Disclaimer: I own NOTHING of middle-earth. All places and characters are JRR Tolkein's, and New Line Cinema. NO monies are made from this. It is strictly a work of enjoyment.

The Sirannon

The Road to Moria continues…

The euphoria over the Warg victory was short lived as the morning turned the journey of the Nine Walkers toward Moria. A dull canopy of clouds blocked the sun's cheerful rays, and cast the Company in a gray world of foreboding not easily shaken. By mid-morning, the Wizard and Dwarf were vexed as to their direction to the gates, for the land had changed much and their bearing was in question.

Aragorn watched from his position in the last. Even I cannot tell the landmarks - long has it been that I have traveled this road. I remember the river Sirannon, swiftly leading to the city's very doors. Yet of the great river there remained only the ghosts of past surges of nature, for no living thing remained in this land. Nothing stirred the air. No bird. No animal. Their only inspiration was of red stone. It was a bleak spot of land, and seemed to prelude their journey into the dark mines.

The Ranger had also taken note of the Elf's lagging pace. Where upon the beginnings of their journey, Legolas had ventured ahead of their party, playing the sharp-sensed scout prepared and ready to warn them of eminent danger, he now fell further back, walking a slow pace before Aragorn, several steps behind Sam and Bill. Though Legolas' expression remained ever stoic, devoid of any telltale emotion of what played in his mind or heart, Aragorn did not miss the First Born's furtive glances to his left and right, nor did he miss his old friend's hesitation at times. Once or twice the Elf cast a glance back, as if reassuring himself that Aragorn still walked behind him.

And though there seemed no threat from above or below, the Elf had unshouldered his bow since the beginning of their trek and kept it close - at the ready.

"Ah, there is something," the Dwarf called out ahead of them. He and the Wizard increased their pace.

Aragorn overtook the Elf and touched the fair being's shoulder. Legolas flinched, though not in distaste of the mortal's hand, but in surprise. The Ranger was in dismay that his friend's thoughts seemed so distracted, and that his entire body was set tense. Legolas' knuckles shown white where he clutched his bow in his left hand as Aragorn spoke in the grey tongue. "Trenar enni neth trasta, mellon-nîn?"

Legolas turned bright eyes to Aragorn. His pupils were dilated wide, though plenty of light still remained beneath the shadowed sky. The Elf's skin was pale as moonlight.

He gave Aragorn a faint smile. "As I told you before - it is the old fears. Let it not trouble you - for the doors of Moria may escape us if we are not diligent in our attentions." He gave Aragorn a slight bow and moved ahead, abruptly matching his gait to that of the Dwarf, Gandalf and Frodo.

Frustration so great as to bring forth anger emerged in Aragorn, and he gave a soft curse in the grey tongue. Confound Elves and their pride. You think I am blind, old friend? That I cannot see the fear behind your bright eyes? I fear too - for I understood the foretelling of the Istari. Moria holds danger - to any of us.

Boromir slowed his walk as Aragorn approached, and as Merry, Sam and Pippin escorted the pony by, the Gondorian cast a glance to the Ranger. "Does the Elf Prince sense something? Danger?" He glanced about the gloom.

Since the warg attack, the Gondorian appeared more secure in the Elf's abilities, ever watchful of Legolas' actions and moods. This trust harkened hope to Aragorn, that perhaps his misgivings as to the warrior's motives may prove false. Yet it was not his place to speak of fears personal to his old friend, and so he replied, "He did not speak of danger to the Fellowship – for him, it is an old malady of the First Born. The cold mountains, beneath rock and stone, do not set well upon their nature. And I would ask you - do not tarry upon his rank and breed, for Legolas Greenleaf has never dwelt himself upon it. He would simply be known as Elven-kind, and nothing more. I can speak for his agility, his archery skills, and exceptional sword handing."

The Gondorian narrowed his eyes as his gaze swept over Aragorn. After a brief time, he gave a curt nod. "I will honor that, though it grieves me to think of his father's wrath if any harm came to his son. A King torn from his child is a vastly vengeful being."

The Ranger dipped his head to his right shoulder. "Aye...but if we do not succeed in our quest and destroy the Ring - then King Thranduil's rage will mean nothing as it slips quietly, and meekly, into the shadow of Mordor."

