, and the snow came down thicker than ever. They huddled together with their backs to the wall. The two ponies stood dejected but patiently in front of them and served as some kind of screen, but before long the snow was up to their bellies and still mounting. The hobbits crouching behind were nearly buried, and Merry and Faramond complained quietly to each other about having lost the warmth of Boromir's big, strong body.
A great sleepiness came over Frodo, and he felt himself fast sinking into a warm and hazy dream, snuggling close to Sam who nearly fainted from bliss. He thought a fire was warming his toes, and out of the shadows he heard Bilbo's voice speaking. ''I do not think much of your diary'', he heard him say. ''Snowstorm on December 2nd(5): there was no need to come back to report that.''
Suddenly he felt himself violently shaken, and came back painfully to wakefulness. Boromir had lifted him roughly off the ground.
''This snow will be the death of the half-highs, Gandalf'', he scowled in annoyance; truth to be told, he greatly disliked the Ring-bearer and his ever-quivering lower lip – at least the younger ones were of good spirits, if not cold or weary or hungry. ''We must do something.''
''Give them this'', said Gandalf, fumbling in his pack that lay beside him, and drawing out a leather flagon. ''Just a little each – for all of us. It is very precious: one of Elrond's cordials, and I did not expect to have to use it so soon.''
Boromir snorted – despite his lengthy stay in Rivendale(6) he had not grown fond of Elven beverages, believing firmly that they could not even come near to Ond's good red wine. Nevertheless, he did as he was told. As soon as Frodo had swallowed a little of the potent cordial, he felt new strength of heart, and the heavy sleepiness left his limbs. The others revived as quickly.
Boromir now endeavoured to clear away the snow and make a free space under the rock-wall. Finding his hands and feet slow tools, and his sword not much better, he took a faggot from the fuel that they carried on one of the ponies, in case they should need fire in places where there was no wood. He bound it tight and he used it as a ram to thrust back the soft snow, til it was packed hard into a wall before them and could not be pushed further away. Merry and Faramond stared at him with open-mouthed admiration – in their eyes the Prince of Ond seemed like the snow-giants from the North in the old tales their nanny told them in the nursery.
For the moment things looked better, and in the small cleared space the travellers stood and took short paces, stamping to keep their limbs awake. But the snow continued to fall unrelenting; and it became plain that they were likely enough to be all buried in snow again before the night was out.
''What about a fire?'' said Trotter suddenly. ''As for giving ourselves away: personally I think our whereabouts is pretty well known or guessed already – by somebody.''
''I am all for a dry and warm place,'' grumbled Gimli; ''still, it would do no good to lure the evil spies of the Enemy closer to our camp. If there is some hope, even a slight one, that they might not exactly know where we are, we would give up an advantage – and we have not that many of those.''
''That might be so,'' the Princess replied, ''yet I do agree with Ingold son of Ingrim nevertheless. Our first concern should be the Ring-bearer, and he would not survive the night without a fire.''
Gimli wanted to argue, but a look at the quivering hobbit who clearly reached the end of his strength silenced him. They decided to light a fire if they could, even if it meant sacrificing all the fuel that they had with them. The Princess was right, certainly. They needed to keep Frodo safe and as comfortable as it was possible on this evil journey. The fate of the whole Middle-earth lay in the small, trembling hand of the little one.
However, it taxed even Gandalf's power to kindle the wet wood in that windy place. Ordinary methods were of no use, though each of the travellers had tinder and flint. They had brought some fir cones and little bundles of dried grass for kindling, but no fire would catch in them. Finally, Gandalf gave in to the Princess Dolenganeien's gentle urging and thrust his wand into the midst of them and caused a great spark of blue and green flame to spring out.
''Well, if any enemy is watching'', he said, ''that will give me away. Let us hope other eyes are as blinded by the storm as ours. But anyway a fire is a good thing to see.''
''You have done the right thing, Master Wizard,'' the Princess murmured. ''No matter how great the risk, we had to take it, in order to save the Ring-bearer.''
''I would never question your wisdom, noble Princess,'' the wizard answered, bowing towards her in respect. For a moment he was even grateful for the bitter cold that coloured his cheeks blue-ish, hiding effectively that fact that he was blushing.
The wood now burned merrily and kept a clear circle all round it in which the travellers gathered somewhat heartened; but looking round Gandalf saw anxious eyes revealed by the dancing flames. The wood was burning fast, and the snow was not yet lessening.
''Daylight will soon be showing'', said Gandalf as cheerily as he could, but added: ''if any daylight can get through the snowclouds.''
