The second part of our double-bill! I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Descent

The most important part of being the best friend of a fiercely independent female warrior hobbit was protecting her without making a big deal about it.

Bróin knew that there were some things that Nelly could never do as easily as dwarves could. She did not need someone to do things for her, but she could do with shielding from the unrelenting cold, and she would need someone to make sure she did not slip from sleep into unconsciousness.

So Bróin did not sleep that night. Instead, he spent the dark, cold hours with his arm around Nelly's shoulders, and his other hand resting on Merry's wrist. The whole company were snuggled up close to each other, and close to the wolves, too, and as he watched the fire slowly dwindle, Bróin knew that without their furry companions, the hobbits, and perhaps even the men, would have perished.

The thought made his guts tie themselves in knots, and he wiggled his cold fingers to check that they were just numb, and that Merry's heart was still beating.

The hobbit's breathing was stronger and deeper now than it had been, and he had been bundled in 'spare' cloaks and nestled between Denahi and Koda before Boromir would let him sleep again. It had made Bróin all the more grateful that Boromir was here. If Bróin had found Merry cold and white and unmoving the snow, he would not have known what to do. If Merry had died –

Bróin shuddered, and tried to shrink back into his cloak. His coat was tucked over Pippin's knees, and he missed it, but he knew that he would survive the snow either way. His suffering was infinitely better than Pippin dying. Boromir and Aragorn were both shivering, having leant inner cloaks to the hobbits, but Gimli was simply dozing on the other end of the line of hobbits, his coat over Frodo's knees, and cloak over Sam. The older dwarf's nose and ears were very red, but Odo was lying against his back, sheltering him from the wind, and given that he was decades closer to adulthood than Bróin, he was not suffering so much.

Legolas did not seem to be suffering at all. At first, he had paced the front of the cave gracefully, as if he had not a care in the world. He had only sat down when Aragorn murmured something to him in elvish. Whatever he had said, Bróin was glad for it, for when Legolas resumed his place beside Aragorn the wind had less routes to Bróin and the hobbits.

By Mahal, it was cold.

"That's your trouble, Bróin," sighed his mother's voice in his mind. "You think you're all grown up, but you're not, and whether or not you like it there are things your body simply cannot do yet."

It had been five years ago that she had said that to him, but Bróin found he could not remember why. He sighed. The fire was dying, but they had no more wood. He had tossed on the last twig half an hour ago. In the dimming light, it was getting harder to keep his eyes open.

But he had to. He had the most important watch of all – Bróin had to watch the hobbits. Make sure they were breathing. A night without sleep would not kill him, nor even slow him much. He would not let it, not when the risks were so high.

With a snore, Boromir shifted in his sleep, and a gust of wind cracked in like a whip, lashing out what remained of the fire. Gasping in dismay, the young dwarf carefully moved his arm off of Nelly and then lunged for the fire, his hands lingering over the hot coals as he tried to figure out what to do. Morning was still hours off, he had to keep the fellowship warm –

Desperately, Bróin blew on the coals, heart stuttering as their edges glowed. "Please," he whispered, stoking them with his fingers. He could not tell if they burnt from hot or cold. "Please, please, please!"

A slight flame flickered, but no matter how Bróin pushed the charred wood or how many times he threw sparks down with his flint and tinderbox, it would not grow, and in a matter of minutes it was dead, and there was not even the glow of a distant flame.

"No," he whispered, but his words did nothing other than cloud the air. "Dammit!"

Already, Bróin could feel how much colder it was, and the dark did not help either. He glanced over at the hobbits, and saw Nelly and Pippin begin to shiver again.

"Think, think, think!" he growled under his breath, looking around desperately for any more fuel. He could burn his clothes, or his food, but that would be counterproductive. He had not brought anything more than he needed, there was no surplus so spare.

Maybe he could use the coals and ashes themselves? They were still hot. He heard Merry moan in his sleep, and then Bróin scrambled to his bag, looking desperately for a bag of some sort that he could throw them into, but then his hand fell on something else and he paused.

His water bottles.