Boromir seemed poised to give a retort, but was interrupted by Gimli's sudden outburst.

"I see a path," Gimli pointed at the ruined, mountainous land that stretched before them. "Or rather the ghost of one that once was. It seems the ancient High Road is no more."

Indeed, there was little left but the smallest of edges of what had once been a well traveled way of commerce. Aragorn looked about him and bid despair and fear to be gone.

"The gate should be there," Gandalf pointed to something the Ranger could not see. "I think if we should traverse that ridge, we may yet find the path."

No one spoke as the Istari again proceeded forward. Frodo turned and gave Aragorn a look that spoke of hope, but whether the small Hobbit gave it freely to the Ranger, or was asking him of it, Aragorn did not know. He turned and motioned the other hobbits to follow.

Again the Company moved in silence, their attentions bent on scaling the rough terrain, until Aragorn heard Sam say, "Well that's not a sight common to the Shire."

The broken path led to a sharp bend, and there loomed before them a mountain, cleanly cut where once there had been a fall of water that fed to the Sirannon. Water still came, but its trickling was a mockery to the cascade it once housed. Below, spreading out to the very edges of Moria's walls, was a lake, its water as black and unforgiving as the skies surrounding Barad-dûr.

"The Stair Falls are all but gone," Gimli said, and his voice carried with it the shock and woe of disappointment. "And the Sirannon has been damned."

"Aye," Gandalf said in a low voice. "This water is too deep, and too full of an evil I cannot fathom. I suggest we find a way around it to reach the doors.

Aragorn sensed the entire company's fear, though the Elf's to him was most poignant. In their years together he had always seen the Elf as a light hearted soul, filled with sometimes wreckless bravado. Now he seemed overly cautious, and stood on the water's edge.

The Ranger paused to the right of Legolas as the Company followed Gandalf in a single file. Gimli seemed the only member of the Fellowship still brimming with excitement and impatience.

Legolas' stare was locked upon the water, and he held his bow to his chest. His lips were drawn into a thin line and his eyes moved back and forth. "I do not like the water, Strider."

Whether he was only moved by the Elf's obvious fear, or by his own distrust of something so black it hid from view its depths, Aragorn did not know. But he too felt something ominous. Watching. Waiting. But for the Ranger, the danger seemed to come from more than the water. "It is only its stillness, Legolas." He did not believe his words, but he felt compelled to quell the Elf's fears.

"Nay. Something waits for us." The archer turned to his right and faced Aragorn. His eyes were nearly black and wide. "I can feel it there..."

"Stop this, Legolas," Aragorn put a hand on his old friend's shoulder. "It is only water. Stilled by a damn of someone else's making."

"We should not be here."

"We have no choice."

The Archer tilted his head to his left shoulder. "Really? I wonder." And he was gone, turned from the Ranger in a split second, his movements fast and full of purpose as he skirted the water's edge behind Boromir.

Riddles. The Elf spoke in so many of them since their departure. The ire in Aragorn wanted nothing more than a small space of privacy where he might in some fashion take his old friend by the shoulders and shake him and demand to know his mind. There he would rattle answers to questions not yet formed, that tickled at the very edges of his worry. Something ate away at the Prince, and yet the Elf refused to allow their friendship to be the bond that it was.

Had been.

How long had it been since he and Legolas had seen one another? Ten years? Twenty? The son of King Thranduil seemed distant and such a distance broke Aragorn's heart. Yet in their experience together, never had the Elf given a warning, a feeling, or a thought that had not proven to be true in some fashion. If Legolas insisted there was danger – then Aragorn would be ready to defend against it.

~*~

Cold. It seeped inside of soul. Not the frigid taint of climate, but of the blackness of nothing. Devoid of life, of sound, of sunlight. That was what lay ahead of him. And he quailed inside with the dread of it. Stop this, he chided himself quietly, careful to keep his expression unreadable. You will alert all manner of foul thing to your temper - and it will be your undoing. Think. Concentrate. Be the fighter you are.

I am no fighter when my own fears bind my will.

