A/N: There is none! YAY!
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'Riddles. All riddles. This is growing ridiculous!'
Merry, patience thoroughly worn, bad-tempered took up a stone and flung it across the still, silent surface of the sable-depthed Mirrormere. The Moria Gate, apparent in flowing viens of moonlight silver, allowed them no entry, requiring a password before they might pass.
Gandalf had pointlessly uttered every spell that came to mind, in the tongues of Men, Dwarves, Elves, and even the dreaded, vulgar speech of the Orcs. Bemused and weary, he slumped now upon a nearby boulder, the wiry branches of a leafless holly bush stretching over the wizard, seen now as a broken, age-afflicted and world-weary old man.
Aragorn had recently suffered another of his 'funny turns', as Sam had named his abrupt changes in demeanour. No longer in his former self, the uncouth other had taken over. The true Ranger had ceased to struggle against this other overpowering will. Legolas inwardly prayed he had come to understand that he had not the strength of mind to fight it. Boromir was again holding the tether.
'Must ... no ... hobbits - ack!' cried Aragorn in a fury, and at once began another tantrum, trying to loosen his binds and kick his companions away from him, writhing and shouting terrible expletives. Pippin turned away, his ears locked safely behind his hands, but it did little to deaden the noise, save muffle it mildly.
'Keep him still!' came Gandalf's booming voice. 'I cannot think with him screaming so! Render him unconscious if you must, just silence him!'
Wide eyes fell upon him. Gandalf ignored them and returned to his fruitless ponderings of the riddle over the Gates:
Speak, friend, and enter.
Pointedly he had ignored the infuriating stupidity of the Took and the Brandybuck, who had at once asked what it could possibly mean after it had been translated for their benefit into the Common Tongue. Now his temper was growing short, and the night was growing late.
The watery eye of the moon peered out at them from behind its coronet of wispy cloud, borne on the back of a light breeze. Frodo was struck by sudden inspiration. Leaping to his feet, he asked, 'Friend! Gandalf, what is the Elvish word for friend?'
A momentary silence ensued, in which the wizard's deep and pensive gaze rested upon the trembling hobbit, and his bearded lips uttered, 'Mellon.'
With a horrible grinding of stone, that prickled their skin like a veritable army of needles, the Gates swung slowly outward. Darkness reigned within, untouched by any light. Beyond the threshold there lay only impregnable obscurity. Whatever malign creature may skulk within could not be espied beneath such a concealing cloak.
'Nevertheless, it must be risked,' said Gandalf, lifting up his staff and setting foot warily into the Mines. In a close huddle the others followed, Boromir half-dragging the unyeilding Aragorn, whose eyes were now unfocused. Words were mangled upon his lips, indiscernable. Legolas looked heart-rendingly back at him, Boromir said nothing as he forcefully brought Aragorn with him.
Then it happened. Half a heart beat it took, at the least. A loud scream rent the air. Loud cries of, 'Frodo!' issued from the hobbits, bringing up the rear, prepared to retreat hastily should anything malevolent be uncovered or descried.
Aragorn fell to his knees, slumping forward as the support of Boromir's hand was at once removed to claim the hilt of his sword. The Ranger fell with a noisy clatter into an unkempt pile of dirty bones - the entrance hall was a tomb.
Gimli cried aloud in grief; Legolas gripped his arm before he could fall to his knees before the disintigrating corpse of one of Balin's folk. 'Stay strong,' he hissed in the Dwarf's ear, and thrust him forwards, harbouring little love for the mountain dwellers.
Frodo clawed desperately at the pebbled shore, a mottled green tentacle secured about his ankle and pulling him down, to be swallowed by the black waters of the lake. Bravely his cousin's and gardener slashed at the hideous limb: the severed end oozed a foul smelling liquid, almost like stale water but far more pungent, almost unbearably so.
