Live Journal FeedMuch thanks to VanaTheEverYoung for the beta work done on this chapter, as well as the link that allowed an artist by the s/n of Andegora to make this spiffy banner for posting on a Harry Potter fanfiction site (where my s/n is Linaewen):
~Chapter Nine: The Quest Begins~
Everything suddenly began to seem like a whirlwind to Harry. Within a week, they had stowed a few belongings and many provisions into their packs. Boots that were even slightly worn were mended, and they all made sure their swords were polished and sharp. Hermione had received a new bow, extra strings, and a quiver full of grey-fletched arrows.
Days before the departure of the Fellowship, the three of them were given new outfits – long-sleeved shirts, leggings, and jerkins each of a different color. Harry’s clothes came in varying shades of green, Ron’s in grey, and Hermione’s in brown. Ron looked at his outfit, stunned.
“They expect us to wear something this nice on the Quest?” he exclaimed, running his hands over the embroidery in the shirt.
“Ron, it’s of Elven make, so of course it’s nice. I suppose that we are also to take along our cloaks,” she added.
“Which one?” Harry asked. “The one they gave us or the one from Hogwarts?”
Hermione thought for a moment. “I suppose…We ought to leave our school things here, in a safe place. Just in case we’ll ever need them again…”
Just in case. She wasn’t sure whether they’d return alive, and quite frankly, that was just how Harry felt.
Finally the day of their departure arrived. Harry woke at sunrise and slowly pulled on the new Elven-made clothes. When at last he belted on his sword and slid his wand into a pocket sewn specially into the jerkin, he left the room and met the rest of the Fellowship down by the southern gate.
All of Imladris had come to watch them leave in solemn silence. Frodo stood a little apart from the rest of the Company, looking very small but resolute.
Elrond spoke. “The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. Upon you who travel with him no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will. Farewell; hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all the Free Folk go with you.”
Elrond spread his arms solemnly as Gandalf said, “The Fellowship awaits the Ring-bearer.”
Frodo turned to face the other eleven companions and made his way forward, leading them through the tall stone arch into the wild.
* * *
They traveled for so long that Harry lost count of the days that had passed since their departure. Gandalf, who seemed to know the land very well, led the way as they wound along the western side of the Misty Mountains, saying that they would follow that course for nearly four hundred miles until they came to the Gap of Rohan. The pace was quick; Harry was grateful for the exercise the sword training had given him, for he would surely not have been able to keep up otherwise.
One morning Harry awoke to the clanging of swords and the smell of cooking sausages. Ron and Boromir were practicing with Merry and Pippin as Frodo watched. Smoke curled up from Gandalf’s pipe as he sat on one of the boulders of the campsite, which Aragorn was leaning on. Gimli was nowhere to be seen, and Sam squatted by the fire, turning the sausages over. Harry turned his head slightly to see Legolas and Hermione talking together, polishing their bows. He glanced back at the four people practicing with their swords and noticed that Ron kept shooting sidelong glances at the pair. This distracted him for a moment, which allowed Boromir to get past his defenses.
“Ouch! You great clumsy prat, you’ve nicked me!” Ron fairly shouted. Merry and Pippin were sniggering behind his back as Harry folded up his bedroll and made his way to the ledge where Frodo sat.
“My apologies!” Boromir responded. “Perhaps you should rest and allow Pippin to have a turn.”
“Yeah, I’ll rest. Got any breakfast up there, Sam?” he called.
The Hobbit waved his hand and pointed to the plates he was handing to Frodo and Harry. “’Course I do!”
Ron clambered his way up the rocks and flopped down on Frodo’s other side to watch Boromir and Pippin. “Oi, Sam, don’t worry, I can get some out of the pan for myself…”
“It’s no trouble, really! And it’s my turn to do the cooking anyway!”
Ron chortled and said quietly to Harry, “He’s as fussy as my mum.”
Harry gave a short laugh before turning to survey the rest of the Company. Gimli was now arguing with Gandalf.
“…taking the long way ’round! Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria!”