Legolas still held his bow to his chest. He looked down at it as he paused behind Boromir while the Gondorian bent forward to climb a jagged stretch of rock. They had come quickly about the damned river, the Wizard asking Legolas to see ahead where a small area banked away and nothing but a stream separated the Company from their goal. Still in the open, he could see, and hear, and breath the fresh air.

But the gates...

And the water. He did not trust its murky black depths. When he looked inside it, he heard faint words of warning and he shivered. He feared he would succumb to that gnawing terror that drove him to despair of failure. No, think not of this. Estel is safe. He watches you.

Legolas knew his friend's heart ached for a word, something of comfort to deliver his own fears and to council him. But the Prince feared speaking too often, for he needed his old friend now, and yet was unavailable to enjoy in his company. For with their bond the Prince of Mirkwood feared he would tell of his vows, his fears would drive his need of comfort, and his confidence with Arwen would be compromised.

No - it was best to be the assassin, the scout, the keen eye and ear of the Company. And cowering behind his personal fears should not be tolerated, by him, least of all. He felt Strider behind him, waiting for him to ascend the rocky cropping behind the Gondorian. With a deep breath that wreaked of sterile air, he squared his shoulders, reshouldered his bow and nimbly climbed the rocks.

Seeing that Merry and Pippin were having a time climbing and Boromir was aiding Sam in Bill's ascent, Legolas ran to the two hobbits. Bracing himself behind, he put a hand to each of their backs. Pippin swung round and his worried, haggard face broke into a wide smile. "Thank you, your highness."

Legolas kept his silence for the time being, though made a slight promise to himself to speak to the endearing Hobbit about his rank and meaning. He would prefer the halfing enjoy his company for who he was and not what.

Ahead, Gandalf had pulled Frodo aside and the two were speaking in hushed whispers. Legolas moved quickly passed them. His keen ears heard the emploring in the Wizard's voice. Gandalf was afraid - the Istari's every movement was lost to hesitation and irritation. He worried for Frodo, and the issue of his worry centered upon the Gondorian. Legolas' heart clenched at the implications of the Wizard's words, yet he knew with them came truth. My heart aches for Boromir, for his path is as murky as this foul water, and just as dark.

Ahead, Gimli's voice broke the Elf's harried thoughts. "The walls...of Moria."

Indeed, the walls were before them, a majesty of height and enormity. He could not see over their tops as the very tips reached the cloud canopy overhead. Nor had the Elf realized the length of their journey, for the sun had now set behind those incredible heights. Soon they would be surrounded by dark night and cold.

"Its heights nearly rival that of Ecthelion," Boromir said softly, and the Elf turned to his left to look upon the Gondorian, whose face was set in awe as his gaze followed along with the wall's enormity. Legolas' heart reached out for this warrior, whose light in the Elf's eyes, shined of honor and duty in these dim lands.

"There," Gandalf said. "There is the shallow stream Master Greenleaf spied before. From there we walk along the wall's edge till we find the doors." The Wizard turned a glance behind him to the Company. "Single file is safest. Keep your eyes and ears open." The last was said with a lingering gaze upon Legolas.

The Prince gave a nearly imperceptible nod. The Istari still believed in him - in his abilities. Surely Mithrandir knows my heart - or at least can sense my ill-feelings. Perhaps he chooses to ignore them. Yet as long as the Wizard still held hope, it buoyed Legolas' inner strength. Again he reminded himself of vows made. Despair and fear would not aid their quest - and it would not sit well upon the High Born to retell the tale of one of their own folding in battle to the fears of a Dwarven home.

He stood to the side as did Boromir as the hobbits Merry and Pippin came by. Sam followed with the pony in tow and as Aragorn followed, Legolas felt his friend's eyes searching for his.

I cannot confide in you yet, my brother. Legolas kept his gaze fixed upon the hobbits and did not turn his attention to the Ranger. Aragorn walked past slowly, his head down.

Unable to bear his friend's heavy heart any longer, Legolas started forward, bent on speaking with the Ranger. But a voice called a name in his ear. He stopped, only peripherally aware of Boromir's gaze upon him.

