Chapter Six: At the West Gate

Disclaimer: Yes, yes, I know. In fact, I am all too aware of the fact that I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any associated characters

A/N: I know it's a crappy-ass title but hey, that's the way it goes

Damn Caradhras. Dammit, dammit, dammit. We were crouched around a meagre fire near the base of the mountain. If you had asked me a week ago what I had thought if we had been defeated by the mountain, I would have said, well, it was a waste of time, but ya know, it's necessary, so Gandalf can fall... Screw that! Now, as we huddled around the dully burning branches, I was as irritated and afraid as if I had had no idea going over the mountains wouldn't work.

I was cold, I was wet, and I didn't want to go to Moria.

"Now what?"

I had to say something, the silence had been grating on my fragile nerves.

"Let us take council, so that we may decide what to do next," Gandalf looked at me with dancing eyes, "as Haleth seems eager to be decided."

I growled ever so slightly, but subsided as Legolas looked at me, his piercing Elven eyes seeing through my mask to the fear beneath.

"We cannot, of course, go on further tonight; we must rest here, and continue on the morrow."

"But where then are we to go?"

That was Frodo- poor Frodo. He looked tired and drawn, a desperation showed in his eyes. It was clear he thought the Quest had failed.

"It seems to me we have no choice but to go on, or to return to Rivendell."

Sam's face brightened visibly at the mere mention of Rivendell, Merry and Pippin looked up hopefully. Gimli, Legolas, and the two Men were as stoic as ever. Frodo looked troubled.

"I wish I were back there..." he sighed, staring up at the rich velvet sky "But how shall I return without shame, unless there truly is no other way?"

"There is another way." At this Gandalf hesitated "But it is not a, uh, pleasant way. I have not spoken of it to the company before, as Aragorn was against it."

"Well, cummon," said Merry, "It must be 'orrible indeed if it's worse than th' Redhorn Gate, but get on with it, let us know what we're up against."

"The road I speak of leads to the Mines of Moria."

Everyone tensed slightly, even the hobbits had heard of the terrors that supposedly dwelt deep in the disused mine.

Gimli, on the other hand, raised his head, a smoldering fire in his deep-set eyes.

"Aye." said Aragorn "The road may lead to Moria, but who can be sure if it will lead through Moria."

"Moria," muttered Boromir, as if tasting the word "it is a name of ill omen, Gandalf. Aragorn is right. It would be better to journey southwards to the land of Rohan. From there we may take the road I took on my way hither."

"Nay, Boromir- things have changed since you came north. Then you were but one wanderer from the south. Now you are part of the Company of the Ring, surely you do not think we would escape Saruman's notice."

Boromir sighed deeply and looked at me. I shrugged.

"Also," continued the Wizard "there is even a chance that Dwarves are there, and that somewhere deep in the forgotten halls of his fathers, Balin, son of Fundin may be found. It is a dark road, yes, but one must tread the path that need chooses."

Finally Gimli spoke up, his darkling eyes glittering avidly. His gruff voice trembled with fervor.

"I will tread the path with you, Gandalf. I would go and look upon the halls of Durin, whatever waits there."

"You encourage me Gimli- now, a vote. Aragorn, what say you?"

"I once passed the Dimrill Gate- I wish not to do so again."

"Ah doon't wish te even once." said Pippin

"Nor me- It sounds like an' 'orrible darksome place an' all."

"I second Sam." Merry piped up. "Though I s'pose we might 'ave to in the end."

"Of course you don't want to," said Gandalf. "The question is, who will follow me if I lead you there?"

"I will." Gimli said, nodding vigorously

I sighed with resignation, though my curiosity was aroused

"Yeah," I said, "I will. Gandalf's right- one must tread the path that need chooses."

"I will." Said Aragorn heavily, "You followed me almost to disaster in the snow, and have said naught. I will follow you if you do not heed this last warning: if you pass the Doors of Moria, beware. And it is not us, nor of the Ring, but you I am thinking of, Gandalf."