Without warning, Legolas was on hands and knees, retching, made nauseous but the repulsive stench, his bow falling uselessly to one side and his arrows spilling from his quiver - or was it caused by something else far more terrible? The smell was indeed foul, but not so horrendous it caused those whose noses were unfortunate enough to behold it to be violently ill. Boromir gagged, and succoured his nostrils from the terrible stench, wielding his sword valiantly as he leapt into the fray.
Pippin, his stomach heaving, ran to Legolas' side and pulled him unsteadily to his feet. Merry's brow furrowed in disgust, as desperately he tried to stifle the stink with a thick fold of his shirt.
One by one Boromir felled the writhing mass of worming tentacles that burst from the water to restrain him and claim the malignant creature's prize. 'Legolas!' he cried, faltering. 'Legolas!'
Frodo, hoisted higher and dangled mercilessly as a worm on a hook, screamed helplessly, terrified. Sam could only watch dismally.
A piercing whistled split the once peaceful night. With a sickening ssshhhunk an arrow found its mark, delving deep into the flesh of the limb that held Frodo. With a wild shudder it released the hobbit, who plunged a great distance, and safely into the waiting arms of Boromir, who hastened for the shore, calling to the Elvish archer.
Legolas, mildly revived, strung a last arrow to his bow, as the gaping jaws of the Watcher emerged above the surface, roaring in rage, cheated of its meal. The feathered shaft struck the beast between the eyes. With a shriek the head was submerged. Taking chance of its distraction, the Fellowship hurried into Moria.
The Watcher heaved its foul bulk upon the shore, tentacles searching, searching for the perpetrators, eager for meat. The Gate crumbled in under its dreadful strength, and they were thrust into a winter night, devoid of moon or stars.
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'Aragorn! Where is Aragorn?'
Legolas' voice was the first to break the deathly silence, resounding loudly about the unseen barricades of looming black rock. 'Hush,' Gandalf admonished him in whispering tones. A white light burst brightly into the passage, almost blinding them. Throwing up their hands, they shielded their eyes against the glare.
'Yea, where indeed is our Ranger?' said Boromir, glancing about the impregnable obscurity that marched forth from every nook and cranny.
Of Aragorn there was no sign.
Gandalf cursed under his breath, turned to face the inestimable vastness of the deeply mined shafts. A faint light was seen to gleam from a fault in the roof, the only trace that remained of the outside world.
'Oh dear,' murmured Sam worriedly, wringing his hands. 'What shall we do? With Strider vanished like that, and us here not knowing where he's gotten himself to ... what if he's fallen to his doom?'
'Do not say such things Sam,' Frodo gently reprimanded him. 'I could not bear such thoughts - nay, I shall not have such thoughts. Surely we should have heard him had he ... ' He trailed away into silence, though his meaning was clear.
'I heard no scream - although I could hear nothing over the collapse of the Gateway,' mused Merry. 'That lad had a good head on his shoulders; but there be no telling what he'll do now,' came Gimli's voice, frowning like his brow.
'Indeed,' said Gandalf. 'Then I fear we must needs find him before we may do aught else. Fear not, good Elf. He shall be found, and I am sure he will be hale,' the wizard added as reassurance to the tensed Legolas, whose face was as pale as the glow shed by the wooden Istari stave.
'Should we risk seperating, to cover more ground?' suggested Merry timidly, knotting a corner of his shirt upon one finger in unease.
'If we do so, we risk becoming lost,' interjected Boromir roughly. 'Do not be stupid Master Meriadoc.' Merry fell at once silent. Pippin cast Boromir a venomous glare as he placed one arm comfortingly about the tense shoulder's of his cousin, who seemed ready to weep.
'He doesn't mean it Merry,' the young hobbit whispered. 'He's just upset and angry. He doesn't mean the harsh things he might say.'
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Whether day had fled into night, or night into day there was no way of knowing. Beneath the bulk of the mountains all was shadow, untouched saved by the faint glimmer of Gandalf's staff. 'Ah, that we might be allowed to call for him,' murmured Sam, his face drawn as furtive glances were cast into the creeping darkness. 'Mayhap then he would be found faster.'