Gandalf’s reply was so soft Harry could not hear it, but thankfully it sounded like a no. As his bedroom for eleven years of his life had been the cupboard under the Dursleys’ stairs, he did not particularly fear dark and enclosed spaces, but he had no wish to go under the mountains when they could just as easily go around them.
Meanwhile, Legolas had leapt over a few boulders to peer southward. His brows were drawn slightly downward and his mouth was set in a grim line. Hermione climbed – a little less gracefully than the Elf had done – over to his side and was now staring intently in the same direction.
“What is it?” she asked, straining her eyes. “I don’t see anything…”
Legolas did not respond, but merely continued to look fixedly at the skyline.
Ron was glowering at them. “Why does she have to hang around him so much?”
“Well, Ron, he is the one teaching her how to use the bow…”
“Right, and they’ll certainly get a good amount of practice here, where there is plenty of room!”
“She said there was nothing between them, not in that way.”
“She still writes to Krum!”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
Ron was cut off by an indignant squawk that came from Pippin, accompanied by the clang of his sword hitting the ground.
“Sorry!” Boromir said, quickly setting his sword aside and taking hold of Pippin’s shoulders. “I – ”
Pippin, still clutching the hand that Boromir had apparently hurt, responded by kicking the Man in the shins. Merry quickly joined in the fray, knocking Boromir down and crying, “One for the Shire!”
Harry, Ron, Frodo, and Sam watched the scene below, laughing. Their attention was drawn away from the tussle when they heard Hermione say, “Wait. I see something…a grey smudge on the horizon, can you make out what it is, Legolas?”
“Ah, it’s just a wisp of cloud!” Gimli said offhandedly.
“It’s moving fast,” Boromir said, setting one of the Hobbits down, “and against the wind.”
Legolas’s eyes widened in realization as he cried, “Crebain from Dunland!”
What this was supposed to mean was lost on Harry, as he too only saw a cloudlike shape. But those words sent the campsite into a panic. Someone – it sounded like Aragorn – shouted “Hide!” Grabbing his pack and sword and clutching them to his chest, Harry followed Ron as he dived into a small crevice. From his cramped position, concealed by some brush, he watched as several hundred dark birds swooped past, cawing loudly and passing over the area several times.
When the harsh calls and flapping of dark wings had subsided, everyone emerged from their hiding places.
“Spies of Saruman!” Gandalf muttered. “The passage south is being watched! We must take the Pass of Caradhras.”
Harry followed the old Wizard’s gaze to a tall, snowy peak. This is certainly going to be fun.
* * *
The trek up the mountain seemed easy at first, for the snow was only ankle-deep. Later, the Fellowship had to slow down for the sake of Gimli and the Hobbits, who were several inches, and in some cases feet, shorter than the others. The wet snow had fallen to a level just above Harry’s knees in one place; he could hardly imagine what that had felt like for the Hobbits. There were few places to rest on the snow-blanketed ground, and eventually Frodo collapsed with exhaustion, tumbling several feet down the mountain and coming to rest at Aragorn’s feet.
Harry saw the Hobbit touch the place around his neck to discover that the Ring was no longer there. Instead, Boromir had picked it up and was now staring at it, transfixed, and murmuring to himself. Harry, somewhat farther up the mountain, could not make out what he was saying very clearly, but the sight made him uneasy. He glanced to his left and saw Ron watching the scene below with mild interest.
As the Ring caught the sunlight and reflected it brilliantly, Harry saw a hungry expression flash across Ron’s face for an instant. Then it was gone. Harry had seen that sort of look on Voldemort’s face before, and did not like the way it played out across his best friend’s features.
“Ron?” He poked him. “Ron? You there?”
“Er…” Ron blinked. “Oh. Must’ve drifted off for a moment there…getting exhausted from all this walking…”
“You did volunteer, remember that,” Harry said.
“Mmm…” Ron’s eyes followed the Ring, which Frodo was now clutching tightly with a look of deep mistrust etched on his features.
“C’mon, let’s move,” Harry said, hoping to distract him. Thankfully it worked, and Ron turned his back on Frodo to trudge further up the snowy slope.
