𝕰𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖆

Chapter Eleven: The Gates of Moria

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The hobbits sat in a closed off circle apart from the rest of the group, their faces grim. None of them spoke. The others milled about the camp, conversing with each other, and wandering aimlessly, their restless bodies unable to stop even for a moment. I steadily neared the group of hobbits, who looked as though they were frightened. But not that sort of adrenaline in your veins, wide-eyed kind of fear. They sported fallen and grim faces, and I recognized their fear as the type that you carried with you. The type that slowly and covertly ate away at you. The type that made you feel utterly hopeless. The kind of fear that constantly burdened me. I sunk down beside Merry, who looked up at me with sunken eyes.

"I won't ask what's the matter, as that is plainly clear. I won't ask how I can fix it, because I know I cannot. And I won't try to fill your head with lies to try to comfort you. All I can say, little ones, is to hold on to your hope," I said, and I could sense them holding on to my every word.

"What little hope is left to us is not enough to get us to Mordor," Frodo replied grimly.

"I figured, what with you all joining this quest, you'd more hope than any of us," I said, "And I've always admired you for it. Deny it as you like, you must have some hope deep inside of you, else you wouldn't be here at all."

"That hope abandoned us on Caradhras," Frodo went on, and the others didn't speak, though I could tell they felt very much the same.

"Then find it again. In adversity, there is always hope to be had. In fear, there is always courage to be rekindled. And I've learned you to be there bravest of any on this quest and I doubt rediscovering hope and courage will prove that daunting a task to the four of you."

No one spoke as the sun dipped past the horizon, bathing the land in black. A fire had long since been sparked and the others soon gathered around it, calling us over as well. Later, we all sat up around the fire, as Sam dished out scanty rations. I sat beside Frodo, who kept a watchful eye on the ring, his hand grasping the chain as through it might slip through his fingers any instant.

"Moria... Was it the right choice, Gandalf?" Frodo looked into the wizard's cloudy grey eyes, frowning.

"Of course it was, lad. Trust me, A stay in Moria will have us back on our feet and fighting in no time at all," Gimli answered before the wizard could, and Gandalf took this as an opportunity to dodge Frodo's question.

For those of us who took notice of Gandalf's aversion of the question, a sinking feeling grew in our stomachs. If Gandalf though something was off, something was indeed off. Would we make it through Moria? I inhaled sharply, trying to settle my restless stomach. A heavy quiet quickly fell over us. We finished our food, and sunk into our bedrolls.

Sleep took each of us one by one that evening, first the hobbits, then Gandalf, and then Gimli. Aragorn sat, back against a boulder, staring into the fire. Across from him, Boromir sat cross legged beside Legolas. I laid next to him, my back pressed against my bed roll, one knee bent, the other stretched out below me. I stared at the night sky, searching for stars behind the grey clouds.

"How far do you truly think we'll make it?" Boromir asked absently.

"What?" Aragorn frowned.

"You must know our mission is pointless. It is destined to fail, just look at our enemy," he pressed on.

"Don't say such things," Legolas shook his head in disdain.

"There is a chance. There is always a chance that we might make it to Mordor," Aragorn added.