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, for some secret Elf-Dwarf interaction and the perilous use of earth magic.

Summary: They reach the Doors of Moria – what now?

Author's notes:

Quotes are from "The Return of the Shadow" (HoME 6) and "The Treason of Isengard" (HoME 7). I also borrowed a few lines from the script of the extended FOTR-movie – thanks to the people who posted it on the Council of Elrond website. Yes, I am stealing lines like my own Sue. Is that a problem?

As always, my sincerest thanks go 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 11:  SECRETS AND SPELLS

Next day the weather changed again, almost as if it obeyed the orders of some power that had now given up the idea of snow, since they had retreated from Cris-caron. The wind had turned southward in the night. In the morning it was veering west, and rain was beginning to fall. The travellers pitched a tent in a sheltered hollow and remained quiet all the day till the afternoon was drawing towards evening.

There was some whispered quarrelling between Trotter and the Prince of Ond about who should guard the resting Princess closely, but Gandalf solved that problem by ordering them all out and taking the delicate task upon himself, much to their dismay. Frodo and Sam huddled together in the far end of the tent, and Merry and Faramond burrowed themselves under Boromir's cloak once more. The big Man growled a little, while shooting dark looks at the wizard, but allowed them to warm themselves – and him as well – until it was time to go on.

All the day they had heard no sound and seen no sign of any living thing. As soon as the light began to fade they started off again. A heavy rain was still falling, and it troubled them greatly, soaking their hair and garments, 'til they all smelled like wet dogs – with the exception of the Elven siblings, of course, who managed to smell of spring forest, even in this foul weather. Legolas rumpled his nose rather demonstratively about what he called 'the stench of the Dwarf', which earned him spiteful looks from his sister and a long row of grumbled oaths from Gimli. In Khuzdul. The purpose  of which was, of course, to make Legolas all hot and bothered, without the others knowing of its true effects.

From that morn on, Princess Vorannoniel(1) took over leadership from the exhausted wizard who still needed to recharge his powers after fighting the Cris-caron. She led them on a detour away from the Mountains, for though she had never seen this side of the Misty Mountains before, she was better aided by the whispers of the Earth under her small feet than Gandalf was by his rather confused memory.

Truth to be told, it was the wizard who took the lead first, claiming that the way was a known one for him. But it seemed that at some point or other he must have gone astray in the dark, for it was a black night under an overcast sky. In any case, they did not strike the stream, and morning found them wandering and floundering in wet and marshy places filled with red pools, for there was much clay in the hollows(2).

The Princess, seeing the miserably crumpled face of the freezing hobbits, especially that of the Ringbearer, whose bow-shaped rosebud lips were coloured bluish by the foul weather, and whose cerulean orbs were barely visible, turning heavenwards in a mute plea, finally decided to intervene, regardless of the drain such strong earth-magic would cause her fragile strength – a strength that was more that of the valiant spirit than that of sinew and bone.

Thus she called a halt and led them under the poor protection of a lonely pine tree, so that the rain could not pound down them quite so mercilessly as it did before, and there she asked Gandalf to put the few pieces of deadwood they picked up around the tree in fire. Once the first tiny flames kissed the wet twigs, she pulled out a small leather purse from her bosom and spread some of the strangely gleaming, grey powder that was kept in it, into the fire. At the same time she began to sing softly, in a voice so sweet and silvery-beautiful that the hearts of all Men and hobbits around her began to ache gently.

"What is she doing?" Gimli asked, a suspicious furrow marring his broad forehead, for he could feel the sweet magic of the song tugging on his heart, against his will.

"Mastering the weather," Legolas answered in a low whisper, sliding his slender hand in the breaches of his love, in order to keep him distracted. "And she is trying to charm you at the same time."

"Can she do that?" asked the Dwarf, shivering under the clever ministrations of the Elf's nimble fingers.

"Mastering the weather?" Legolas' other hand found its way under the wet beard of the Dwarf, caressing that particular ticklish spot between the high collar of the mail shirt and the strong jawline. "Surely she can. She is the High Priestess of Yavanna, and now that the seal of her body has been broken, her power barely has any limits(3). As for wooing you? Over my dead body!"