That band of metal can cause about as much harm as Voldemort can, Harry thought. Frodo knows that, but it looks like Boromir doesn’t…And now It’s starting to get a hold on Ron. It’s my fault we’re stuck here, my fault if he dies because of the Ring, my fault if any of us dies…
He gripped the sword slung at his side for reassurance. I won’t let that happen.
Hours later, the Company found themselves in snow that was waist-deep. Aragorn and Boromir were holding on to the Hobbits, who were shivering madly with the cold, cloaks held tightly to shield their faces. Hermione had taken the lead and was melting a path through the snow as best she could. Much to Ron’s irritation, Legolas was gracefully stepping over the snow next to the trench everyone else was using.
“And he doesn’t even seem cold!” Ron muttered darkly. “Look, why don’t we go and help Hermione, get the incantation from her…Or maybe Gandalf can do a better spell…”
“No, I cannot,” Gandalf shouted over the wind. “Doing so would alert the Enemy to my presence; it would spell ‘Gandalf is here’ for all to see. However, you may give it a try…I think that since you use a different brand of magic you may remain undiscovered.”
So Harry and Ron pushed their way through the ever-deeper snow towards Hermione. A stream of hot air issued from her wand, slowly melting a path for everyone, but she shook her head when they pulled level with her. Her cheeks had been stung red by the tiny flying crystals of ice, and her usually straight posture was bent both in exhaustion and against the wind. There were tears in her eyes, but whether they were a result of the stinging snowflakes or her frustration, Harry could not tell. “It’s no good. It seems that the harder I try, the faster the wind gets and the thicker the flakes fall. I can’t even concentrate any more…”
She began to sway slightly and put a hand on the cold rock face next to her for support. Ron shot forward and managed to catch her under her right shoulder, but then Legolas lightly leapt down from the snow beside the trench and was there supporting her other side.
“You are doing too much, young one. Put your wand away; see, your fingers are freezing. You can do no more.” His voice was gently admonishing.
Hermione gave a rueful smile before tucking her wand away; Ron glared daggers at the Elf, who seemed oblivious to him.
“’Mione, here, my hands are warm…” He reached out from under his tightly drawn cloak.
“No, Ron,” she said vehemently. “I’m fine. Really.”
She pulled away a few inches and leaned her back against the rock face, tugging her hood forward to shield her face and drawing her cloak tightly about her. In a few moments the rest of the Fellowship had pulled level with them.
“What is it?” Gandalf half-shouted over the wind, which was howling ever more loudly. “Is she – ”
“Hermione’s fine,” Harry responded, “just tired. She says it’s getting impossible for her to melt a proper path through, and if she can’t manage, I don’t think that Ron and I could do any better.”
“It’s as if the mountain doesn’t want us to go any further,” Hermione said faintly from where she stood.
Legolas was squinting off into the wind, his back to the rest of the Fellowship as he stood lightly on top of the untouched snow. “It is not the mountain. Listen.”
Harry strained his ears, trying to catch some sound, but all he could hear was the roaring rage of the storm.
“There is a fell voice on the air,” he said ominously.
Gandalf’s eyes sharpened. “It’s Saruman!”
His words were punctuated by a sudden rumble of rocks coming down from overhead. Instinctively they all flattened themselves against the cliff in order to avoid being crushed.
“He’s trying to bring down the mountain!” Aragorn cried. “Gandalf, we must turn back!”
“No!” the Wizard responded as he made his way to the precarious ledge. He lifted his staff and began chanting.
Whatever magic he was using seemed to not be powerful enough, for shortly afterward a bolt of lightning struck the snow just overhead. Harry’s eyes flicked upward to see an avalanche of ice, so large that no Levitation Charm he knew would be strong enough to stop it, heading their way
* * *
Boromir had used his body to shield Merry and Pippin from the avalanche, clutching them close in the last instant before they became encased in the fall of ice. He breathed shallowly for a moment before he allowed one of his arms to relinquish its hold on Pippin and travel upward, searching for the air.
Thankfully, his head was only inches from the surface. Wriggling, he propelled himself upward and dug around a little to help Merry and Pippin back up to where they could cling to his shoulders.