"I will not go!" Boromir put in resolutely, "not unless the vote of the entire company is against me! The name of Moria is black."

"I-" Legolas began, but cut himself off. He raised his head as if listening to something. He shuddered. "Listen- how the wind howls."

Aragorn cocked and ear, and look of concentration on his face. Suddenly a look of alarm passed over his face.

"How the wind howls? It is howling with wolf-voices! The Wargs have come"

Gandalf looked out into the darkness and cursed under his breath.

"Is now our course not decided for us? Let us go- it is some fifteen miles to Moria as the crow flies, and maybe twenty as the wolf runs. Come!"

We ran. I was lucky I was in better shape from all my training- not to mention all the walking we had done, so we ran, until we reached a hill capped by the broken and crumbled ruins of an old tower.

I could hear the distant yips and howls of the advancing pack, and I shivered and huddled close to the fire. I was glad Gandalf had allowed us this, but when it came to it- there was no need to stay out of sight when the pursuit could follow our scent clear up to the hill.

As I sat, my back to the fire, log in one hand, sword in the other, I realized for the first time, that I would have to kill these animals. Now- I had come face to face with wolves before, and I admired them profoundly for their wild, savage beauty. I had been, on occasion, less than ten feet away from an untamed wolf. I had been startled, but not particularly afraid. After all, wolves were intelligent, social animals, who wouldn't attack without reason. Now, I was not surprised, but I was deadly afraid.

They were upon us, yellow eyes and sabre-sharp teeth glinting in the firelight. The circled us, appearing to confer among themselves. I saw the foremost wolf, perhaps the leader, growl low in his throat, nod almost imperceptibly, and leap, snarling.

There was suddenly a twanging noise and the wolf fell dead, throat pierced by an Elven arrow. The pack broke out in a thunderous baying and howling, and then charged.

In the sudden noise and confusion, I was instantly terrified. A blind fear rose in my mind and I was knocked to the ground. I seemed to be aware that I was yelling hoarsely and flailing about with my sword as if it were a stick, and not the elegant weapon it was. I looked up to find a great brindled she-wolf leaping at me, and without thinking, plunged my sword out into her breast as she jumped.

The body landed on top of me, the metallic reek of blood thick in my nostrils. I shoved the limp carcass off me and stood up, my head clearer. My sword dripped red. As I slashed at a wolf running past me, a noise reached my ears. It was a scream; a distinctly young and Scottish sounding scream.

Suddenly I was plowing into the mass of animals before me, slashing and hacking madly. A red mist had taken my vision, and I bulled forward, screaming Pippin's name wildly. They would not have him, I would not allow it. They would all perish by my blade before they hurt him.

Now I was back to back with Merry and Pippin, our blades flashing liquid crimson from the fire and the blood of the wolves.

"Get back! Get away from the trees!" Gandalf was shouting; he stooped, and then, hurling a flaming brand aloft, cried "Naur an edraith amen! Naur dan I ngaurhoth!"

There was a deafening roar, and all the trees burst into flame. The Wargs fled, whining and cringing, leaving the camp startlingly quiet save for the pop and crackle of the burning trees. The effect was very anticlimactic. We had routed the enemy, and now we stood, gasping slightly, all silent, in the flickering light of the flame.

I shook my head, trying to ward off dizziness. When I realized what was happening, I cursed myself. A feverish sweat broke out on my forehead, and my clothes felt suddenly constricting. My vision was growing fuzzy, my hearing dim. I seemed detached from myself, only partly aware of the sick feeling in my stomach and throat. This was what happened whenever I was witness to slaughter, to bloody violence. Even if I was only watching a movie, if it was humans fighting each other, I would get like this. I blinked and sat down, my head between my knees, waiting for the feeling to subside. When my head cleared and I realized I could hear the crackling flames clearly, I rose and went over to the rest of the company.