Torn between the magic song of the Princess and Legolas' wicked hands driving him crazy, all Gimli could do was not to groan loudly. Fortunately for them, every one else seemed focussed on the magic enfolding before their very eyes – though Sam did give them one or two strange looks.

For a few moments nothing happened. Then suddenly the Princess stretched her slim body heavenwards, with her arms raised, as if she would lift off from the restraints of mere matter in any moment, and at once the clouds broke and the rain stopped. The sun came out in gleams. The hobbits broke out in delighted little cries (that served Gimli well, for they helped to conceal his low grunts of delight), and the Princess swooned into the eager arms of Trotter, worn out from the perilous strength of magic she had to wield.

Trotter and Boromir wanted to spend the rest of the day right where they were, so that the Princess could recover a little, but Gandalf was fretted by the delay, and decided to move on again by day, after only a few hours' rest. Once again, he took back leadership, while Trotter and Boromir carried the fainted Princess in their strong arms and Frodo all but sleepwalked between them, completely enchanted by the delicate yet oh so powerful Elven beauty who had taken such great pains for their comfort.

They steered now straight back towards the mountains, but both Gandalf and Trotter were much puzzled by their failure to find the stream. They were of two minds about the right direction, so Boromir ended up with carrying the Princess all by himself, and the dark, lusting looks he cast his sweet burden made Frodo feel very uncomfortable. Wisely, he decided against mentioning aught, however, for he had realized by now that – for some reason he failed to understand – Sam seemed to have no good feelings for their selfless saviour, and his young cousins were completely enthralled by the Prince of Ond, particularly Faramond.

Finally, Gandalf and Trotter agreed on a path, and after a while they had come back again to the foothills and lower slopes they encountered a narrow watercourse in a deep channel; but it was dry, and there was now no water among the reddish stones in the bed. There was, however, still something like an open path on the left bank. They stopped at once and looked at each other in askance. Or, to be more correct, every one of them looked at Gandalf, who once again seemed at a loss.

Fortunately for them all, the Princess awoke from her deep stupor by then and recognized the place from her visions of old.

"That is where the stream used to run, I feel sure," she said to Gandalf. "Sirannon, the Gatestream they used to call it, or so I hear. And I believe our road lies up this course," she pointed out the path on the other side.

The night was now falling, but though they were already tired, especially the hobbits, Gandalf urged them to press on. So, on they went, with slurring feet but rising hopes, into the deepening darkness.

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Before the night was old the moon, now only two days off the full(4), rose through the clouds that lay on the eastern peaks, and shone fitfully down over the western lands. They trudged on with their weary feet stumbling among the stones, until suddenly they came to a wall of rock some thirty feet high. Over it ran a trickling fall of water, but plainly the fall had once been much stronger.

"Ah! Now I know where we are!" cried Gandalf. "This is where the Stair-falls were. I wonder what happened to them. But if I am right there is a stairway cut in the stone at the left: the main path goes further round and up an incline. There is or was a wide and shallow valley above the falls through which the Sirannon flowed."

Very soon they found the stairway, and followed by Frodo and Trotter Gandalf climbed quickly up. When they got to the top they discovered the reason of the drying up of the stream.

The moon was now sinking westwards. It shone out brightly for a while, and they saw stretched before their feet a dark still lake, glinting in the moonlight. The Gate-stream had been dammed, and had filled all the valley. Only a trickle of water escaped over the old falls, for the main outlet of the lake was now away at the southern end, from whence they heard the splash of running water.

Before them, dim and grey across the dark water, stood a vast cliff face, sheer and brooding, rising above them and before them, away into the mists. The moonlight lay pale upon it, and it looked cold and forbidding: a final obstruction to all passage. Frodo could see no sign of any gate or entrance in the frowning stone.

"This way is blocked," said Gandalf, stating the obvious unhappily. "At least as far as it can be seen at night.

"We must try and find a way round by the main path then," the Princess urged.  "We cannot swim across the lake by moonlight – or any other light. It has an unwholesome look...

They had not great difficulty in finding the old path. It turned away from the falls and wound northward for some way, before bending east again, and climbed up a long slope. When they reached the top of this they saw the lake lying on the right. The path skirted its very edge, but was not submerged. For the most part it was just above the water; but in one place, at the northernmost end of the lake, where there was a slimy and stagnant pool, it disappeared for a short distance, before bending south again toward the foot of the great cliff.

