The Pass of Caradhras had proven to be a treacherous route. It was dangerous by the inherent twists and turns it took around the mountain slopes and the slow that often sloped over the edge of the mountain. The storms conjured by Saruman the White helped little and only slowed their sluggish pace. Oft times lightning would strike from the pitch clouds and rocks would fall from the peaks above. They had not travelled far at all since dawn and already the hobbits were falling behind, even Boromir had a weary appearance.
The Gondorian had both Merry and Pippin beneath his arms, holding them above the snow that elsewise would be over their heads. "You cannot bear both their weights, Boromir, I will carry Pippin," Aeardis told him. Pippin looked between the two and nodded. Boromir passed the hobbit to her and she carried him on her back, beneath her cloak to protect him from the frigid wind.
As they trekked further up the mountain that wind grew colder and stronger and the snow was up to even Aragorn's waist. "This will be the death of the halflings, Gandalf," said Boromir. "It is useless to sit here until the snow goes over our heads. We must do something to save ourselves."
"Give them this," said Gandalf, searching in his pack and drawing out a leathery flask. "Just a mouthful each — for all of us. It is very precious. It is miruvor, the cordial of Imladris. Elrond gave it to me at our parting. Pass it round!"
As soon as Frodo had swallowed a little of the warm and fragrant liquor he felt a new strength of heart, and the heavy drowsiness left his limbs. Aeardis had scarcely tasted something so sweet, warmth budded in her chest and spread across her body. The others also revived and found fresh hope and vigor.
That day the weather changed again, almost as if it was at the command of some power that had no longer any use for snow since they had retreated from the pass, a power that wished now to have a clear light in which things that moved in the wild could be seen from far away. The wind had been turning through north to north-west during the night, and now it failed. The clouds vanished southwards and the sky was opened, high and blue. As they stood upon the hillside, ready to depart, a pale sunlight gleamed over the mountain tops.
"We must reach the doors before sunset," said Gandalf, "or I fear we shall not reach them at all. It is not far, but our path may be winding, for here Aragorn cannot guide us; he has seldom walked in this country, and only once have I been under the west wall of Moria, and that was long ago. There it lies," he said, pointing away south-eastwards to where the mountains' sides fell sheer into the shadows at their feet. In the distance could be dimly seen a line of bare cliffs, and in their midst, taller than the rest, one great grey wall.
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Gimli now walked ahead by the wizard's side, eager to come to Moria. Together they led the Company back towards the mountains. The only road of old to Moria from the west had lain along the course of a stream, the Sirannon, which ran out from the feet of the cliffs near where the doors had stood.
The morning was passing towards noon, and still, the Company wandered and scrambled in a barren country of red stones. Nowhere could they see any gleam of water or hear any sound of it. All was bleak and dry. Their hearts sank. They saw no living thing, and not a bird was in the sky; but what the night would bring, if it caught them in that lost land, none of them cared to think.
Suddenly Gimli, who had pressed on ahead, called back to them. He was standing on a knoll and pointing to the right. Hurrying up they saw below them a deep and narrow channel. It was empty and silent, and hardly a trickle of water flowed among the brown and red-stained stones of its bed; but on the near side there was a path, much broken and decayed, that wound its way among the ruined walls and paving-stones of an ancient high road.
The Company was footsore and tired, but they trudged doggedly along the rough and winding track for many miles. The sun turned from the noon and began to go west. After a brief stop and a hasty meal, they went on again. Before them, the mountains frowned, but their path lay in a deep trough of land and they could see only the higher shoulders and the far eastward peaks.
When they came to the northernmost corner of the lake they found a narrow creek that barred their way. It was green and stagnant, thrust out like a slimy arm towards the enclosing hills. Gimli strode forward undeterred and found that the water was shallow, no more than ankle-deep at the edge. Behind him they walked in single file, threading their way with care, for under the weedy pools were sliding and greasy stones and finding sure footing was treacherous. Aeardis found her foot slipped between two of the rocks and when she pulled it free, her balance was lost but Boromir caught her beneath her arms and set her straight once again.
They reached the strip of dry land between the lake and the cliffs: it was narrow, often hardly a dozen yards across, and encumbered with fallen rock and stones; but they found a way, hugging the cliff, and keeping as far from the dark water as they might.
A mile southwards along the shore they came upon holly trees. Stumps and dead boughs were rotting in the shallows, the remains it seemed of old thickets, or of a hedge that had once lined the road across the drowned valley. But close under the cliff there stood, still strong and living, two tall trees, larger than any trees of holly that Aeardis had ever seen or imagined, truly a relic from the golden days of old.
Their great roots spread from the wall to the water. Under the looming cliffs they had looked like mere bushes when seen far off; but now they towered overhead, stiff, dark, and silent, throwing deep night-shadows about their feet, standing like sentinel pillars at the end of the road. "Well, here we are at last!" said Gandalf, but there was no door, secret or not to be found.