Aragorn stopped me as I made to sit down.

"Haleth. You're injured."

"What? I am?"

I hadn't noticed, but then, I wouldn't have through the blind bloodlust that had taken me. I looked down at myself, searching for a wound. As I was looking, Aragorn lightly touched my shoulder. I gasped with pain, hot tears coming to my eyes. My sleeve was torn and bloodied. When Aragorn gently cleared the fabric away, I could see that there were a set of gashes there half an inch deep, in some places deeper. They gleamed an angry, raw red in the firelight. I could feel something warm trickling down my arm.

"Well," I asked, my voice oddly matter-of-fact, "they're not bad, are they?"

I was surprised, in part, at how little I cared. I had never cared about seeing my own blood, and it seemed this was a good thing now.

I sat next to Sam, Boromir, Merry, and Frodo, all of whom were also in need of patching up. When it came my turn, Aragorn applied a poultice of Athelas to my arm. At the touch of it, the most wonderful cool feeling spread throughout my body. The pain lessened to a dull ache, and the remains of my headache went away. I shook my head and stood up, thanking Aragorn.

We rested until the sun rose, and then set out again.

Moria. The word rolled off the tongue. It had a sinister quality to it, an eerie beauty. As I stood before the Walls where the West Gate of the mines stood, I reflected that the mines themselves were much the same. The bleak gray stone rose up into the mist, black bands perforating the monochromatic shade of the rocks.

I brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes. Another curious development. I had never before had curly hair. My hair was always luscious and thick, with a subtle wave, but never curly. Now, however, the ends seemed to be forming little ringlets, and wayward auburn curls were constantly straying onto my forehead. Oh well. I shook my head, sending the ringlets bouncing.

Suddenly I realized the company was moving, and I was lagging behind.

"Oops."

I hurried to catch up.

It was a bleak day, and nearing nightfall. The still lake, stagnant and murky, hovered on the edge of my vision, no matter how pointedly I tried to ignore it. Some part of my mind was curious as to how the Watcher would look. Would it be like in the movie, or would it simply be like a giant octopus or cuttlefish? The other part of my mind insisted that I would rather not find out.

I patted Bill the Pony's flank, murmuring to him absentmindedly, listening to the bickering of Legolas and Gimli before halting suddenly.

I gasped, staring openmouthed at the immense holly tree I had nearly run into. The huge gnarled roots went all the way down into the stagnant mere that was the lake, the boughs stretching high to the heavens, the crimson berries glistening like beads of blood. About three metres across, there was another massive tree, but my attention was not on the trees now, it was on what lay between them. A blank stretch of gray stone, smooth as cream and flat as a tabletop, stretched up into the mist.

"This," Gandalf announced definitively "Was the West-Gate of Moria."

"May'ap, but where's th' door? I don't see it."

Gimli looked across at Merry

"Dwarf doors are not made to be seen when closed, young Master Meriadoc. They are invisible, and their own masters cannot find them if their secret is forgotten."

Gandalf wrinkled his brow.

"But these doors were not made to be a secret... and unless things have altogether changed, eyes that know what to look for may discover them."

He strode forward, and pressed his ear against the bare stone. His fingers explored it, brushing lightly against the stone. He nodded then, and muttering words under his breath, he passed his hands to and fro, now with more purpose. Then he stepped back

"Now can you see anything?"

I glanced up at the moon, at second quarter now, bright in the night sky, then looked back at the doors as I heard a gasp from Pippin standing next to me.

I started, for though I had been prepared, the sight of shining silver lines tracing themselves through the previously unmarked stone was so strange, and so beautiful I couldn't hold it back.

There, glimmering in the light of the Moon, was the design I was so familiar with- the very one I had painted on my door at home. An arch, with curling scrollwork and designs, the pillars, with the branches of two trees winding round them, the Tengwar lettering, the hammer and anvil, the crown and the seven stars, and, in the middle, that many rayed star, shining more brightly than all the rest.