He paused for a long moment – too long a moment, heat and time were wasting. Seizing the two skeins, he crawled to the fire and buried them in the ashes. The tough leather did not burn, though an odd smell was given out.

Not the traditional hot water bottle, he thought, but desperate times…

Bróin only knew that time was passing by counting Merry's heartbeats. The hobbit's wrist was getting a little cold, so Bróin tucked it up under the wolf, but kept his own two fingers in place no matter how awkward the positioning was. Then he looked back at Nelly. Her nose and ears were bright red, but the rest of her face was pale, and even in sleep her mouth was drawn into a straight line. She had never much liked the cold.

When he thought they might have caught some heat, Bróin reached for the bottles, only to cry out softly in dismay. They were cold as rock, and the ashes little warmer than the snow. His eyes prickled with angry tears, but Bróin took a deep breath and banished them.

No, he could not lose his cool. Could not prove that he was too young for this – he had to act Frodo's age, not his own.

Besides, if he started crying like a baby now, that would only make life more difficult for the others. Instead, he threw the bottles back into his bag, dusting his belongings with ash, and returned to Nelly's side. She stirred as he sat down, her eyes opening slightly.

"Bro?" she whispered, her voice cracking in the cold.

"Aye, it's just me," he replied, wrapping his arm around her again. "You cold?"

She sighed and nodded, leaning against his chest. "You're warm."

He chuckled quietly. "Glad you think so." Glad one of us does.

"'s it morning?"

"No, we've got a while yet." Bróin sighed. "Go back to sleep, Nell."

"Mm, alright," she mumbled, and within a few moments her breath was slow and even again.

Bróin stared right to the end of the line, where Sam was sleeping beside Gimli. It seemed that at some point of the night, the hobbit had begun to use the dwarf's arm as a pillow, and he was shifting and snuffling uncomfortably in his sleep.

Good, thought Bróin, easy to check he's doing alright.

His gaze moved onto Frodo, whose back was pressed against Sam's, and arms slung around Pippin. The young Baggins was breathing – his chest was moving up and down, and Pippin's hair danced around his forehead at every breath. Fíli's wolf, Sokka, was lying on their legs, and Sitka was by their heads. Denahi was at Pippin's back, separating him slightly from Merry, Nelly and Bróin.

Pippin was snuggled up against Frodo, and if the Baggins' position was accidental, the Took's was surely not. His face was half-hidden in Frodo's chest and his whole body was curled up in a little ball. One hand was wrapped in Frodo's cloak. The other reached under Denahi's chin, to rest against Merry's neck. He was frowning, deeply, but his breathing was also easy enough to spot.

Merry's breathing was a little harder to see, but it was still stronger than it had been, and Bróin could feel his pulse. He could feel Nelly's chest rising and falling beneath his arm.

Gimli was snoring, so there was no need to worry about him.

The two men were pale, and very still, but they were breathing deeply and often. Bróin could not tell if the elf was awake or asleep, but he was breathing, at least. Bróin was starting to get a headache from squinting through the dark. Even a dwarf might have trouble seeing such subtle movements in the blackness.

He let his head slide down to rest on Nelly's, and let his eyes close for a moment. But just a moment. Then he forced them open again, and when he had counted six hundred breaths, he looked up and checked each of his companions again.

Finally, a little light began to seep in from outside, and the others began to stir. Aragorn was the first to wake, and he shuddered as he sat up. Snow had fallen against his back all night, by the looks of it, but despite his pallor his eyes were sharp.

"When did the fire die?" he asked when he saw Bróin awake. His voice has huskier than usual.

"Around two hours past midnight, I would guess," said Bróin, pausing to yawn. "Without a clock, it was hard to say."

Dusting snow from his shoulders, Aragorn frowned. "You did not stay up all the night?"

Bróin shrugged. "No one stopped breathing."

Pausing with his arm still in the air, Aragorn stared at the dwarf with a strange look that Bróin hoped was not pity. "You did not have to do that."

Bróin kept his gaze steely as he stared back. "Everyone is breathing."

After a lingering moment, Aragorn bowed his head. "Very well. Thank you, Bróin."