When the cloud passed and the light of the moon shone fully upon the grey cliff there appeared a silver door. At the top was an arch of interlacing letters in an Elvish character. Below, though the threads were in places blurred or broken, the outline could be seen of an anvil and a hammer surmounted by a crown with seven stars. Beneath these again were two trees, each bearing crescent moons. More clearly than all else there shone forth in the middle of the door a single star with many rays. They were the marks of Durin, the Elves, and the House of Fëanor.
Aeardis trained her eyes on the script and thought the words as Gandalf spoke them. Speak, friend, and enter. But even the wizard did not have the right words to open the doors. She turned away from the smooth cliff and seated herself next to the dark, stagnate water of the lake and watched the unmoving surface.
During the time that Gandalf mulled over the lost secrets of the dwarven door, Aragorn and Sam set Bill the Pony free. The mines were no place for a pony and despite the fondness, Sam had for the beast, he understood. Merry and Pippin tried to skip rocks across the silent water, something that Aeardis thought to be harmless until the Ranger gripped young Pippin's wrist to stop him from throwing another. "Do not disturb the water," he told them, serious and concerned.
She jumped when Boromir laid his hand on her shoulder, skittish after the creatures they had run into in the high mountains. Aeardis laid her hand over his, squeezing as she still looked out over the water. There was a crack, then grinding stone and when she looked over her shoulder the great stone doors were opening.
The chamber was dark. "Soon Mr. Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves. Roaring fires! Malt Beer! Red Meat off the bone!" Gimli proclaimed and warmth filled Aeardis at his excitement, though it quickly faded when the white stone atop Gandalf's twisted staff illuminated what lay around them. It was a tomb. The skeletal remains of dwarves still wearing burnished armor lay about, arrows and crude swords piercing them. "NO!" the dwarf cried, falling to his knees before the corpses of his kin.
Legolas pulled on of the arrows free and threw it back on the ground, "Goblins," he said, nocking an arrow, Boromir and Aragorn drew their swords, Aeardis pulled the fairy dagger from her belt.
"We make for the Gap of Rohan," Boromir grit out, "We should never have come here." The hobbits huddle together with their small swords drawn, backing out of the mine. "Now get out of here! Get out!" The Gondorian commanded, and now everyone listened with no hesitance, but then Frodo yelled.
"Frodo!" Aeardis screamed as the creature took him, not yet noticing the tentacle that had wrapped around her own leg until she was whipped up into the air as well. Freeing her blade from its sheath, she hacked and slashed until it released her, but it was all for naught when the horrid beast hoisted her up by the arm before she could hit the black surface of the water.
Aragorn and Boromir, sliced through the monster's tentacles, Legolas fired countless arrows, but it still did not release she or Frodo. Even the three hobbits attacked without mercy or fear. Alas, the Watcher in the Water screeched and released Frodo, then it threw her forward toward the cliffside. She braced herself for the impact but instead fell into waiting arms. "Thank you, Legolas." He said nothing in return, only set her back to her own feet and they rushed back through the open doors of Moria into darkness.
The Watcher pulled himself onto the strip of dry land and pulled at the doors and pillars, stone crumbled and fell, blocking the way out, leaving them with no choice but to face the dark of Moria. Aeardis stumbled to find her footing in the darkness of the mountain. Boromir slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her up. "Are you hurt?" He asked. She could taste blood on her tongue and felt an odd pain in her arm, but it seemed there were no serious afflictions to bother him with, "No."
The only light came from the wizard's staff, a hazy white light that cast a greyish tint to all the surroundings. They passed over narrow bridges and up steep, winding stairs. Sometimes the stone would crumble bit by bit beneath their footing, but hold true until the entire company had passed over. Their luck calm to an end when Gandalf halted at an open chamber that split into three passageways. The wizard sat upon a fallen stone and pulled out his pipe, as he often did when thinking hard about something.
Sam managed a small fire and all but Frodo and the wizard huddled around it. Aeardis leaned her head on Boromir's shoulder and he draped his cloak over her. Even though the hobbits told jokes and Gimli shared old stories, she could not manage to keep her eyes open and focused. Boromir felt her slipping and so he eased her down so that his thigh could serve as a poor substitute for a pillow. With furrowed brows he traced over her troubled features; barely allowing his fingers to comb through her hair lest it wake her from a rare sleep.
He felt his heart twist as he thought of how she screamed when the Watcher had her within its grasp, and how he and the others barely managed to free her. There was dried blood around her lips and a bruise forming on her temple that was just now coming to surface.
Aragorn watched the Steward-Prince closely and thought of Arwen. "I fear that I would not be able to bear bringing the one I love on such a journey," he muttered.
Boromir frowned as he looked over her sloven appearance again. "Had I know the road would be so perilous I would have asked Lord Elrond if she could have stayed in Rivendell or be granted safe passage back to my city," he paused for a moment and then felt the beginnings of a smile tug at his lips. "She's stubborn though, I doubt she would have taken kindly to being left."
The dwarf chuckled, Merry and Pippin grinned. "Then it seems that she is a good match for you, laddie," Gimli told him. Boromir smiled in full now. Faramir had told him the same thing once, many years ago.