'But we cannot be sure whether or no he is in his sane state,' said Gimli softly, determined to raise no neccessary noise and prove to that spiteful Elf he could be as graceful and lithe of movement as any of the First Born. 'And what other foul beasties might come answering in his stead?'
Frodo shuddered. 'Speak not of that Gimli,' he pleaded. 'I cannot bear the thought - indeed, I cannot bear these Mines! They are as open as the meadows of the Shire, yet as dark and foul and confining as a prison. Comfort has long forsaken me, I wish we had never taken vote to enter here.'
'Would you have preferred to perish upon the peak of Caradhras, helpless against the winter and malevolence of the mountain?' Merry asked him. Frodo frowned, and shook his curly head. 'Nay, I suppose not - but this place harbours many fell creatures, their presence is thick,' he answered.
Legolas strode along in silence, his eyes staring as the empty windows of an unlit tower, his hair as a curtain of fatal frost descending upon a heavenly garden. His Elvish beauty was suddenly sharp, and cold, like a shard of ice unremitting to the golden warmth of the sun. Death was the closest word that could be found to describe his countenance in that moment, when Aragorn was still absent and perhaps in dire peril.
Boromir was the first to try and break the Elf's melancholy mood. 'He shall be found,' he repeated Gandalf's words, and hesitatingly placed a hand upon one stiff shoulder. Legolas gave no answer, merely inclined his head to show he heard and acknowledged Boromir's words; but appeared to pay them little heed. His vacant expression did not change, the pale skin remained unmoved.
The Son of the Steward fell momentarily silent, and opened his mouth to speak, lifting a hand as if to express a point, but instead he placed the open palm against his brow and moved from the Elven Prince's side, falling back into the concealment of shadow, where none would see his uncharacteristic tears.
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'I cannot be certain of the way - no memory have I of this place.'
'Lost, I knew it.'
'Quiet Pippin; Gandalf's trying to think.'
'Sorry - I'm hungry.'
'Pippin!'
Draped carelessly over stones, pensive and expressionless, the remaining members of the slowly sundering Fellowship awaited the return of Gandalf's recollections in the throes of despair. Every now and then faint scratchings were carried on the draughts of staling air, and what almost seemed to be the faint incoherent murmurings of a dark voice.
'Tis nay but the wind laddie,' concluded Gimli, as Frodo leapt to his feet and gazed wide-eyed into the consuming blackness.
'That is no wind, unless wind have words and mouth,' muttered Boromir.
'There is something skulking in our wake,' said Legolas quietly, and rose slowly to his feet, one hand to his quiver and the other upon the Mirkwood short-bow.
'Lay down your weapons,' Gandalf commanded them, as swords began to depart their scabbards. 'Be it friend or foe, let it alone. We cannot be sure.'
Two bright pinpoints of light kindled in the darkness, gleamed for a moment, and then were gone, followed by a scuffling noise as the indistinguishable creature apparently lost interest in stalking and retreated.
Frodo, chest heaving as he gulped in air, feeling light headed and nauseous, clambered up beside the Elf. 'It was Aragorn,' he whispered. Legolas nodded, betraying no sign of his emotion upon his serene face. 'I will go after him, later, when the others sleep,' he said.
'Y-you cannot!' Frodo gasped. Legolas silenced him with a hand to the mouth. 'Quiet,' the Elf hissed irritably. 'My business is my own - tell no other. This I shall do, whether with your agreement or without. I cannot abandon Estel.'
'I am loath to - ' Frodo began, but a slender hand was thrust in his face in wordless command. 'Remain this night Frodo; I shall take up the hunt,' Legolas muttered to the astonished Ringbearer. 'When you wake, and if I am absent, say no word. Let them think what they will, I shall take this matter into my own hands.'
Legolas had unwarily let his words fall upon the ears of another, who at once heard and heeded, becoming thoughtful. Whether the Elf wished it or not, he would not be venturing out alone come the time for rest.
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Ooh! Am busy trying to be suspenseful - is it working?