Bróin nodded once, sharply, before pausing and smiling wearily. "You're welcome."

Staring out at the sky that was slowly turning a lighter shade of grey, Aragorn rubbed his beard. "We should wake the others. We must leave, and the sooner the better."

"Aye, I agree with that," muttered Bróin, shaking Nelly. "Up and at 'em, Nell."

She groaned and stretched, mumbling, "Wake Pippin first!"

Snorting, Bróin dug her in the ribs. "Up." Then, leaning over, he tapped Merry and Pippin on the nose each, and called, "Up, all of you. Frodo, Sam, Gimli, wake up." Mumbles and groans were all that replied. The dwarf rolled his eyes at Aragorn, who was rousing Boromir, and yelled, "Breakfast!"

Immediately eyes opened and folk scrambled upright, albeit slower than they usually did.

"Wha's for breakfast?" slurred Pippin, looking utterly bedraggled.

"Snow," replied Bróin. "And some slightly stale bread."

"You can keep the snow," said Merry with a shudder. Bróin was glad to hear that there was a little more strength in his voice, though it still rasped slightly. "It's cold enough as it is."

"And you're hogging all the blankets," Pippin commented, though Bróin could see his hand tightening around Merry's sleeve. "I agree with Merry. No snow for me, please."

"You will have to face the snow, whether you eat it or not," said Legolas, who had risen when Bróin was not looking. He was standing by the mouth of the cave, staring out. "There is a drift over our path taller than even Aragorn."

Bróin's heart sank, at he was not the only one. The hobbits let out a chorus of dismay.

"How will we get down?" cried Frodo.

Boromir stood, and joined Legolas at the entrance, peering out at the snowdrift. "Curse this mountain," he spat. "It does not want us to reach the ground alive."

Behind him, Bróin heard Sam mutter, "Oughn't we leave the cursing until we're off the mountain?"

"Well, we shall have to dig," continued the man. "Aragorn, I think that between you and I we may forge a path?"

Seeing no other choice, they all shared a miserable breakfast together in the cave, before the men and three of the wolves set out into the sea of snow. The prancing elf princess, who of course could walk atop the snow itself, went ahead of them, guiding Aragorn and Boromir in case they tunnelled right off the mountain.

And the dwarves and hobbits waited.

And waited.

Bróin yawned, and leant against the back of the cave. Catching sight of him, Frodo slipped over, and spoke quietly, so as not to alert the others. "Are you alright?"

"Me? Why wouldn't I be?" Bróin frowned. "At least I am no worse than any of you."

Frodo was not so easily fooled. He was Bilbo's nephew, after all. "You didn't sleep last night." It was not a question.

Bróin shrugged. "I'll be fine."

"Take a nap," Frodo suggested, and his eyes were burning with sympathy. "I will make sure no one stops breathing."

Bróin breathed in sharply and wished that he had not – cold air tore down his nose like a knife. He rolled up his nose, almost sneezed, and then recovered, staring at the hobbit. "You heard that."

Frodo nodded sombrely. "I was already awake. I did not realise you were until Aragorn spoke, or I would have joined you."

For a moment, a sudden thought darted into Bróin's mind – a thought he had been ignoring all night.

What if I stop breathing?

But no. He was a dwarf. The cold could not kill him so easily, and his hobbits would never allow it anyway.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, glancing around the cave. "I should be doing, something…"

"We are waiting," sighed Frodo. "And about as useful as shoes in the Shire. Get some sleep while you can, Bro."

"Alright, Frodo," Bróin replied, smiling wearily. He slid down into a sitting position against the wall and dropped his head onto his knees. Exhaustion was turning his limbs to lead now that he allowed it to, and his eyes felt as though they would never open again.

It was so cold.

Vaguely, he heard someone call him, and he tried to stir, but then a hand rested on his shoulder and he heard Frodo's voice. "Let him sleep. No, I mean it Nell. Why? Because I said so, Pippin, hush up…"

As if someone was closing a door, Frodo's voice grew quieter, and Bróin was sucked down into a sleep where he almost felt warm.