He glanced around quickly. It seemed that no one was hurt, but the avalanche had destroyed the path the girl, Hermione, had melted for them. How had she done that? He had been so far behind that he was unable to see exactly what she was doing. But why her? Why could Gandalf not be the one to create their path through the snow?
And then there were the two young lads, Harry and Ron. Strange names, by all accounts, and the boys themselves had made him uneasy with all their talk of flying broomsticks. They seemed to come from the same place as the girl had. Why had Lord Elrond ever trusted them to go on the Quest, young as they were, no more than children? Had he not considered that they might be one of the Enemy’s agents?
And yet, nearly everyone else in the Company seemed to consider their presence harmless. No one else seemed to consider Hermione’s ability to melt a path through snow unusual – at least, no one had made any comment about it, save for Gimli, who had merely said he was grateful that he would not need to plow through snow nearly as deep as he was tall.
Pushing these thoughts to the back of his mind, he shouted over the wind for all to hear, “We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan, and take the west road to my city!”
“The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard,” Aragorn objected.
“If we cannot pass over the mountain,” Gimli said, “let us go under it. Let us go through the mines of Moria.”
Hermione gave a small sound of alarm, but Boromir was looking at Gandalf, whose eyes now held a shadow of fear and doubt.
“Let the Ring-bearer decide,” he said in a grim voice.
Frodo’s tired head jerked up sharply to face the Wizard.
Merry and Pippin were shaking violently with the cold in Boromir’s arms, their normally cheerful faces pale and drawn. “We cannot stay here!” he cried. “This will be the death of the Hobbits!”
“Frodo?”
After a moment’s hesitation, the Hobbit said, “We will go through the mines.”
The Wizard gave a heavy, resigned sigh. “So be it.”
As they heaved themselves out of the snowdrift and turned back down the path Hermione had made, the wind seemed to instantly die down. Boromir frowned. If the girl could melt the snow by an unnatural means, what was to stop her and the two young Men from creating the storm? For Boromir knew that the Enemy hid itself in several guises, many foul, but some fair and innocent-looking.
“Who are they?” he asked himself softly.
It seemed that Pippin had heard him, for the Hobbit asked, “Who are you talking about?”
“No one.”
“Well, obviously it’s someone, or you wouldn’t be asking now, would you?” The cheeky grin had returned to Pippin’s face.
“You must have been hearing the wind; I did not say anything,” he lied.
He would ask Gandalf. The Wizard, at least, would give answers that he could believe.
* * *
Moria. The very name made Harry shiver. Intuition – or perhaps memories – told him that the place was full of danger and ought to be avoided at all costs. A small cry of alarm from Hermione had only served to reinforce what his misgivings about Frodo’s choice.
“I don’t think we ought to be doing this,” he said quietly to Ron and Hermione.
“Well, our only other way to the other side of the mountains is impassable,” Hermione said.
“Unless you fancy dying along the way,” Ron noted. “Who exactly was that Saruman Gandalf was talking about?”
“Another one of Gandalf’s kind,” she responded. “A Wizard, but he’s a little more powerful. You see, Gandalf is known as the Grey and Saruman as the White; that’s how they are ranked.”
“So why was he trying to kill us?” Ron queried. “Wouldn’t he want the Ring destroyed as well?”
“Ron, if you ever listened to what Gandalf had been telling Elrond – ”
“But I didn’t. And if I did, I wouldn’t remember it anyway.” His tone became apologetic when she scowled. “All right, all right…so what was he saying?”
“That Saruman’s in league with Sauron now. That he destroyed all the trees in Isengard to feed fires for his forge, and that he was building a fearsome army.”
“See, this is why you got eleven O.W.L.s and Harry and I each got seven,” he grinned. She smiled back at him.
Then Harry asked quietly, “Moria. It’s a mine, that’s all I know from what Gimli said, but why doesn’t Gandalf want to go down there?”
“Dwarves used to live there – but then something terrible happened down there and they were never heard from again. There were rumors of goblins – ”
“Not the Gringotts type, eh?”
“Obviously, Ron. And…”
“And what?” Harry pressed.
