CHAPTER 3
The room they entered was wide, its high ceiling lost in the gloom. Only slightly taller than hobbits, Pippin wondered why dwarves insisted upon such lofty spaces, longing for the cosy domed ceilings of his home. At its centre a dark hole marked the presence of the well and with no wall around it, Pippin would have fallen in, had Merry not caught him and pulled him back. A large fireplace stood at one end, with a metal hook poised to swing across it. The light from Gandalf's staff was not quite bright enough to reach the edges of the chamber but vague shapes could be seen piled against the walls.
A quick glance down at Frodo confirmed that he was resting a little more peacefully and Gandalf turned. "Legolas, will you take our Ringbearer for a little while?" The elf stepped forward without hesitation and tenderly lifted the bundle from the Wizard's arms. Once he was settled, Legolas sat, cross-legged, before the fireplace, and drew the hobbit closer to share the warmth of his body.
Gandalf passed his hand over the tip of his staff and muttered something under his breath. The Fellowship squinted as the light from its tip waxed, throwing all into sharp relief and leaving no corner of the room unexposed to its questing glare.
"Quickly, now," instructed the Wizard. "I cannot risk this level of light for too long. Search the room for anything that may be of use to us. Sam, Merry, and Pippin, see if you can find us some firewood. Frodo will need more warmth, and I think Aragorn will have to heat water for his medicines."
The hobbits sprang into action, grateful at last for something to do. Pippin in particular, raised clouds of dust as he rummaged amongst the bits of broken furniture and other detritus at the borders of their refuge. Boromir and Gimli joined them, helping to lift some of the larger items, while Aragorn settled down next to Legolas and opened his pack.
The Ranger touched his friend's arm briefly. "Are you well, Legolas?" he whispered, continuing to rummage at the bottom of his pack.
The elf did not lift his face from the study of Frodo. "I am well enough." His voice betrayed no emotion.
Aragorn drew out the box he had been seeking but paused before opening it. "What troubles you? Let me help. Do not push your friends away." He was looking directly at the elf now.
Legolas finally met his gaze and dropped the mask he had been holding so carefully. Aragorn's breath caught as he saw the anguish in the green depths of his friend's eyes.
The Prince's voice was hardly more than a whisper, intended for the Ranger's ears only, even though he slipped into Sindarin. "Elves were not intended to walk within the earth, far from the sound of tree and leaf. That I could endure, but there is something more here…" He shook his head, as if to clear it. "Something hides in the deep places here. I cannot hear it, but I can feel the walls it has set about me. Moria holds some great evil."
"What can I do to aid you, my friend?" The Ranger asked, also in the grey tongue, his voice filled with concern.
"I fear there is nothing you can do. This is something I must battle alone. I draw strength from your presence though, indeed from all our Fellowship. If I had entered here alone I think I may have gone mad for yours are the only melodies I can hear." Aragorn watched him begin to reconstruct his facade of competence. "Even the water does not sing to me in this dark place," he sighed.
"You have my presence and my "song" at all times, Legolas."
The wood elf smiled his thanks and returned to his vigil. Aragorn opened the box he had been holding in his lap and began to sort through its collection of bottles, boxes and packets.
Too soon, it seemed to everyone, Gandalf reduced the light from his staff to its previous soft glow and the members of the Fellowship returned to the fireplace to review the results of their scavenging.
"We've found lots of broken chairs and tables in a corner, over there." Pippin pointed behind him. He and Merry were standing behind a pile of wood almost as tall as themselves, which seemed to consist mainly of table legs and bits of chair. Both hobbits were panting hard from their exertions but seemed very pleased with the results.
"This is only a small part of it," confirmed Merry.
"It appears to have been heaped there to block a doorway," Gimli added. "I thought it strange that there was no direct access to the hall below if this room was intended to be the guard post for the gates. It looks as though whoever stayed here last was trying to prevent an attack from that quarter."
"I wonder where they went from here and what happened to them," mused Pippin.
Merry jabbed him in the ribs. "Do you have to think out loud? I'm trying not to worry about that one just yet," he muttered.
Sam looked inordinately pleased with himself when he produced a collection of dusty blankets. "I thought these might come in useful. I wouldn't want to wrap Mr Frodo in them, but they might make a mattress to keep him off the cold stone floor." He looked less convinced of the usefulness of his other find, a huge cooking pot, nearly as big as he was.
For his part, Gimli had found the bucket and chain that appeared to have been used at the well. It was still intact, although the chain was very rusty and a thick, black fletched arrow was lodged in the rim of the bucket. Boromir had found a small stash of candles.
Gandalf beamed. "We have fared much better than I could have hoped."