 "Well, here we are at last!'' said Gandalf. "This is the end of our path – and now I am afraid we must say farewell to our ponies. The good beasts would go almost everywhere we told them to; but I do not think we could get them to go into the dark passages of Moria. And in any case there are behind the west gate many steep stairs, and many difficult and dangerous places where ponies could not pass, or would be a perilous handicap. If we are to win through we must travel lighter. Much of the stuff we have brought against bitter weather will not be wanted inside, now when we get to the other side and turn south."

When each member of the party had been given a share according to his size – most of the foodstuffs and the waterskins – the remainder was secured again on the ponies' backs. In each bundle Gandalf put a brief message to Elrond written in secret runes, telling him of the snowstorm and their turning aside to Moria.

Then Sam and Trotter led the ponies off.

"Now let us have a look at the gates!" said Gandalf.

"I do not see any gates," said Merry.

"Dwarf-gates are invisible when closed," grunted Gimli, inwardly cursing the secretive ways of his people, certain that – being the only Dwarf present – the others would blame him for this new and rather unpleasant obstacle.

Truth be told, the Men looked at him sourly enough, and the hobbits gave small, miserable noises, especially the Ringbearer whose lower lip began trembling again. But the Princess smiled at the Dwarf sweetly, as if Gimli had just proved his worthiness in a small but significant matter.

"Yes, Gimli," she said in that soft, singsong voice of hers, "and their own masters cannot find them if their secret is lost."

"Why does that not surprise me?" murmured Legolas softly, ignoring the Dwarf's grumble (they had to pretend as if they were bantering all the time) and the rather… unpleasant look his sister shot him.

"Nevertheless," she added sweetly, "these particular doors have been made for the use of Elves, therefore I doubt that they would have been a secret. 'Tis said among our people that they are of some silver substance that is seen only when touched by one who knows certain words – at night under the moon they shine most bright."

And she gave the still tarrying wizard a pointed look – such a dangerously dark one, indeed, that Frodo involuntarily backed off towards the lake, his foot splashing into shallow water. He pulled his leg back with a gasp and looked up at his surroundings. Framing the great pool, beside the rock face, there still stood some gnarled old trees, with dead branches bearded with moss hanging damp above the water.

Gandalf approached the rock between two twisted trees, running his hand over the cliff face, and as the travellers stared at it, it seemed to them that on the surface where Gandalf's hand had passed faint lines appeared like slender veins of silver running in the stone.

"Now... let us see," he murmured, trying to remember some forgotten piece of old lore "Ithildin… It mirrors only starlight... and moonlight.

He looked up at the black night sky; the moon appeared. Framed by the sharp shadows of the two trees, the silvery lines grew bright, shining with sheer white light. They outlined a door formed of two columns beneath an arch with a star in the centre. Writing in a strange tongue appeared in the arch. Gimli stared in awe at the gate of his forefathers, forgetting even his sweet Elf for a faithless moment.

"These are the emblems of Durin and of the Elves," said Gandalf, pointing with his gnarled staff. "Now you can see that we have certainly found the west gate of Moria."

"What does the writing say?" asked Frodo, who was trying to puzzle out the inscription. "I thought I knew the Elf-letters, but I cannot read these, they are so tangled."

"Nothing of much importance to us," said Gandalf. "At least not the opening-spell, if that is what you are thinking. They merely say: The doors of Durin Lord of Moria. Speak friends and enter. And underneath very small and now faint is: Narfi made them.(5) Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs.''

"What does it mean by 'speak friends and enter'?" asked Frodo.

"That is plain enough,'' the Princess said, rolling her shining eyes. "If you are friends speak the password, and then the door will open and you can enter."

"Indeed," Gandalf nodded, ashamed that such an easy answer eluded him at first. " Some Dwarf-gates will open only at special times, of for particular persons; and some have keys and locks which are necessary even when all other conditions are fulfilled. In the days of Durin these gates were not secret: they usually stood open and door-wards sat here. But if they were shut anyone who knew the opening words could speak them and pass in."

