Disclaimer: This is the silly sentence that states the obvious that is meant to head every chapter, but it'll only be appearing in this one. Just to clear that up. I do not own Lord of the Rings and I most certainly do not own any of the characters in this story.

This is my third fanfiction. :yay: and the only one I am pleased with, as I am on the verge of deleting my other two and rewriting them. Basically, it's just Aragorn's evil memory of his trip Through the Dimrill Gate. read, review. You know the drill... hopefully.

'I too once passed through the Dimrill Gate,' said Aragorn quietly; 'but though I also came out again, the memory is very evil. I do not wish to enter Moria a second time.'

Chapter One

The dark sky was clouded with the falling snow that fell quickly to the ground. The path through the Misty Mountains was hidden from view by the fresh white blanket that had collected over the past few hours. Not a star was in the sky, and the small sliver of moonlight illuminated the swirling snow that blocked out all sight of the lush green trees that stood at the bottom of the mountain. The wind began to howl, blowing stronger and stronger at the hunched young man of twenty years, who was clutching his worn traveling cloak to his shivering body as he trudged through the snow, pushing him back. He was clad in Elvish traveling attire: a turquoise cloak, an emerald green tunic and pair of breeches and his soft leather boots left deep imprints in the snow behind him. He wore a hood over his face and his shoulder-length brown locks. His right hand was clasped protectively around the silver hilt of a long sword, and upon his index finger was a silver ring, which could be recognized from afar as part of the heirloom of the house of Isuldir.

He was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne in Gondor. He had trekked through the dangerous paths of the Misty Mountains many times before, but unlike all the previous times, he was not traveling with his foster-brothers Elladan and Elrohir. And although he was alone, he did not feel it, for his thoughts were far from his purpose for journeying alone to gather information about the doings of Sauron in far off Mordor. They were instead on the daughter of Lord Elrond, whom he had met not too long ago in the woods of Imladris, his child-hood home.

"Arwen." He muttered dreamily. In his mind he was back in Imladris, walking slowly under the tall oaks that tilted together to form a roof over the sand path, which stood under a beautiful starlit sky. In a little clearing, a few yards ahead, an elven-maid with dark curls rippling down her back and shoulders turned her flawless face to meet the eyes of the man who had called her Tinúviel with her own dazzling clear blue ones. 'Why do you call me that–'

Aragorn's head snapped up, starting at the distant sound of a howling wolf. He lifted his gray-green eyes, squinting through the falling snow, his ears strained for sounds other than the howling wind. He turned around slowly, his fingers tightening its grip on the hilt of his sword. He stopped turning around and just stood there with his ankles buried in the snow, thinking it to be a trick of the wind, for a full minute to let his pounding heart slow down.

He lifted a frozen arm from under his cloak and wiped away the flakes of snow that had managed to find their way to his eyelashes and brows. He shifted the weight of the wood, the bow and a few arrows on his back and continued to walk through the mountain pass, directing his thoughts to the frightening tales of Mordor that he had heard sitting in front of the fire at home. He reached what was probably the last overhang he was going to walk under for the rest of his whole eastward journey, and leaned his back against the side of the mountain, letting it serve as a temporary shelter without walls. His body could just barely feel the cold surface of the rock, but he was too grateful to complain. He closed his eyes, welcoming the rest. He brought his knees to his chest and draped his cloak over himself. His heart rate and breathing slowed and he relaxed as best he could in the frigid cold weather.

Not fifteen seconds had passed before he heard distantly what seemed to be a wolf. He sat up straight and alert. Soon, he heard another howl answering the first. It sounded harsh and positively evil. These were no normal wolves. These were wargs.

'Where the warg howls, there also the orc prowls' his father's stern yet soothing voice reminded him in his head. He grew frantic at the thought of fighting orcs without the aid of his brothers. He slung his bow and the wood off his back and quickly piled the wood into a heap. His heart felt as though it was going to explode in his chest as he emptied his pockets searching for his pieces of flint.

His stomach churned as the howls steadily came closer and closer. He set a large piece of flint in the middle of his little pile of wood, and he began to hack at it desperately with his sword, which was shaking violently in his hands.

A tiny orange flicker appeared. Aragorn grabbed a thick branch in his left hand and prodded the tip of the flame, trying to set it on fire, which after what seemed to be three hours, he finally succeeded in doing just as he began to hear the too familiar shrieks of the orcs. He grabbed his bow, slung it over his shoulder and stood up, lifting his torch up in his left hand, while he kept his sword pointed in front of him.

He somehow managed to calm himself down by taking in deep breaths of air that froze his whole body. He turned around cautiously, careful not to stray too far away from his little fire: his only hope, save his sword, to drive the wargs away. His fear factor began to increase again as he looked around, seeing nothing, though his ears never stopped picking up loud warg howls and orc shrieks, which were blended together with the wind.

A shiver ran down his back as he saw a pair of bright green eyes with yellow and black pupils gleaming in the dimly lit blackness. Gradually, many more pairs of the same luminous eyes appeared alongside the first. He glanced behind him and was shocked to see that they had not circled around him. He gulped, taking this to be anything but a good sign.

TBC…

Hope you liked that. The part about Arwen doesn't really have anything to do with the actual story, when I first wrote this, it was mostly free-writing and a little descriptive writing thing I made myself do. (I suck at descriptive writing). I just ended up keeping it in there.

Please review and tell me how you liked it. Even though I have completed the story, any helpful bits of constructive criticism would really help when I re-edit before my next upload.