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'Riddles. All riddles. This is growing ridiculous!'
Merry, patience thoroughly worn, bad-tempered took up a stone and flung it across the still, silent surface of the sable-depthed Mirrormere. The Moria Gate, apparent in flowing viens of moonlight silver, allowed them no entry, requiring a password before they might pass.
Gandalf had pointlessly uttered every spell that came to mind, in the tongues of Men, Dwarves, Elves, and even the dreaded, vulgar speech of the Orcs. Bemused and weary, he slumped now upon a nearby boulder, the wiry branches of a leafless holly bush stretching over the wizard, seen now as a broken, age-afflicted and world-weary old man.
Aragorn had recently suffered another of his 'funny turns', as Sam had named his abrupt changes in demeanour. No longer in his former self, the uncouth other had taken over. The true Ranger had ceased to struggle against this other overpowering will. Legolas inwardly prayed he had come to understand that he had not the strength of mind to fight it. Boromir was again holding the tether.
'Must ... no ... hobbits - ack!' cried Aragorn in a fury, and at once began another tantrum, trying to loosen his binds and kick his companions away from him, writhing and shouting terrible expletives. Pippin turned away, his ears locked safely behind his hands, but it did little to deaden the noise, save muffle it mildly.
'Keep him still!' came Gandalf's booming voice. 'I cannot think with him screaming so! Render him unconscious if you must, just silence him!'
Wide eyes fell upon him. Gandalf ignored them and returned to his fruitless ponderings of the riddle over the Gates:
Speak, friend, and enter.
Pointedly he had ignored the infuriating stupidity of the Took and the Brandybuck, who had at once asked what it could possibly mean after it had been translated for their benefit into the Common Tongue. Now his temper was growing short, and the night was growing late.
The watery eye of the moon peered out at them from behind its coronet of wispy cloud, borne on the back of a light breeze. Frodo was struck by sudden inspiration. Leaping to his feet, he asked, 'Friend! Gandalf, what is the Elvish word for friend?'
A momentary silence ensued, in which the wizard's deep and pensive gaze rested upon the trembling hobbit, and his bearded lips uttered, 'Mellon.'
With a horrible grinding of stone, that prickled their skin like a veritable army of needles, the Gates swung slowly outward. Darkness reigned within, untouched by any light. Beyond the threshold there lay only impregnable obscurity. Whatever malign creature may skulk within could not be espied beneath such a concealing cloak.
'Nevertheless, it must be risked,' said Gandalf, lifting up his staff and setting foot warily into the Mines. In a close huddle the others followed, Boromir half-dragging the unyeilding Aragorn, whose eyes were now unfocused. Words were mangled upon his lips, indiscernable. Legolas looked heart-rendingly back at him, Boromir said nothing as he forcefully brought Aragorn with him.
Then it happened. Half a heart beat it took, at the least. A loud scream rent the air. Loud cries of, 'Frodo!' issued from the hobbits, bringing up the rear, prepared to retreat hastily should anything malevolent be uncovered or descried.
Aragorn fell to his knees, slumping forward as the support of Boromir's hand was at once removed to claim the hilt of his sword. The Ranger fell with a noisy clatter into an unkempt pile of dirty bones - the entrance hall was a tomb.
Gimli cried aloud in grief; Legolas gripped his arm before he could fall to his knees before the disintigrating corpse of one of Balin's folk. 'Stay strong,' he hissed in the Dwarf's ear, and thrust him forwards, harbouring little love for the mountain dwellers.
Frodo clawed desperately at the pebbled shore, a mottled green tentacle secured about his ankle and pulling him down, to be swallowed by the black waters of the lake. Bravely his cousin's and gardener slashed at the hideous limb: the severed end oozed a foul smelling liquid, almost like stale water but far more pungent, almost unbearably so.