"Do you know them then?"

"No!" admitted Gandalf, casting an uncomfortable look at the Princess.

The others looked surprised and dismayed – all except Trotter, who knew Gandalf very well.

"Then what was the use of bringing us here?" asked Boromir wrathfully.

"And how did you get in when you explored the Mines, as you told us just now?" asked Frodo.

"The answer to your question, Boromir," said the wizard, "is that I know not – not yet. But we shall soon see; and,'' he added with a glint in his eyes under bristling brows, "you can start being uncivil, when it proved useless: not before. As for your question," he said, turning sharply on Frodo, "the answer is obvious: I did not enter this way. I came from the East. If it interests you I may add that these doors open outwards with a push, but nothing can open them inwards. They can swing out, or they can be broken, if you have enough force."

"What are you going to do then?" asked Merry,(6) who was not much disturbed by Gandalf's bristling brows; and in his heart hoped that the door would prove impossible to open.

"I am going to try and find the opening words. I once knew every formula and spell in any language of Elves, Dwarves or Goblins that was ever used for such purposes", the wizard explained haughtily, casting a lopsided look at the Princess in the hope of impressing her. "I can still remember two or three hundreds without racking my brains. But I think only a few trials should be necessary. The opening words were in Elvish, like the written words – I feel certain: from the signs on the doors, from the holly trees, and because of the use for which the road and gates were originally made."

He stepped up to the rock and lightly touched the silver star that was near the middle of the emblems with his wand, just above the crown, saying:

"Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen!" (7) The Doors, however, remained closed. The wizard raised both his hands and his voice.

"Fennas Nogothrim, lasto beth lammen."(8) Faramond, snuggled against Boromir's leg, looked up to him accusingly.

"Nothing is happening," he stated unhappily Gandalf glanced at him at him, slightly annoyed. He began to push on the doors, but they remained fast. Faramond tilted his head on the side, curiosity overcoming his fear.

"What are you doing?"

"Knock your head against these doors, Faramond Took!" Gandalf cried angrily. "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."

Time passed around. The rest of the Fellowship got seated around the doors near the lake, waiting for Gandalf to open them. Night was deepening, and they lost hope quickly. Frodo crept closer to the Princess, whispering:

"Surely, Lady Airehirwen(9), you could do something to help Gandalf opening the Doors?"

"'Tis not that easy, Master Baggins," the Princess sighed. "You see, I am not allowed to help, unless he asks me. And he is too proud and too stubborn to do so."

Frodo thought about that for a while, then a sly smile spread over his thin Elvish face. "Are you allowed then to help me if I asked?"

The Princess gave him an approving look. This little maggot was not as dumb as he looked. "That I am allowed to do, indeed," she answered. "Now, think of it as a riddle, Ringbearer…"

Gandalf, in the meantime, was sounding decidedly weary. "Ando Eldarinwa...a lasta quettanya, Fenda Casarinwa..." (10)

Trotter, wanting to do something useful while the wizard struggled with the stubborn Gates, was unhitching the last of the ponies' bridle. "The Mines are no place for a pony," he explained a grief-stricken Sam with every bit of patience he managed to bring forth; "even one so brave as Bill."

"Buh-bye Bill," Sam stuttered, blowing his nose rather loudly in a large brown tissue. Trotter rolled his eyes. The ceaseless whimpering of the hobbits was becoming tiresome. And what was even worse, that whiny little Ringbearer was occupying the company of the Princess once again."

"Go on, Bill, go on", he murmured, giving the old pony a less-than-affectionate slap on the bony backside. "Don't worry Sam, he knows the way home and will bring the others safely away from this dread place."

As if he had heard Trotters rather unfriendly thoughts, Frodo rose and walked forth, sitting down near the Doors. Merry, growing bored and impatient, began to throw stones into the water. Leaving Boromir's side Faramond followed suit. Trotter jerked around in utter annoyance.

"Do not disturb the water!" He bit back the curse that nearly followed. The hobbits were young fools who had no idea about the true perils of this journey. Not for the first time he wished that Elrond had, indeed, sent them home in a sack.

"Oh, 'tis useless!" the wizard dropped his staff and sat down beside Frodo, pulling off his hat. Boromir was smiling broadly but not very pleasantly behind his back.