All too soon, Frodo shook him awake, and the cold claimed him again.

"The others are back," Frodo said, and Bróin sat up. Something fell from his shoulders and slipped onto the floor beside him.

He frowned, looking down at three cloaks and two coats. One coat and cloak were his, but the others…"Where did these come from?"

"No idea," said Frodo. "I'll keep that one for you." He swiped up a cloak that Bróin recognised as Gimli's, and then Pippin and Sam wordlessly picked up the other coat and cloak and put them on themselves.

"Did you know," said Pippin, as he reclaimed Bróin's coat, "that you lose more heat when you sleep?"

"'s that so?" Bróin grinned slowly, and Pippin nodded.

"Aye, it is."

It warmed Bróin's stomach that they took the cloaks and coats back, and that they made such a small deal of things. He forgot, sometimes, that the courtesy he extended Nelly was given to him by all his hobbit cousins.

"We've forged a good a path as we may, but it has fallen in in places," sighed Aragorn. Sympathy churned Bróin's gut – not only did the man look exhausted, but he was soaked from the chest downwards. Boromir looked much the same. "It would be safer if the little folk ride."

"Righty-ho," Bróin declared around a yawn, "let's go."

"There is just one more thing," said Boromir hesitantly. "I do not think that Denahi should carry Merry down the mountain."

Bróin's stomach flipped over, and he looked quickly at Merry and his wolf. Denahi bared his teeth and growled, his hackles raising, while Merry put his hand on Denahi's shoulder.

"Why?" he demanded.

"There is no denying that he is a strong and powerful beast, but surely it is wiser for him to conserve his strength for ground that is better suited to him." Aragorn's voice was very placating, and Bróin saw Merry slump a little.

"I," he paused, then sighed. "Should I ride Kanna?"

Denahi whined sadly, nestling at Merry's nose. The hobbit wrapped his arms around the wolf's neck and kissed his ears, but shook his head.

"I will carry you," said Boromir. "It will be faster, and safer. I will be able to make sure you do not slip back into the Cold Sleep." Merry shivered, and then nodded. "We will go first. Get on my back – I will need my arms."

Before he knew it, Bróin was riding down the mountain. The path the men had forged was more like a tunnel, with tremendous walls of snow on either side. The snow had stopped falling, but the wind was as vicious as ever, and threw down loose snow from above. Beneath the feet of the wolves, the tunnel's floor was beginning to turn to slush. Towards the back of the group, where he was, muddy, icy water began to splash up Nyla's sides, onto his legs. His boots and trousers protected his legs, but he saw Sam ahead of him, and he wished the hobbits had not decided to wear trousers.

But, to Bróin's amazement, they were able to pursue the path without incident. In fact, after a few hours of tense but unremarkable riding, the arrived at a tight bend. When they rounded it, they found but an inch of snow over their path. It was as if a great hand had come down, and swept the rest of the snow from the path with one mighty swoop. Beyond, Bróin could see the forest again, and the sky, and things other than snow and ice, and he beamed, scratching Nyla behind her ears.

"Good girl," he crooned. "Good girl."

To his surprise, it looked as though it was now dusk. Of course, the time had been hard to fathom during the storm - perhaps dawn had been shrouded by cloud and darkness when they were in the cave. They surely could not have ridden for a whole day, but the sun was definitely sinking. They were still a good deal up the mountain, maybe two or three hours from its base, but the air was a little warmer and clearer. They could do this. They were safe.

But even as those thoughts passed through his mind, there was a great rumble around them and beneath them, and he turned to see a great cloud of snow rush down the mountain, and swallow Aragorn, Gimli and Odo whole.

With cries of dismay, the fellowship darted back, but Aragorn burst from the drift with a shudder, and Odo charged through the snow and shook himself so hard that Gimli fell off, landing on his backside by Bróin's feet with snow stuck to his beard and wide, white eyes.

Bróin could not help it.

He laughed.

Scowling, Gimli twisted around and shook his fist at the mountain. "We're leaving, you stupid lump of rock, leave us alone!"