Without warning, Legolas was on hands and knees, retching, made nauseous but the repulsive stench, his bow falling uselessly to one side and his arrows spilling from his quiver - or was it caused by something else far more terrible? The smell was indeed foul, but not so horrendous it caused those whose noses were unfortunate enough to behold it to be violently ill. Boromir gagged, and succoured his nostrils from the terrible stench, wielding his sword valiantly as he leapt into the fray.
Pippin, his stomach heaving, ran to Legolas' side and pulled him unsteadily to his feet. Merry's brow furrowed in disgust, as desperately he tried to stifle the stink with a thick fold of his shirt.
One by one Boromir felled the writhing mass of worming tentacles that burst from the water to restrain him and claim the malignant creature's prize. 'Legolas!' he cried, faltering. 'Legolas!'
Frodo, hoisted higher and dangled mercilessly as a worm on a hook, screamed helplessly, terrified. Sam could only watch dismally.
A piercing whistled split the once peaceful night. With a sickening ssshhhunk an arrow found its mark, delving deep into the flesh of the limb that held Frodo. With a wild shudder it released the hobbit, who plunged a great distance, and safely into the waiting arms of Boromir, who hastened for the shore, calling to the Elvish archer.
Legolas, mildly revived, strung a last arrow to his bow, as the gaping jaws of the Watcher emerged above the surface, roaring in rage, cheated of its meal. The feathered shaft struck the beast between the eyes. With a shriek the head was submerged. Taking chance of its distraction, the Fellowship hurried into Moria.
The Watcher heaved its foul bulk upon the shore, tentacles searching, searching for the perpetrators, eager for meat. The Gate crumbled in under its dreadful strength, and they were thrust into a winter night, devoid of moon or stars.
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'Aragorn! Where is Aragorn?'
Legolas' voice was the first to break the deathly silence, resounding loudly about the unseen barricades of looming black rock. 'Hush,' Gandalf admonished him in whispering tones. A white light burst brightly into the passage, almost blinding them. Throwing up their hands, they shielded their eyes against the glare.
'Yea, where indeed is our Ranger?' said Boromir, glancing about the impregnable obscurity that marched forth from every nook and cranny.
Of Aragorn there was no sign.
Gandalf cursed under his breath, turned to face the inestimable vastness of the deeply mined shafts. A faint light was seen to gleam from a fault in the roof, the only trace that remained of the outside world.
'Oh dear,' murmured Sam worriedly, wringing his hands. 'What shall we do? With Strider vanished like that, and us here not knowing where he's gotten himself to ... what if he's fallen to his doom?'
'Do not say such things Sam,' Frodo gently reprimanded him. 'I could not bear such thoughts - nay, I shall not have such thoughts. Surely we should have heard him had he ... ' He trailed away into silence, though his meaning was clear.
'I heard no scream - although I could hear nothing over the collapse of the Gateway,' mused Merry. 'That lad had a good head on his shoulders; but there be no telling what he'll do now,' came Gimli's voice, frowning like his brow.
'Indeed,' said Gandalf. 'Then I fear we must needs find him before we may do aught else. Fear not, good Elf. He shall be found, and I am sure he will be hale,' the wizard added as reassurance to the tensed Legolas, whose face was as pale as the glow shed by the wooden Istari stave.
'Should we risk seperating, to cover more ground?' suggested Merry timidly, knotting a corner of his shirt upon one finger in unease.
'If we do so, we risk becoming lost,' interjected Boromir roughly. 'Do not be stupid Master Meriadoc.' Merry fell at once silent. Pippin cast Boromir a venomous glare as he placed one arm comfortingly about the tense shoulder's of his cousin, who seemed ready to weep.
'He doesn't mean it Merry,' the young hobbit whispered. 'He's just upset and angry. He doesn't mean the harsh things he might say.'
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Whether day had fled into night, or night into day there was no way of knowing. Beneath the bulk of the mountains all was shadow, untouched saved by the faint glimmer of Gandalf's staff. 'Ah, that we might be allowed to call for him,' murmured Sam, his face drawn as furtive glances were cast into the creeping darkness. 'Mayhap then he would be found faster.'