“I’m not sure. The books and scrolls in Rivendell said there was a greater evil there, but none of the ones I read said exactly what it was,” she ended in a frustrated tone.
Yet another one of those visions stole over Harry once again. He could not close them off, even if he could do Occlumency, for they were already memories stored in his mind. It was brief; he saw a long, flickering tongue of flame lash upward somewhere far beyond his reach…felt a terrible sense of loss not unlike the one that had come over him when Sirius died…
He stumbled back into reality, tripping over his own feet.
“Harry? You all right?”
He blinked, making sure that he was seeing Ron’s concerned face properly. “Something bad is going to happen if – when – we go down there. Something terrible.”
Ron stared at him for a moment. “You’re not going batty like Trelawney, are you? You’re staring to sound like her.”
“’Course I’m not,” Harry said crossly. “It’s probably the impression I get of the place from what Hermione said, combined with how tired I am. I hope we stop to make camp soon.”
They did indeed stop as soon as they reached dry ground. Exhausted, Harry threw his bedroll on the ground and began to drift off to sleep.
* * *
Gandalf had warned them that it would only be a short rest, but Frodo was so tired that he immediately dropped off to sleep, heedless of the evil dreams that had plagued him since Weathertop. Each time, Strider had been a little too slow in his arrival and the Ringwraith had whisked Frodo up from where he lay on the ground, swiftly descended the hill, and mounted the dark horse. Every time Frodo woke, drenched in sweat and with the old wound icy and prickling, as the horse began to gallop southward, gaining such speed as no normal horse had. This time, the dream went a little farther…
The pounding of hooves had ceased under him, and he was dropped unceremoniously onto the cold stone. The Ring grew red-hot where he clenched it in his hand, heated as no simple fire could ever have made it. Crying out in pain but unable to open his fingers, he glanced up.
There, before him, was the Eye he had seen only once before. Wreathed in flame, its slit-shaped pupil a pool of never-ending darkness boring into him. Fear such as he had never known took hold of him, and he cried out again as the Ring burned even hotter, branding its Elvish characters into his skin…
Frodo woke with a start, sitting bolt upright. Something was hurting his hand; glancing down, he saw that the Ring was clenched so tightly in his hand that it had made a circular red mark on his palm. Releasing his grip, he tucked the chain back under his shirt. As he did so, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He was being watched.
As he turned his head, he let his right hand slide towards Sting, which lay in its sheath by his side. Expecting perhaps an Orc or another terrifying creature, he was surprised to find Boromir’s eyes resting on him. The Man was neither moving nor speaking, just staring.
Frodo shifted uncomfortably. He had seen the way Boromir’s will had been so easily swayed by the Ring during the Council; he did not trust the Man. Under any other circumstance, Frodo might have given Boromir his trust, but now…it was difficult to tell whether his actions were indeed his own.
Boromir seemed to come out of a trance, and he spoke to Frodo as though seeing him for the first time. “Go back to sleep. The journey will be tiring, and I imagine that it will be more difficult with that – thing – around your neck.”
Frodo tensed for a moment, tightening his grip around the sword; it seemed as though an evil shadow had passed over Boromir’s eyes, and his face had grown greedy and menacing. Then just as quickly as it came it passed, and Frodo gave the barest of nods in response before turning back around.
Just before he lay his head down, he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye; Harry’s eyelid had fluttered shut. It appeared that Frodo and Boromir had not been the only ones awake.
* * *
“There aren’t any other ways around?” Harry asked, jogging to catch up with Gandalf’s swift lead.
“None that are safe,” the Wizard responded grimly. “We could not travel through the Pass of Caradhras, and the Gap of Rohan goes altogether too close to Saruman’s domain for Aragorn’s and my liking. Moria is the only way.”
“Are you sure?”
“Harry, I have traveled Middle-earth for far longer than you can imagine. I know this land; of course I am sure.”
“But Moria – ”
“I understand the dangers of Moria, and I have misgivings about our current route. But it is now the only way to the other side of the Misty Mountains.”
“You’ll be in more danger than any of us if we go down there.” The words just came out of Harry’s mouth.