''The Sun is walking in the blue fields of the South, and a little wreath of snow on this Ruddyhorn hillock troubles her not at all(7),'' the Princess murmured softly. ''We are fortunate to have Boromir of Ond with us – a mountaineer who knows his way around snow and stone.''
'Twas now Boromir's turn to blush, for a praise of such a lovely lady was not a thing that would leave his pride untouched. Yet the fire burned low and the last faggot was thrown on, and the hearts of the others sank again. Finally Trotter stood up and stared into the blackness above.
''I believe it is getting less'', Trotter said. Boromir scowled – the Ranger understood not half of the mountains that he did.
''You are right about that, Ranger,'' the Princess said, giving Trotter an encouraging look. ''The others might not see it yet, but it seems your eyes are Elven-keen.''
That caught the interest of the others, and for a long while they gazed at the flakes coming down out of the darkness, to be revealed for a moment white in the light of the fire; but they could see little difference. The hobbits seemed devastated, and even Gimli began to worry, for despite the Dwarves' love for rocks and mountains, dying in the snow was not a thing they considered desirable.
After a while, however, it became plain that Trotter was right. The flakes became fewer and fewer. The wind grew less. The daylight began to grow pale grey and diffused. Then the snow ceased altogether. Trotter shot a proud and self-satisfied look at Boromir – this time he clearly beat the Prince of Ond, whose eyes lacked the keenness of his own.
As the light grew stronger it showed a shapeless world all about hem. The high places were hid in clouds (that threatened still more snow), but below them they could see dim white hills and domes and valleys in which the path they had come by seemed altogether lost.
''The sooner we make a move, and get down again, the better'', said Trotter. ''There is more snow still to fall up here!''
Every one agreed with him (even Boromir, who greatly disliked the fact that the Ranger tried to make himself the leader of their Company). They could not risk another night upon the knee of the Ruddyhorn.
But much as they all desired to get down again it was easier to speak of it than to manage it. The snow round about was already some feet deep: up to the necks of the hobbits and over their heads in places; and it was still soft. If they had had northern sledges or snowshoes they would have been of little use. Gandalf could only just manage to get forward with labour, more like swimming (and burrowing) than walking. Only the Elves were able to walk upon the snow, at least by themselves, yet not with the added weight of their companions, not even the hobbits.
Boromir was the tallest of the party: being some six feet high and broad-shouldered as well(8). He went ahead a little way to test the path. The snow was everywhere above even his knees, and in many places he sank up to the waist. The situation looked fairly desperate.
''I will go down if I can'', he said. ''As far as I can make out our course of last night, the path seems to turn right round a shoulder of rock down there. And if I remember rightly, a furlong or two below the turn we ought to come on to a flat space at the top of a long steep slope – very heavy going it was coming up. From there I may be able to get some view and some idea of how the snow lies further down.''
He struggled forward slowly, and after a while disappeared round the turn. Merry and Faramond cuddled together, sending anxious and admiring looks after him. Never had they met anyone this big, strong and impressive. Their little hearts were full of fondness for the Man – and full of concern about what might befall him further down.
It was nearly an hour before Boromir came back, tired but with some encouraging news. ''There is a deep wind drift just the other side of the turn, and I was nearly buried in it; but beyond that the snow quickly gets less. At the top of the slope it is no more than ankle-deep and it is only sprinkled on the ground from there down: or so it seems.''
''It may be only sprinkled further down'', grunted Gandalf; ''but it is not sprinkled up there. Even the snow seems to have been aimed specially at us.''
''How are we to get to the turn?'' asked Faramond, turning wide, admiring eyes at the Man who had just fought the snow.
''I do not know!'' Boromir snarled in annoyance, for the Princess seemed a lot less impressed by his heroic deed than the hobbits were. ''It is a pity Gandalf cannot produce flame enough to melt us a pathway.''
''I daresay it is,'' snapped Gandalf; the constant bickering of the Prince of Ond was getting on his nerves. ''But even I need a few materials to work upon, I can kindle fire, not feed it. What you want is a dragon not a wizard.''
''Indeed I think a tame dragon would actually be more useful at the moment than a wild wizard,'' said Boromir – with a cruel laugh that did not in any way appease Gandalf.
''At the moment, at the moment,'' he replied with dangerously glittering eyes. ''Later on we may see. I am old enough to be your great-grandfathers ancestor – but I am not doddery yet. It will serve you right if you meet a wild dragon.''
''Well, well! When heads are at loss bodies must serve they say in my country,'' said Boromir, who had no great faith in the wizard's abilities – the old man seemed but some trickster compared with the Princess. ''We must just try and thrust our way through. Put the little folk on the ponies, two on each. I will carry the smallest; you go behind, Gandalf, and I will go in front.'' At once he set about unloading the ponies of their burdens. ''I will come back for these when we have forced a passage'', he said.