Before the Archer was the company, filing inside the small stream that separated them from the walls. To his right was the lake and from there the whispers came. He thought it was perhaps Strider calling to him, the Ranger having turned and tread back. But he clearly saw his friend ahead helping Sam with Bill.

Whispers. Caught on the wind again. One commanding - one answering.

watching....

There it was! A voice that churned and roiled with power, striking at the very core of the Elf's being. It came on the wind and there was an answer, deep below the murky surface. The voices murmured inside his head. The tones played along the air around him, yet called from the lake's depths. Something...someone...called to the stagnant pool...

...and something had called back.

"What is it you see?" Boromir was close, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Name it - show to me its form and I will slay it."

Legolas narrowed his eyes at the lake as the voice died away, a call vanishing into the waters. The voices no longer whispered. All was silence, though he strained to find more evidence to what had happened. He turned his face to the Gondorian. "I cannot show what plays in my mind. When I can, I will be there beside you to defend our Company. But I would ask this of you, Boromir of Gondor - be on guard - and watch the water, for it watches us." With that, he turned and moved quickly away.

Only to nearly walk into the Dwarf who stood at the stream's beginnings. He had not followed the others, and his gaze was fixed uncomfortably upon Legolas. The Elf schooled his features. "Master Dwarf."

Gimli nodded. "Master Elf. 'Tis a monument, is it not? To Dwarven ingenuity and craftsmanship?" He nodded back to the wall. "This road was once traveled by Dwarf and Elf alike, a path of commerce between our people." The Dwarf turned and began to pick his way through the thin stream before the Elf. "Alas...such relations might have continued…had it not been for the Elves."

Legolas balked. His feet rooted to the muddy sand as his dark brows furrowed in contempt. How dare this creature? He would insult my people and then be so bold as to turn his back upon me? The Prince bristled as he replied. "I do not recall hearing it was the fault of the Elves."

"Gimli!" came Gandalf's voice from the Company's front. "Legolas! Please! An end to this. Master Elf, I need your senses."

As he moved forward, his hands balled into fists, Legolas cast a glance sideways at Gimli. To his surprise, the Dwarf's expression was full of mirth as he pretended not to notice the Elf's scrutiny. The Prince continued past him, nimbly walking along the slippery rocks, a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. The Dwarf bated me in jest! Could it be the creature senses my foul temper and wishes to lighten my heart? Such a thought interested the Elf, and he considered it as he approached the Wizard.

Mithrandir took Legolas beneath his left arm, directing the two away from the others. The Istari's pallor was as gray as his robe. His eyes were sunken and haunted. Legolas felt panic rise inside of him, and quickly quelled it as the Wizard spoke in Sindarin. "Do you hear them?"

It was not difficult to know what the Istari spoke of. "I hear them, in the water. One voice to another."

"Aye," Mithrandir swallowed. "Look about us at all times. Keep yourself tuned to what is happening in the open," he turned then and swung his full intent blue gaze on the Elf. "In the halls of Dwarrowdelf, you might discover you are not as blind as you fear." Switching to the Common Tongue, the Wizard spoke a bit louder. "And it would do well if you two tried to make some progress toward a small friendship."

Playing along with the Istari's game, Legolas gave him a nod and stepped away as the Wizard moved forward. Gandalf worried for all of them, and again, Legolas felt that weight as heavy on his shoulders as the vows he'd made to Arwen, and promises to the sons of Elrond.

Time passed slowly as the the Company continued in single-file upon the small space of rock and slime between the Walls and the lake. Darkness descended. Gandalf lead the way by the moon's light, followed by Frodo, Merry and Pippin. Gimli came next, tapping his axe against the rock walls every so often. Boromir followed behind the Dwarf, then Legolas, Sam, Bill the pony, and Strider.

The Dwarf's tapping made it hard for Legolas to listen for the return of the voices, and he wished to silence the inane noise with a well placed barb – if not a physical snatching away of the weapon, followed by a tap upon the Dwarf's helm. But though Gandalf had used the ruse of scolding the Elf as a means to gain information, Legolas knew there had also been truth behind those words. As a Fellowship they needed to work together, and as a Prince in his father's Kingdom, he had been taught diplomacy worked best for the sake of all.