Gandalf turned to look at him sharply. “You have the gift of foresight?”
“No!” Harry said, revolted at the very idea. “I just know it.”
“Ah. Well now, Aragorn told me much the same thing. I have heard these warnings already, and I heed them. I will be wary,” he added with a small smile and a twinkle in his eye.
“But – ”
“We are going through the mines. The decision has been made.” Gandalf’s tone brooked no argument. He increased his pace slightly, leaving Harry trailing behind.
Harry still could not shake off the sense of foreboding that had taken hold of him, and now any last hope of averting the disaster he knew would happen was gone. Reluctantly, he followed. No good can come out of this, he thought.
At length they came to a towering cliff of dark rock, and Gimli breathed a sigh of awe as he murmured, “The walls of Moria!”
Harry wondered where the entrance to the mine could possibly be. He saw no cleft in the rock, no tunnel that led into the cliff. Perhaps Gandalf had led them the wrong way and they would not go into Moria after all…But no, the explanation for this came later when they were edging their way around a large pool of dark water that nearly came to the base of the cliff.
“Dwarf-doors are invisible when closed,” said Gimli, searching for a hollow place in the rock by tapping his axe against it.
“Yes, Gimli, their own masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten,” Gandalf replied, running his hand along the rock.
Legolas scoffed in a manner that reminded Harry greatly of Ron, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” The Dwarf grumbled but chose to keep silent.
Night had fallen before two large, graceful trees appeared around a bend, looking quite out of place. Gandalf put his fingers to the stone between them murmuring softly to himself as the moon appeared from behind a cloud.
Harry heard Hermione let out a gasp behind him as silvery lines appeared on the stone, depicting an elegant archway and Elven characters.
“What does it say?” he asked her.
“Ennyn Durin Atan Moria: pedo mellon a minno,” she responded.
Ron snorted. “Well, that’s nice to know. Awfully helpful, that…what was it, Emi Dirlin a Moria…?” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Legolas and Aragorn wince at Ron’s butchering of the language.
Hermione cleared her throat and spoke in a clear voice. “The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.”
“What do you suppose that means?” Merry asked.
“I think I know,” Hermione said with a small smile. “It’s logic, like the guard Professor Snape set on the Stone in our first year, remember, Harry?”
“Yeah,” Harry said absently. He didn’t know if he wanted Hermione to figure out how to open those doors.
“With respect, Hermione,” Boromir cut in, “Gandalf said he has been here before. Should he not know how to enter?”
A flare of anger and frustration went up in Hermione’s eyes, and Harry knew why. She was not used to being treated as…well, as a girl. Harry knew there were some cultural differences Hermione, clever and brave as she was, found difficult to accept. Still, she managed to respond in a tight, controlled voice, “Very well.”
So Gandalf placed the end of his staff upon the silvery star engraved upon the door and cried, “Annon edhellen, edro hi amen!” Nothing happened. “Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen!” Still nothing.
Ron went up and tried Alohomora on the doors. It sounded and looked impressive with the brief flash of light, but the doors remained unmoving, almost mocking their efforts. Hermione sat on a rock, biting her lip to prevent herself from speaking. Sam was tearfully removing the pony’s baggage and bridle, for they could not bring him into the mines.
Nearly half an hour had passed and Gandalf was still trying various spells upon the door. As he paused for breath, Hermione, who looked as though she could take it no longer, called out in a ringing voice, “Mellon!”
A splash accompanied the great cracking and rumbling of the opening doors; Pippin had tossed a large rock into the water out of sheer boredom.
“Oh!” Gandalf said sounding mildly surprised. “Well done!”
“If you all had just listened to me, we could have been in here half an hour earlier,” she said. Her voice was tinged with irritation as she shot a glance at Boromir, who merely shrugged.
“Next time I will not doubt you,” he said.
It was with great trepidation that Harry followed the rest of the Fellowship across the threshold into the darkness of the mine. The pale moonlight did not penetrate so far in; he could barely make out the stone steps at the far end of the chamber they had just entered. Instinctively his hand closed around the wand concealed within his jerkin, pulling it out as he murmured, “Lumos.” Beside him, he heard Ron and Hermione do the same before they moved to provide light to the others in the Fellowship.