Trotter was not happy with the Prince of Ond taking over command, but he had to admit that the advice was sound. So they began preparations for the dangerous descent at once.
Frodo and Sam were mounted on one of the ponies, Merry and Gimli on the other. Then picking Faramond Boromir strode forward, while the hobbit clung to him in absolute bliss, wrapping short but surprisingly strong arms around his neck with a ferocity that nearly made him choke. Slowly they ploughed their way forward. It took some time to reach the bend, but they did so without mishap.
After a short halt they laboured on to the edge of the drift. Suddenly Boromir stumbled on some hidden stone, and fell headlong. Faramond was thrown from his shoulder into deep snow and disappeared. The pony behind reared and then fell so, tumbling both Frodo and Sam into the drift. Gimli, however, managed to hold back the second pony, to the great relief of Legolas, who forgot all of his carefully-kept guise and ran down upon the snow to save him if necessary. The Princess was running hot at his heels.
For some moments all was confusion. But Boromir got up, shaking the snow from his face and eyes, and went to the head of the floundering and kicking pony. When he had got it onto its feet again, he went to the rescue of the hobbits who had vanished into deep holes in the yielding snow. Picking up first Faramond and then Frodo he ploughed his way through the remainder of the drift and set them on their feet beyond. He then returned for the pony and Sam.
''Follow now in my track!'' he cried to the remaining three. ''The worst is over!''
At last they all came to the head of the long slope, Gandalf bowed to Boromir. ''If I was testy'', he said, ''forgive me. Even the wisest wizard does not like to see his plans go awry. Thank goodness for plain strength and good sense.''
''We are grateful to you, Boromir of Ond,'' the Princess Dolenganeien added with a sweet smile that was almost enough to melt all the snow around them.
They looked out from the high place where they stood over the lands. Daylight was now as full as it would be, unless the heavy clouds were broken. Far below, and over the tumbled country falling away from the foot of the incline, Frodo thought he could see the dell from which they had started to climb the night before. His legs ached and his head was dizzy as he thought of the long painful march down again. In the distance, below him but still high above the lower hills, he saw many black specks moving in the air.
''The birds again'', he said in a quivering voice, pointing.
''It cannot be helped now'', said Gandalf. ''Whether they are good or bad, or nothing to do with us, we must go on down at once.''
''Fear not'', the Princess said in a soft yet powerful voice, ''for the birds cannot see us, no matter how hard they try. The Veil of Yavanna shall protect us from their prying eyes.'' The wind was blowing stiffly again over the pass hidden in the clouds behind; and already some snowflakes were drifting down. They set on the long, shining black hair of the beautiful she-Elf, twinkling like tiny diamonds and gave her an otherworldly look.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was late in the afternoon, and the grey light was already again waning fast when they got back to their camp of the previous night. They were weary and very hungry. The mountains were veiled in a deepening dusk full of snow: even there in the foothills snow was falling gently. The birds had vanished.
They had no fuel for a fire, and made themselves as warm as they could with all their spare furs and blankets. Gandalf spared them each one more mouthful of the cordial. When they had eaten, Gandalf called a council.
''We cannot of course go on again tonight'', he said. ''We all need a good rest, and I think we had better stay here till tomorrow evening.''
''And when we move where are we to go to?'' asked Boromir, scowling. ''It is no use trying the pass again; but you said yourself last night in this very spot that we could not now cross the passes further north because of winter, nor further south because of enemies.''
''There is no need to remind me'', said Gandalf. ''The choice is now between going on with our journey – by some road or other – or returning to Rivendale.''
The faces of the hobbits revealed plainly enough the pleasure they felt at the mere mention of returning to Rivendale. Sam's face brightened visibly, and he glanced at his master. But Frodo looked troubled.
''I wish I was back in Rivendale'', he acknowledged. ''But would not that be going back also on all that was spoken and decided there?'' he asked.
''Yes'', replied the Princess with a sorrowful look on her beautiful face. ''Our journey was already delayed perhaps too long. After the winter it would be quite vain. If we return it will mean the siege of Rivendale, and likely enough its fall and destruction.''
''Then we must go on'', said Frodo with a sigh, and Sam sank back into gloom. ''We must go on – if there is any road to take.''
''There is, or there may be'', said Gandalf. ''But I have not mentioned it to you before, and have hardly even thought of it while there was hope of the pass of Cris-caron. For 'tis not a pleasant road.''