"Shh!" Sam gasped, and Bróin rolled his eyes.

"Don't be so supsersti-"

"No!" Sam shook his head and pointed further down the mountain. "Look!"

Bróin looked down, and felt as though he had been punched in the throat. "Oh, no…"

Moving closer and closer towards the base of the mountain was what looked like a swarm of flies, driving down a road from the north. Within hours, they would reach the path that lead up the mountain. Within hours, they could cut the fellowship off altogether.

"Orcs," cursed Legolas. "At least three dozen, and the same number of wargs!"

"We must move," whispered Aragorn hoarsely, "now, if we are not to be trapped on this cursed hill!"

"Look!" gasped Nelly, seizing Bróin's arm and pointing a little further north east. There was another group, another gang of travellers that looked like ants from this distance. They, too, were heading south, and heading towards the orcs, but what or who they were, Bróin could not say.

He was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this.

Then Legolas swore. "Amarth faeg! It is Mithrandir, and your people."

"What?" Merry cried, leaning out from Boromir's arms to gaze at the sights below. "They wouldn't, it's too risky!"

Bróin shared a glance with Nelly, and knew that she was thinking exactly the same as he. They, at least, had expected this.

"Go," Aragorn urged them, crouching low as he began to buffet the hobbits further down the mountain. "Go! They can care for themselves, but we must run, or we will be slaughtered by the night's end! If we hurry we may reach the ground before the orcs spy us."

"Wonderful," muttered Boromir, his eyes fixed on the orcs. "Where are we running?"

"Moria," said Frodo, his voice firm as he dug his heels into Sitka's flank and urged him onward. "We have not time to fly anywhere else."

"That's true," growled Boromir, though he looked as though he would rather say anything else.

Denahi let out a frustrated whine and leapt at the man, pushing him backwards with one great paw and seizing Merry's collar with gentle teeth. Boromir released the hobbit instantly. For a moment, Merry hung from the wolf's mouth like a puppy's favourite toy, and Bróin laughed. Then, Merry quickly disengaged the wolf's teeth and slid onto his back.

"Let's go," he said.

And they ran.

The wind whipped Frodo's face like a thousand lashes as Sitka tore down the mountain. Reaching the base before the orcs could see them looked impossible, until the wolf that bore him skidded to a halt, given out a soft whine, and then careened off the side of the cliff.

His heart pounding, Frodo realised that Sitka had found a winding semblance to a trail that cut off the last league or so off their northward path. Not only did it stop them from having to double back on themselves to go further south, but given the curve of the mountain, it shielded them from view from the North. Odo struggled slightly, but the stubbornness of Gimli's pony was winning out, and he trotted down as fast as his little legs could manage. Glóin had always said that the beast was surely half goat.

For the men, it proved more difficult, but both were agile enough to find the crags and footholds needed to descend. Despite a few wobbles, their feet failed to falter, and though they did not share the grace of Legolas, both Aragorn and Boromir reached the flat ground beneath the mountain mere seconds after the others.

"We cannot afford to linger," said Legolas, running on with a sympathetic smile as Boromir leant against the stone for a moment, clutching his side.

The man let out a groan-like growl of annoyance and glared over his shoulder, but then he began to run again. Frodo was impressed – the man's fatigue was etched into his face, yet he showed no sign of stopping.

Not that they had a choice.

Silent save for their footfalls and laboured breaths, the fellowship sped south as fast as the path would allow. At times, they were forced to slow for the wolves to seek a clearer road, but for the most part the creatures wound ways through trees and bracken that even Aragorn would have trouble detecting.

For his part, Frodo was trying to keep an eye out for the subtle signs Balin and Thorin had told him lay near the gates of Moria, but it was hard to pay such close attention when every instinct screamed to fly as fast as maybe, and put as much distance as possible between him and the orcs, damning the destination.

But no – to damn the destination was to damn the entire company, so Frodo had to keep his mind sharp. He peered over his shoulder, hair whipping across his face, and made sure everyone was still with him.