The pale pool of light cast by his wand barely penetrated the oppressive darkness, but there was enough for him to catch the look on Boromir’s face. It was an expression of mingled fear, wonder, and curiosity.
“Who are you?” the Man softly asked, eyes traveling from Harry’s face to the wand held aloft in his right hand.
He is honorable enough, a small voice said to Harry, but you must be wary. What was that supposed to mean? Now was not the time to tell Boromir, not while the two of them lingered behind the rest of the Company. Even the Hobbits had overtaken them, but Frodo had turned around to look at them quizzically.
“Ask me later,” he replied, “when we’re out of here.”
He turned and began walking back to the rest of the group. The look of horror upon Ron’s face and Frodo’s cry of “Harry! Behind you!” did not register until it was too late. Something wrapped itself tightly around his right ankle and he had the wind knocked out of him as he was dragged facedown over the rocky ground to the lake’s edge. He lost his grip upon his wand. He was going to get dragged beneath the water…It was not Gandalf who had been in danger after all…Panicking, he shouted, “Help!”
Boromir, who was nearest to him, dashed over with his sword out and raised and began hacking at the creature’s tentacle. Ron and Hermione had run forward, faces white and wands at the ready. As Harry lay on his back, breathing deeply, he caught a glimpse of Frodo bending down to pick up his wand. The Hobbit moved forward a bit, extending the hand in which he held the wand to Harry, but then he sprang back, fear upon his face.
Many more tentacles sprang out of the water, knocking Boromir, Ron, and Hermione over and seizing Harry’s leg once more. Harry heard himself shouting into the confused tangle of squid-like tentacles and crashing water and spotted Aragorn and Boromir wading into the water, hacking with their swords…He was tossed from one limb to another, being thrown always just out of reach…
Someone cried out, “Expelliarmus!” The jet of red light shot past Harry’s ear, missing the creature. The tentacle that had fastened itself around his leg gave a shudder as something struck it, either a sword or an arrow, Harry could not tell which…He was brought low over the water, still held fast by the tentacle, and an arrow with grey fletching whizzed past his body and struck what might have been the creature’s head…Another with green feathers brushed so close to his face that he could feel it…The creature gave a great roar and tossed him even higher, then he was falling, falling…and landed right into Boromir’s arms. The Man set him on his feet quickly and gave him a shove towards the shore, yelling for Legolas.
Another green-fletched arrow flew by Harry’s ear, narrowly missing. Looking back, he saw that it had struck the water dweller’s eye, but that was not stopping the creature from pursuing them. He stumbled and was dragged unceremoniously the rest of the way by Boromir holding on to the back of his jerkin, with Aragorn following closely behind.
Gandalf gave a shout and everyone retreated into the darkness of the mines. The darkness had suddenly become protective and welcoming. Harry ran headlong into Ron, who was pushing Hermione ahead of him. The three of them fell over onto the hard stone floor, gasping for breath.
With a great rumbling and crashing, the darkness fully surrounded them and the Doors of Durin fell shut for the final time.
No one spoke for several moments; rather, the sound of many panting breaths echoed in the darkness. Harry rolled away from Ron and Hermione and lay on his back, catching his breath. He had a nagging feeling that he had experienced what had happened only moments before already – from the same point of view. He felt that he had been tossed about by tentacles in the same manner before, and he knew that it was not because he had had the misfortune to swim into the giant squid at Hogwarts. No, what had just happened to him had been meant for Frodo, for he had been the one carrying the Ring. Was it just Harry’s bad luck that he had been standing where the creature would reach him first? Or had the creature recognized something deeper?
Harry didn’t want to think about it. He hoped it was mere coincidence.
“Ouch! Ronald, you’re sitting on my arm!”
“Er, sorry…where…wand…Lumos!”
The faint light emitted from Ron’s wand revealed the stunned faces of the rest of the Fellowship. Frodo crawled over to Harry as if afraid that if he stood, the tunnel would cave in. He silently held out Harry’s wand.
“Thanks,” Harry said.