''If it is worse than the pass of Cris-caron it must be very nasty indeed'', said Merry. ''But you had better now tell us about it.''
''Have you ever heard of the Mines of Moria or the Black Gulf?'' asked Gandalf.
''Yes,'' answered Frodo. ''I think so. I seem to remember Bilbo speaking of them long ago, when he told me tales of the Dwarves and Goblins. But I have no idea where they are.''
''They are not far away,'' said the Princess thoughtfully. ''They are in these mountains. They were made by the Dwarves of Durin's clan many hundreds of years ago, when Elves dwelt in Hollin, and there was peace between the two races. In those ancient days Durin dwelt in Caron-dún, and there was traffic on the Great River. But the Goblins – fierce Orcs in great number – drove them out after many wars, and most of the Dwarves that escaped removed far into the North. They have often tried to regain these mines, but never so far as I know have they succeeded.''
''King Thrór was killed there after he fled from Dale when the dragon came, as you may remember from Bilbo's tales,'' Gandalf took over the tale, much to the dismay of the Princess who feared that the old man would waste valuable time with chatting again. ''As Glóin told us, the Dwarves of Dale think Balin came here, but no news has come from him.''
''How can the mines of the Black Gulf help us?'' asked Boromir. ''It sounds a name of ill-omen.''
''It is so, or has become so'', answered Gandalf, warming up for the topic again. '''But one must tread the path need chooses. If there are Orcs in the mines, it will prove ill for us. But most of the Goblins of the Misty mountains were destroyed in the Battle of Five Armies at the Lonely Mountain. There is a chance that the mines are still deserted. There is even a chance that Dwarves are there, and that Balin lives in secret in some deep hall. If either of these chances prove true, then we may get through. For the mines go right through and under this western arm of the mountains. The tunnels of Moria were of old the most famous in the northern world. There were two secret gates on the western side, though the chief entrance was on the East looking upon Caron-dún(9). I passed right through, many years ago, when I was looking for Thrór and Thráin. But I have never been since – I have never wished to repeat the experience.''
''And I do not wish for it even once'', said Merry.
''Nor me'', muttered Sam.
''O course not'', said Gandalf. ''Who would? But the question is, will you follow me if I take the risk?''
''There was no answer for some time. ''How far are the western gates?'' asked Frodo at length.
''About ten(10) miles south of Cris-caron'', said Trotter.
''Then you know of Moria?'' said Frodo, looking at him in surprise.
''Yes, I know of the mines'', said Trotter quietly. ''I went there once, and the memory is evil; but if you want to know, I was always in favour of trying that way rather than the open pass(11). I will follow Gandalf – though I should have followed him more willingly if we could have come to the gate of Moria more secretly.''
''Well, come now'', said Gandalf. ''I would not put such a choice to you if there were any hope in other roads, or any hope in retreat. Will you try Moria or go back to Rivendale?''
There was a long silence. The members of the Company looked questioningly at each other, save the Princess, who wanted not to influence any of them with her extraordinarily strong will. She knew well the perils of both ways and that fate cannot be defeated, no matter what one tried. So she remained silent, her heart already grieving for the losses her foresight had showed her clearly.
''We must risk the mines'', Frodo finally said, and despair sank down upon their hearts like a black cloud.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
End notes:
(1) ''Misplaced Goddess'', according to Barrowdowns. Not very original, I know. shrugs
(2) Sorry to disappoint anybody, but this is as far as I am willing to go with the Hobbits/Big People thing.
(3) Yes, I know that it is called Elvish. Please, give me some credit. But in a badfic I have to misspell the name of Tolkien's fairest creatures at least once. It is obligatory.
(4) I just realized that a description like this had still been missing from my collection. Sooner or later, I will mention his creamy skin, too. I promise. 'Tis just too cold for that at the moment.
(5) In the same passage of FOTR the date is 12 January; the Company had left Rivendale on 25 December, and so had been in the wilderness for nineteen nights. But in the original story the journey was shorter: ''when they had been about ten days on the road, the weather grew better'', whereas FOTR has ''a fortnight''.
(6) Yea, it was high time that I misspelled Rivendell's name as well. I cannot understand how I never did that before. bows head in shame
(7) Yes, I know where that sentence is from. I just could not resist, all right?
(8) At least before the Great Maker cut him shorter, in order to make Aragorn more impressive. Gah! (Yes, I prefer Boromir. And?)
(9) In an even earlier version it is said that ''the Dwarves of Caron-dún sent their goods down the Great River''.
(10) In FOTR 15 miles. At some point there were 20.
(11) In the earlier drafts it was Trotter who preferred the way through Moria, not Gandalf.