From behind him came Aragorn's voice. "We must build a fire as quickly as possible." He rose from his place by the Elf and ushered the Fellowship out of earshot of the semi-conscious Frodo. "Frodo is not recovering as well as he could and I see the signs of a fever building." The Ranger turned to look down at Merry. "Bilbo once mentioned an illness, many years ago. One that affected Frodo's chest. Do you know anything of it?"
Merry nodded. "I was only a youngster at the time. It was shortly after he left to live at Bag End. I remember the grown-ups discussing it when they thought I was not around." Pippin smiled. Being around where he should not had always been one of Merry's talents and was responsible for most of the scrapes he had got himself into at Brandy Hall. Merry continued.
"He was ill for some weeks. They said it was pneumonia but he kept having relapses." He faced Strider, defiantly. "Some people said that it was because Bilbo didn't know how to look after a tweenager, but I never believed that."
Strider nodded, grimly. "I have spoken long with Bilbo while he stayed in Rivendell. I cannot believe that he would not have done all that he could for his nephew."
"Bilbo would give his own life, if he thought it would save Frodo," interjected Pippin, hotly. "We all would."
"Let us hope that it will not come to that," Aragorn replied, dropping a hand on Pippin's shoulder. "My point is that such a serious illness will have left some weakness in the lungs. In this situation, to have inhaled water is bad enough, but you all saw and smelled that lake water………." He shook his head. "I fear Frodo may be in for a battle every bit as fierce as the one he fought on the road to Rivendell." The Ranger looked pleadingly at Gandalf. "And I have not Elrond's skill in healing."
To everyone's surprise, it was Sam who spoke up. "Well, we don't have Master Elrond, and there's no point wishing. "Wishing don't get the job done," as my Gaffer would say. It's up to us to look after Mr Frodo, because we're all he's got." He drew himself up to his full height and folded his arms across his chest. "And I, for one, don't intend to let him down."
Despite the situation, Merry chuckled. "You are quite right, as usual, Sam. Trust you to be the practical one. We must make the best use of what we have. We have our experience, our wits and, best of all, we have our love for Frodo."
"Then let us set to it," suggested Gandalf.
Within minutes they had chosen their tasks. Pippin laid a fire while Merry helped Sam to shake out the dusty blankets and fold them by the hearth as a makeshift mattress. The air in Moria was not wholesome but at least by the fire the chimney would draw it through and keep it moving. It was the closest they could get to fresh air and Frodo would benefit from the warmth of the fire once it was lit.
Boromir and Gandalf inspected the various entrances and exits to their refuge and discussed best strategies for its defence.
Aragorn began setting out packets and small earthenware bottles at a corner of the large hearth.
To Gimli fell the task of cleaning up the bucket and re-attaching the chain to its fixings by the well.
They spoke little as they worked for all were painfully aware of the breaths coming from the small bundle in Legolas' arms. Slowly, another sound began to weave in and around those raspings. The Elf's song was soft and low at first but gradually rose until its sweetness filled the room. Although only a few understood his words their minds were filled with glowing images. He sang of sunlight shining through spring green leaves and bright splashing water. Then of moonlight on open meadows and star strewn winter skies. As the last notes died away the Fellowship shook themselves and returned to their work, somehow lighter in spirit.
To Frodo it seemed that he waded through foul smelling marshes. The ground sucked at his feet and his will, making each step a battle against a weariness that went soul deep. A stench filled his lungs and, try as he might, he could not seem to draw in enough of the thick air to satisfy his body's need. In addition, something beat at the edges of his mind; something evil. Frodo wanted to flee, but his body and the marsh would not co-operate. His panic mounted as he gasped for air, however disgusting, and tried to pull his feet clear of the grasping mud.
Suddenly a ray of light pierced the mist surrounding him, illuminating a narrow dry path. Frodo set one foot upon it and then the other. As he walked, trees appeared; tall and majestic. The light brightened and the mist rolled away, to reveal a sun dappled wood and a small clear stream. Breathing was still difficult but the air Frodo pulled into his starved lungs was clean and smelled of honeysuckle and bluebells.
As he wondered on the sun dipped below the horizon and Frodo stepped out of the rustle of the trees and into a moonlit meadow. Tall silver grass swayed in the light breeze, looking like the gentle swell of the sea and the silken whisper of its movement was a balm to his mind.
Above him was a blue velvet sky, sprinkled with a thousand glittering stars. He sighed and lay back, the smell of the crushed grass beneath his body a sweet fragrance in his nostrils.
The figure in Legolas' arms uncurled a little as the elf sang. The Prince laid the fingers of one hand on Frodo's slightly over warm forehead. The hobbit's breathing slowed and lost some of its watery gurgle, the eyelids ceased their fluttering movements and the furrows in his brow smoothed.
TBC.