Frodo nodded in reply; it was then that Harry caught a look of unease in his slightly unfocused eyes.
“What is it?”
The blue eyes snapped quickly back into focus. “What do you mean?”
“Something’s bothering you.”
“No, there is nothing troubling me,” Frodo said.
“All right then, suit yourself…Lumos.”
Harry added his light to the small glow coming from Ron’s and Hermione’s wands. They saw that Gandalf had affixed a crystal to the end of his staff.
“You may put those out,” the Wizard said. “I think that this light will be sufficient.” He tapped the staff sharply against the ground and a blazing white light shone forth, brightening the chamber.
“Oh no…” Hermione gasped in horror.
Several skeletons dressed in mail and armed with axes were scattered around the area close to the ruined doors. The skeletons of Dwarves.
“NO!” Gimli ran forward to the skeleton nearest to him, disbelieving what he saw. The skeleton’s beard crumbled at the touch of his gloved hand, and he let out a cry of anguish. “NOOO!”
“Gimli! Silence!” Gandalf said. “We must go quietly as possible to avoid detection – ”
“We should never have come here,” Boromir muttered.
“Nevertheless, son of Denethor, we have come here, and the creature that seized Harry at the gate has given us one choice only. The way out is at the far side of the mine, a good four days away. All of you must be on your guard, for there are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world.”
“And you, especially, must be wary,” Harry murmured to himself. He wished there were another way around once again, but Gryffindor that he was, he would put on a brave face for whatever came next.
* * *
The journey proceeded in silence save for the pattering of bare Hobbit feet and soft padding of boots upon the dusty stone floor. Gandalf led the way, his staff held aloft like a torch. Frodo walked with Sam in front of him and the trio of young wizards behind him.
Wizards. Young as those three were, all of them could be as cryptic as Gandalf when they spoke. Especially Harry. The young lad seemed far too aged for his years, the sixteen-year-old shell belying the spirit within.
A bit like me, Frodo thought wryly. Well, not quite. Harry was young but acted much older than most people his age usually did; one only had to look at his companion Ron to see that. Whereas the Ring keeps me looking not a day older than thirty-three and I am actually fifty years of age. Some of his neighbors in Hobbiton had thought him blessed with exceedingly good luck, what with the way he had been adopted by Bilbo and inherited not only a large sum of money, but Bilbo’s uncanny ability to remain young, at least on the surface. Frodo would have given up this seemingly everlasting youth along with his inheritance to be rid of the cursed Ring and the nightmares that still plagued him. Why, he would have willingly handed the keys to Bag End over to Lobelia Sackville-Baggins if that was what it took to be rid of it.
Frodo thought back to what Harry had said just after the gates had been broken beyond any repair. Something’s bothering you. Once again, the boy had proven just how perceptive he was.
For something had indeed been troubling him. It was most likely nothing to worry over; he did not want to alarm Gandalf or anyone else, for that matter. But when he had picked up Harry’s wand in his right hand and clutched the handle tightly lest he drop it in the confusion, a most disquieting and yet wonderful sensation had spread from his fingertips, up his arm, and through his small body…a blanketing, relaxing warmth that had seemed charged with power. He was almost sure the wand had grown warm of its own accord – or was it merely his sweating palm that made the wood feel warmer?
The small strip of wood was what Harry used to do magic, of course. Magic? No, the notion was ludicrous. He laughed silently at himself for even pondering that it could be such a thing. Hobbits were not Wizards. They were not supposed to go on ridiculous adventures with the likes of Gandalf. They were quiet, ordinary folk who stayed out of the way of the affairs of the world beyond the Shire. At least, they usually did. He and Bilbo had broken the rules.
It was not magic. It could not be.
Then what was it? a small voice in his mind asked.
He found that he did not have an answer.
Translations:
Annon edhellen, edro hi amen! : Gate of the Elves, open now for me!
Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen! : Doors of the Dwarves, hear my voice!
(Forgive me if the translation is not exact. I am basing it on a fairly rudimentary knowledge of the language. If you think that a more accurate translation is possible, PM me and I will remedy it with your suggestion.)