If only he'd cease that infernal tapping - for I could think of many other uses for that axe.

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed." Tap…tap…tap.

"Yes Gimli..." Gandalf answered from ahead and his voice echoed eerily between the wall and lake. "If their own Masters cannot find them, then their secrets are forgotten."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas blanched inwardly. He had not meant to speak his thoughts aloud. He waited for Gandalf's admonishment, or perhaps a retort from the Dwarf. But Gimli remained quiet...

...save for the inane tapping, which seemed to gain in frequency and volume.

A brush of life touched Legolas' cheek. He knew that touch, having lived with it all his life among the forests of Greenwood the Great. It was the faint call of a tree, the easing of a sigh on the wind. The Elf looked forward to where Gandalf stood – and there gazed upon two trees! The Elf hurried his pace, his left hand out as he came to the first. It appeared dead and withered in the moonlight. Yet, as his palm caressed the cold bark, that same life that had kissed his waning spirit rekindled. It surged through him and soothed his Elven heart, reassuring him that even in the darkest places, there is hope. There is life.

He sensed Pippin near him, watching him, concern radiating from the innocent halfling in small waves, and the Elf became aware his eyes had closed as he'd listened to the calming tree. He opened them and looked down at the Hobbit, yet he was unsure of what to say.

"They speak to you…don't they?" the Hobbit's voice was small and soft.

Legolas nodded as he knelt beside Pippin, and he afford him a small smile. "I gain strength from them as much as I do from the sun."

Pippin looked up at the baren tree and frowned. "This one can't have very many happy things to tell you."

"In truth, Master Took – it tells me about hope."

Gandalf had moved to the flat area of wall between the trees. He ran his hands along the rock, muttering of isildin and starlight. And moonlight.

As she clouds moved from the moon overhead, Legolas' keen ears detected a hum, a thrumming of power and before them all the doors of Moria came into view, twinkling and shimmering as if carved of Mithril. The Archer stepped forward, no words coming to him to describe the beauty of that door, such a miasmic venture of Dwarven and Elven workmanship, and it did sadden him to know such a mixing of talents had all but disappeared in the world.

A small hand touched his and Legolas looked down to see Pippin smiling up at him. He returned the squeeze and joined in with the small Hobbit to listen to the Wizard as he read aloud the Elvish words upon the door.

"The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter."

"What do you suppose that means?" Pippin asked, his hand still clenched inside of the Elf's.

Legolas did not hear the Wizard's response as his attention was taken briefly back to the water to the rear of their attention. Where the water had been still before, with only the brushes of the wind upon its surface, it moved now, rippling and roiling. Something disturbed it, yet the Elf could not see what.

Gandalf was still speaking in different tongues when Legolas looked back. He cast a glance over at Frodo who was looking a bit more disappointed. Whatever the Wizard had tried, had not worked. The tall Istari took his staff and pushed it against the doors.

"Nothing's happening," Pippin said to Legolas as the Elf glanced down at him. No, Legolas' thoughts diverted to the lake. Many things are happening, only we cannot tell which are friend and which are foe.

"I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves or Men or Orcs..." Gandalf was heard to mutter to himself as he stepped back from the uncooperative wall. He placed his hands upon his hips.

"What are you going to do?" Pippin asked innocently.

"Knock on the doors with your head, Peregrin Took," Gandalf's voice was as a weapon wielded with the emotions of frustration and anger.

Legolas moved protectively before the Hobbit, angered briefly by the Istari's apparent disregard for the small half-ling's feelings. What would Pippin know of such things, he wondered to himself, yet did not possess the want to ask it aloud. He did not wish the Wizard's wraith placed on himself, and yet he would defend the small creature against the same.

Again and again the Istari spoke, cursed, yelled, muttered and chanted. As as the night grew later and mist formed over the water's surface, its repeated motion disturbing both Elf and Man, one thing had become painfully apparent.

The doors of Moria remained closed.

TBC

"Trenar enni neth trasta, mellon-nîn?" (tell to me what troubles you, my friend?)

I had all intentions of getting to reveiws – only the site had too much traffic and it's getting late. I hope I haven't disappointed anyone!