"It looks as if we may be wanting those ponies back,'' he said in and undertone. "It would have been wiser to have kept them till the gates were open." If Gandalf heard he made no sign. Frodo, however, stood up and looked at the writings of the glimmering gateway intently.

"'Tis a riddle," he murmured as if the thought had just occurred to him.

However, none but Gandalf listened to him. The water of the lake began to ripple ominously, and that was what the rest of the Fellowship watched. Frodo kept thinking aloud, as if talking to himself. Since he did this fairly often, the other Hobbits ignored him with practiced ease. No mumblings of any "mad Baggins" were ever worth listening to. Only Sam stared at him with big, adoring eyes. For him, every uttering of his master was the quintessence of ultimate wisdom.

"Speak 'friend' and enter," Frodo murmured. "What's the Elvish word for friend?"

The water shivers again, but Gandalf noticed it not, nor did he remember in his distress that Frodo spoke Elvish well enough to know such simple words.

"Mellon..." he answered distractedly, and the Princess gave the Ring-bearer an encouraging smile that nearly caused Frodo to swoon off his hairy feet.

Without any forewarning, the stone doors slowly swung open, rumbling deeply and revealing a dark, gaping hole in the belly of the Mountains. The others turned away from the dark pool, staring at this new darkness in mistrust. No-one felt like entering the unlit cave. The wizard groaned, and rummaging through his bundle he brought forth a rough-hewn crystal, placing it into the gnarled roots topping his staff.

"Ai! One of the Seven Stones of Saranac!(11)" the Princess whispered in awe. "They are said to contain the light of the Valacirca(12) and can shine in complete darkness. There were rumours that some of them were sent to Middle-earth as aids against the Darkness, but I never heard that the wizards would have them…"

Which thought she obviously disliked, and for his part, Frodo could not blame her. Such wondrous and powerful jewels should have belonged in her graceful hands, not into the gnarled paws of Gandalf. The wizard frowned… not even the royal Houses of Elves were supposed to know about the Seven Stones of Saranac – but who could know what other secret wisdom the Priestesses of Yavanna still guarded?

"Let us enter the mine," he said, avoiding an answer for the time being, "we have but little time."

The others obeyed, although rather hesitantly. No-one truly wanted to enter the Black Pit… except Gimli, of course. Aside of his hope to meet his long-lost cousins again, he also looked forward to some undisturbed quality time with his Elf in the dark. Trotter followed last, casting a last suspicious glance at the waters.

The moonlight flooded into the shadowy rock chamber through the open doors. Led by Gandalf, hat and staff in hand, they moved towards the inky blackness at the far end of the chamber. Gimli felt enthusiastic.

"Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves!" he boasted.  "Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin." Legolas' only answer was a raised eyebrow. For his part, he would have preferred some cozy dark chambers… and some privacy.

Gandalf brought his hand around his staff, blowing upon the crystal as though to kindle the rock into light. It glowed, as though from some inner strength. Its light mirrored in the dark eyes of the Princess – eyes that were glimmering like stars and shining brighter than the crystal itself. For a moment Gandalf seemed to forget what he was about to do, but then he leant the staff towards the dark halls ahead, dimly illuminating some dirty, broken stairs and columns, upon which many dark forms were tumbled.

Gimli still paid no attention to his surroundings, so eager he was to describe his Elf the greatness of his people's place and the pleasures that would await them.

"And they call it a mine," he said, rolling his small, dark eyes in exasperation. "A mine!"

At that very moment Frodo felt something seize his ankle and he fell. At the same moment Sam and Trotter who had just come back gave a yell as they ran up. Turning suddenly the others saw that a long arm, sinuous as a tentacle, was thrust out from the lake's dark edge. It was pale green-grey and wet: its fingered end had a hold of Frodo's foot and was dragging him towards the water.

Sam dashed up with a drawn knife and slashed at it. The fingers let go of Frodo and Sam dragged him away; but immediately the waters of the lake began to heave and boil, and twenty more writhing arms came rippling out, making for the travellers as if directed by something in the deep pools that could see them all.

"Into the gateway! Quick! Up the stairs!" shouted Gandalf, rousing them from the horror that held them routed.