'But we cannot be sure whether or no he is in his sane state,' said Gimli softly, determined to raise no neccessary noise and prove to that spiteful Elf he could be as graceful and lithe of movement as any of the First Born. 'And what other foul beasties might come answering in his stead?'
Frodo shuddered. 'Speak not of that Gimli,' he pleaded. 'I cannot bear the thought - indeed, I cannot bear these Mines! They are as open as the meadows of the Shire, yet as dark and foul and confining as a prison. Comfort has long forsaken me, I wish we had never taken vote to enter here.'
'Would you have preferred to perish upon the peak of Caradhras, helpless against the winter and malevolence of the mountain?' Merry asked him. Frodo frowned, and shook his curly head. 'Nay, I suppose not - but this place harbours many fell creatures, their presence is thick,' he answered.
Legolas strode along in silence, his eyes staring as the empty windows of an unlit tower, his hair as a curtain of fatal frost descending upon a heavenly garden. His Elvish beauty was suddenly sharp, and cold, like a shard of ice unremitting to the golden warmth of the sun. Death was the closest word that could be found to describe his countenance in that moment, when Aragorn was still absent and perhaps in dire peril.
Boromir was the first to try and break the Elf's melancholy mood. 'He shall be found,' he repeated Gandalf's words, and hesitatingly placed a hand upon one stiff shoulder. Legolas gave no answer, merely inclined his head to show he heard and acknowledged Boromir's words; but appeared to pay them little heed. His vacant expression did not change, the pale skin remained unmoved.
The Son of the Steward fell momentarily silent, and opened his mouth to speak, lifting a hand as if to express a point, but instead he placed the open palm against his brow and moved from the Elven Prince's side, falling back into the concealment of shadow, where none would see his uncharacteristic tears.
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'I cannot be certain of the way - no memory have I of this place.'
'Lost, I knew it.'
'Quiet Pippin; Gandalf's trying to think.'
'Sorry - I'm hungry.'
'Pippin!'
Draped carelessly over stones, pensive and expressionless, the remaining members of the slowly sundering Fellowship awaited the return of Gandalf's recollections in the throes of despair. Every now and then faint scratchings were carried on the draughts of staling air, and what almost seemed to be the faint incoherent murmurings of a dark voice.
'Tis nay but the wind laddie,' concluded Gimli, as Frodo leapt to his feet and gazed wide-eyed into the consuming blackness.
'That is no wind, unless wind have words and mouth,' muttered Boromir.
'There is something skulking in our wake,' said Legolas quietly, and rose slowly to his feet, one hand to his quiver and the other upon the Mirkwood short-bow.
'Lay down your weapons,' Gandalf commanded them, as swords began to depart their scabbards. 'Be it friend or foe, let it alone. We cannot be sure.'
Two bright pinpoints of light kindled in the darkness, gleamed for a moment, and then were gone, followed by a scuffling noise as the indistinguishable creature apparently lost interest in stalking and retreated.
Frodo, chest heaving as he gulped in air, feeling light headed and nauseous, clambered up beside the Elf. 'It was Aragorn,' he whispered. Legolas nodded, betraying no sign of his emotion upon his serene face. 'I will go after him, later, when the others sleep,' he said.
'Y-you cannot!' Frodo gasped. Legolas silenced him with a hand to the mouth. 'Quiet,' the Elf hissed irritably. 'My business is my own - tell no other. This I shall do, whether with your agreement or without. I cannot abandon Estel.'
'I am loath to - ' Frodo began, but a slender hand was thrust in his face in wordless command. 'Remain this night Frodo; I shall take up the hunt,' Legolas muttered to the astonished Ringbearer. 'When you wake, and if I am absent, say no word. Let them think what they will, I shall take this matter into my own hands.'
Legolas had unwarily let his words fall upon the ears of another, who at once heard and heeded, becoming thoughtful. Whether the Elf wished it or not, he would not be venturing out alone come the time for rest.
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Ooh! Am busy trying to be suspenseful - is it working?