"There are the emblems of Durin!" cried Gimli avidly

"And," said Legolas, "the Trees of the High Elves!"

"Yes," interrupted Gandalf, "And the Star of the House of Fëanor."

The Star of the House of Fëanor... it was crazy, I thought; it was absolutely insane- I was looking at the West Gate of the bloody Mines of Moria. I shook my head as Gandalf continued.

"They are wrought of ìthildin that mirrors only starlight and moonlight, and is awoken only by one who speaks words now long forgotten in Middle Earth. It is long since I heard them and I had to search deep before I could recall them to my mind."

Frodo was looking at the doors as one might look at a particularly hard jigsaw puzzle, brow furrowed in concentration, biting his lip. Finally he turned to Gandalf

"What does it say? I thought I knew the elf letters, but I can make neither head nor tail of these."

"Ennyn Durin Atan Moria: pedo mellon a minno- The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria: speak friend and enter."

The Company turned to stare at me; I blushed slightly, but continued

"And below, very small, is written: Im, Narvi, hain echant: Celebrimbor o Eregion I thiw hin- I, Narvi, made them: Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs."

"You know the ancient language?" asked Frodo.

"Emm... a little."

Boromir, standing in the rear, was looking at me curiously, it was plain he had thought me uneducated. Granted, he had good reason. After all, how many people of Rohan knew Elvish? Maybe it had been unwise to reveal my knowledge. Gandalf too, was looking at me inquiringly. His clear blue eyes glittered under his beetling brows.

"I think," began the wizard "there is more than meets the eye to our good friend Haleth."

He raised his eyebrows at me. I shrugged

"May'ap. That r'mains t'be seen, dunnit? Any'ow- seems t'me we should be figgerin' more on getting' the Doors open then on me."

"Ah, yes." Gandalf turned to the Doors and braced his staff upon the Star in the middle and spoke in commanding tones.

"Annon edhellen, edro hi ammen! Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen!"

When nothing happened, Pippin spoke up, undaunted by Gandalf's bristling brows

"What're ye gonna do now?"

"Knock on the Doors with your head, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them, and I am left a little peace and quiet, I shall seek for the opening words."

"Weel fine then... shatt'r the doors wit' me 'ead..." Pippin was sulking.

"Shh Pip. Ye know he dun't mean it."

I lightly kissed the top of his head, in the center, where his sandy auburn curls sprang from. He blushed and fell silent. I grinned.

We sat then, watching poor Sam crying as he unladed Bill the Pony's packs, watching Aragorn set him loose, with words of blessing for the road, watching Gandalf try, without success, to open the doors, until, absentmindedly staring at the lake, I suddenly remembered something. The Watcher- I could prevent that attack; I could help.

"Shite."

I sprang up and hurriedly made my way over to Gandalf. He looked up at me crossly when I came over.

"If you're going to pester me with more foolish questions, you can go away now and not trouble yourself."

"No- Gandalf. Pedo, what's it mean?"

"You told the company yourself, didn't you? Or have you forgotten. It means 'speak'."

I shook my head frantically, glancing nervously over my shoulder at the lake, mercilessly still- for now.

"No: pedo mellon a minno- say friend and enter. 'Say', not 'speak'."

Gandalf nodded slowly, standing up, taking, it seemed to me, all the time in the world.

"Please, we must hurry. 'S place bodes ill with me; I don' trust th' lake."

The old man shrugged

"Very well. I see no reason not to hurry."

And with that, he faced the doors and spoke.

"Mellon!"

There was a great noise and a hairline crack appeared in the middle of the door, which then, ponderously, swung out, rumbling and moaning. The Gateway into Khazad-Dûm was open.

A/N: Sorry, Eagle Took, you didn't get to see Haleth fighting orcs, but you got Wargs, so be satisfied. Anyhoo, writing develops in its own right, and if the story didn't want orcs just yet, ya gotta respect that, ya dig me?