He could have used Aragorn's help, but the man was lagging towards the back of the group – he was competing with running wolves, and barely keeping up. He and Boromir were falling further behind Nelly and Bróin by the minute. Even at a distance, Aragorn's face looked blank, and Boromir was stumbling far more often than usual.

They should not have to run – and they could not maintain this pace. Not for much longer. Frodo stroked Sitka's neck with his fist, drawing it back in the motion that meant slow down. Immediately, the wolf's long strides shortened, and he began to reduce his pace.

"Why are we stopping?" asked Merry, from his right.

"We're not," said Frodo. "Just slowing. We have yet some distance to go – it would be best to pace ourselves."

Merry nodded, and the rhythm of the group stumbled for a while, before falling into a pace that was a brisk walk for Aragorn and Boromir. Frodo let the men set the speed – he was tempted to go slower, but they seemed able to catch their breath as it was.

Unfortunately, it soon became impossible to travel so quickly, even with the will and strength of the men. By leaving the path, they had no clear route to follow, and as they drew further south, even the wolves began struggling to find a way. In some places, they had to pause for up to half an hour to work through low branches and thorn bushes taller than the hobbits.

When night fell, thick and fast, they had no choice but to rest, unable to fight on without light. They set watches of three at a time, but only Pippin caught more than an hour's restless sleep. As soon as the sky lightened a fraction, and the dwarves, elf and wolves could see a little, they began trying to move on, but it was slow work.

A horrifically nerve-wracking hour was spent just before noon, when they were trapped by rock, trees and briars on all sides and forced to double back almost a mile. By the time they found a way southward again, Frodo's heart was beating somewhere up in his throat. If the orcs were on a road, if his family were on a road, either group could be upon them at any time. From what they had seen on the mountain, both groups were only hours behind – a day's ride at most – and if they had not faced the set-backs the fellowship had faced…

Finally, Frodo caught sight of something through the thick trees – the ripple of wind on black water.

"Apparently, a great, dark pool has grown before the gates," said Balin one cold night, smiling as the young hobbits around him leant in closer. "A black pool, in which dwelt several large serpents, if Lóni's eyes did not deceive him. We believe, at present, that the Sirannon has been dammed – by nature or by will we do not know – and flooded the valley. But, the gates are still reachable, and still visible only when touched by moon or star."

"This way!" Frodo cried, his voice catching with relief. He nudged Sitka with his right knee to encourage him left, and the wolf bounded through with renewed vigour. They padded out onto a small stretch of dirt before the edge of the dark pool, and Frodo's breath caught in his throat.

He had seen sketches and maps of Moria and its gates before, but they had been drawn before the waters of the Sirannon filled the valley. The pool was maybe two hundred feet wide, and on the other side to the company lay what looked like a small pebble beach, maybe six-foot-wide, and the base of the mountain. Frodo's keen eyes quickly identified what Balin had taught him to look for – a section of smooth, blank rock, flanked by two large holly trees – the door.

They had made it.

And Frodo was terrified.

Fíli was lying in a hysterical Kíli's arms, an arrow in his throat and his eyes unseeing on the bank of a lake outside a mountain Frodo did not know.

This was the lake. This was the mountain.

He had tried so hard to convince himself that his nightmare was just a dream, that the visions that had haunted his sleep since Tom Bombadil's could not be true, but this sight – a sight he had never before seen in waking life – was the exact backdrop to Fíli's doom. The placement of the rocks, the jutting crags at the mountain's base, even the large pebbles on the bank of the lake – they were all familiar.

In his dream, Fíli had died here.

Hobbits had no powers of prophecy, surely, but Bombadil's house was odd, and if there was some magic in the air that had allowed him to see the future –

No. No, that could not be the future. Frodo had risked the world to make sure that would not be the future.

But Fíli may be coming anyway – they are following you.

Frodo's blood felt cold as Caradhras.

"At last!" Merry gasped, making Frodo jump as Denahi drew alongside him. Shivering lightly, Frodo dragged his eyes away from the scene before him to glance at Merry. To his surprise, a huge smile had broken out across his cousin's wan, weary face. After the disaster of Caradhras, such a smile almost warmed Frodo's heart to the place.