There was just time. Gandalf, not caring whether the others followed him inside, and then sprang back upon the heels of Boromir, but he was no more than four steps up when the crawling fingers of the dweller in the pool reached the cliff. The Princess grabbed Legolas' bow that had been thrown carelessly to the floor when the Doors finally opened, and began to shoot arrows at the fell creature in the dark water, hitting her target each time unerringly.

But the great bow, made for a male archer, exhausted her strength rapidly, so with a parting shot she leapt up the broken steps, straight into the strong arms of Trotter who pulled her into safety. The Hobbits stumbled over each other, eager to follow her as quickly as they could, each of them trying to get to a safe distance first.

Legolas at least came running up, gasping for breath, with his drawn knife in his hand and talking wildly in the Elvish tongue. He had been distracted  by the deep, sonorous rumble of his Dwarf and barely managed to reach them in time. He sprang over the tentacles that were already fingering the cliff wall; Gimli grasped him by the hand and dragged him inside.(13)

Gandalf paused on the steps. But if he was pondering on how to close the door, or what word would move them from within, there was no need. For the arms seized the door, and with dreadful strength swung it round. With a shattering echo it slammed behind them; and they halted on the stairs in dismay as the sounds of rending and crashing came dolly through the stoned from outside. Gandalf ran down to the door and thrust up and spoke the words, but though the door groaned, it did not stir.

"I am afraid the door is blocked behind us now," he said, stating the obvious once again, which caused Boromir to roll his eyes in silent suffering, even though no-one could see it in the twilight of the cave. "If I guess right, the trees are thrown down across it, and boulders have been rolled against it. I am sorry for the trees – they were beautiful and old and had stood there so long. Well now, we can only go on – there is nothing left to do."

"I am mighty glad I saw those poor beasts safe first," said Sam, petting the trembling hand of his Master soothingly.

"I felt that something evil was near," said Frodo. "What was it, Gandalf?"

"I could not say," admitted Gandalf reluctantly, for he hated to look like a fool in the eyes of the Princess. "There was not time enough to look at the arms. They all belong to one creature, I should say, from the way they moved – but that is all I can say."

"Something that has crept, or been driven out of the dark waters under ground," the Princess said, still panting heavily from the fight. "There are older and fouler things than goblins in the dark places of the world."

She did not speak aloud the thought that the Dweller in the Pool had not seized on Frodo among all the party by accident. There was no reason to frighten the Ring-bearer out of his meager wits. The Ring had to be destroyed, and if the Hobbit panicked and ran away, there was too much a chance that it would come into the hands of the Enemy's servants.

"We must go on, Mithrandir," she reminded the wizard quietly. "What ever the Dweller in the Pool might be, 'tis unwholesome for us to tarry near the Doors."

To this Gandalf had naught to add. Thus they gathered on the steps, following the pale glow of the wizard's staff, ready to continue their way into the deep darkness of the Mines.

TBC

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End notes:

(1) Kraken-fodder. Go, Barrowdowns name-generator!

(2) No kidding! That was what Tolkien first envisioned for their way.

(3) Apparently, maiden priestesses of Yavanna need to get laid first, in order to unfold their nearly unlimited powers. Ask me not why. This is one of those strange Wood-Elven things.

(4) It was the night of 5 December, and full moon was on the 7th – at least according to this draft.

(5) Narvi in LOTR.

(6) This line went to Pippin in LOTR.

(7) Gate of the Elves, open now for me! All those opening spells are from the movie, therefore they are not mine – just that it is clear.

(8) Doorway of the Dwarf-folk, listen to the word of my tongue.

(9) Means the same: Kraken fodder, just  with a different spelling.

(10)Gate of Elves... listen to my word, Threshold of Dwarves...

(11) The Seven Stones of Saranac do not belong to Tolkien – or me, for that matter. They belong to Isabeau of Greenlea and are mentioned in a totally different context in Ch 25: The Eastfold of her wonderful tale "Captain, My Captain".

(12) The Sickle of the Valar" = the constellation of the Great Bear.

(13) Believe me or not, I am not making this up! It stands thus in the early scripts… well, without the distracting quality of Gimli's voice, of course.