Almost.

"Let's just get inside," he muttered, channelling Thorin as best he could in an attempt to keep his voice calm and strong. The result was tinted with impatience, and Merry stared at him quizzically. Frodo just shook his head slightly, and urged Sitka forward.

To get to the door they would have to cross the water, but just to the left there was a narrow creek that did not look too deep. Taking a deep breath and raising his chin, Frodo led the group straight for it.

But the moment the wolf's foot touched the water, Sitka let out a snarl and drew it back up, backing away from the creek. Though his first thought was to dig his heel in a little tighter, Frodo had learnt to trust the wolves' instincts over the years. He leant forward, stroking Sitka's ear.

"What's wrong?" he murmured. "We must cross, Sitka, or we'll be trapped."

Whining, Sitka tossed his head and stepped back again, returning to the tree line before taking a running leap across the creak. The other wolves followed suit, refusing to touch the water, but the pony, elf and men had no choice but to wade through. The men pulled faces and slipped on slimy rocks, and Legolas stared at the ripples with morbid curiosity, but they all crossed without incident. Odo snorted, but kept his nose high in the air when Gimli patted his flank.

When they came to the other side, they all dismounted, and the wolves flopped down onto the damp ground, panting heavily. Boromir shook his head and brushed his hair from his face. "So, where are these doors?"

Trying to forget any trace of his nightmare, Frodo walked slowly to the two, tall holly trees, and placed his hand on the stone between them. "Here," he murmured. "They are here. But we cannot see them until they are touched by the light of moon or star."

"Of course we can't," said Legolas under his breath.

"Can we enter, without the light?" pressed Aragorn, striding to Frodo's side. "If we are forced to wait for nightfall we may receive company."

"Perhaps, if we had the password," Frodo pursed his lips and glanced at Merry. "Do you remember?"

Furrowing his brow, Merry stared at the mountain for a long moment, before sighing and hanging his head. "No."

Frodo cursed under his breath, but Boromir was not so quiet.

"What? We ran all this way, like rabbits from a wolfpack, only to be trapped for lack of a password? We would have had more chance if we aimed for the gap of Rohan." The man threw his small pack to the floor, and ran both hands through his hair.

"Not necessarily," said Merry, sighing and sitting down beside Denahi. "The password's the answer to a question – Balin was telling us about it. This door was built so that the dwarves could trade with the elves and men of Hollin, so the question is written in elvish, in Moon Runes on the door. Those who know the answer can get in."

"And how will we know the answer?"

Somewhere close by, a strange wolf howled, and the group's wolves leapt to their feet, hackles rising. Merry went pale, but answered nevertheless. "Balin said the questions were often subtle on doors like these. They were posed to look like statements or warnings, when they were actually riddles."

"Wonderful," growled Boromir. "There are wolves coming and we must wait for twinkling stars to show a riddle."

"Look, we're doing the best we can here," said Sam hotly, striding over with his chest puffed up. "So, you best be remembering that Frodo and Merry aren't fools! Mister Balin's told us hundreds of dwarvish riddles over the years, and they know thousands of hobbit ones besides. You can't expect them to just pick the right one out of thin air! This is the best hope we had, and we decided that on the mountain!"

Boromir turned to Sam, and though irritation still flickered in his eyes, his face softened. "I know, Sam. Do not mistake my frustration for anger at Frodo or Merry."

Before Sam could smile back, the strange wolf howled again, and the hairs on the back of Frodo's neck sprang up. It was not a wolf – that was the call of a warg.

And it was answered more howls.

Snarling and growling, the wolves of Erebor began to circle the bank, hemming the fellowship in closer and closer towards the trees, and the invisible door, like sheepdogs sensing a threat to their flock.

"Aragorn," Nelly asked, her voice deceptively light. "How far away would you say that those wargs are?"

The man pursed his lips and shook his head. "It is hard to say. They could be miles from here, yet they could also be much closer."

"Aye, that's what I thought." Nelly took a deep breath and squinted up at the sky. "So, it looks like it's about three hours past noon…" she trailed off, counting on her fingers. Then she sighed, and leant back against the mountain. "They could be here before nightfall, but they might not, and there's nowhere else to go. We're stuck."

"Well," sighed Pippin, "I suppose the others could catch up with us first. At least then we'd have reinforcements."

"No," snapped Frodo, his hands diving into his pockets as everyone turned to stare at him. He softened his tone. "I don't think I'm ready to see them again just yet. Do you?"

Pippin pouted, and slumped down against the wall. After a long moment, Frodo sighed and joined him.

Gimli cleared his throat, and spoke rather gruffly. "I've just had a thought."

"Exciting," said Bróin. "How are you coping with such a strange, new sensation?"

Ignoring Bombur's son, Gimli sighed and scratched Odo's ears. "We can't take you into the mines with us, can we?" The pony whickered, and began to snuffle the dwarf's beard. "There'll be stairs and thin ledges and all sorts – hard enough for those on two legs, and you're not quite as flexible as the wolves."

Frodo winced. Odo had been a part of the family since his birth. To simply set him free, turn him away after everything that they had been through…

Poor Gimli…

"But I can't just let you prance off with wargs at every turn," continued the dwarf, taking a deep breath and then turning to Legolas. "So – how much will it cost for you to do a fancy blessing on my pony?"

The elf raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"I want you to bless Odo, and I want you to do it now. I want you to make sure he gets home safely. So how much will it cost me?" said Gimli, planting his feet square on the ground and folding his arms across his chest.

Legolas smiled slightly. "It will cost you nothing."

"Oh?" Gimli raised his own eyebrows.

"Nothing," repeated Legolas. "We are friends, are we not? Even if we weren't, I would not put a price on the life of an innocent animal."

Despite himself, Frodo smiled slightly. Over the past few days the elf had been rather uptight, and not quite as friendly as he had been in the past. His bickering with Gimli had been harsher and less playful than usual – it was good to see that Legolas was thawing a little.

Holding onto that small piece of comfort with both hands, Frodo settled down to wait. At first, the day did not seem to want to wane at all. They removed what baggage Odo had carried and split it between them, sent the pony off into the woods to the south, and shared a cold meal together without the shadows seeming to shift an inch. But slowly, slowly, dark began to creep upon them.

At first, Frodo feared that it would make things worse – clouds were shifting through the sky, blanketing early stars as the sun sank low and dimmed the whole world. Twilight darkened, and he held his breath.

And then, Legolas cried out wordlessly, and pointed at the wall.

Frodo scrambled to his feet and whirled around, in time to see soft beams of moonlight shine on thin tendrils of silver in the stone.

Mithril. They had found it.

As if an invisible hand was painting with starlight, lines began to appear in the shape of a door, along with beautiful patterns that Frodo would have stared at for hours, if he was not so frantically trying to decipher the elvish letters above the door.

To his horror, they were not Sindarin characters – they were from an older time, and he could not read the lettering, let alone the words. He could not remember Balin saying anything about a different kind of elvish –

But of course Balin would not know, Frodo thought desperately, Elvish is elvish is elvish, to Balin…

The wolves began to whine uncomfortably, but Frodo could not heed them now.

Aragorn stepped forward, scratching his beard. "Ennyn Durin Aran Moria: pedo mellon a minno. The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter."

"Is that what it says?" asked Frodo quickly.

Aragorn nodded, glancing at the elf. "Does it not, Legolas?"

Legolas inclined his head, and a flood of relief warmed Frodo from nose to toe. At almost that exact moment, Merry gasped. "I remember! All we need say is –"

"Stop!"

The warmth that had washed over Frodo mutated into the sensation of beetles, swarming through his veins and biting every inch of flesh they could find.

Bilbo.

So, we're very nearly caught up now. I hope that when we are, you guys will be able to feel more excited, involved and engaged with the story, but in the meantime I hope you enjoyed the tweaked chapters I've been able to prepare for today. Please do leave a review if you feel so inclined, it means the world to me.

Until Monday, take care!