FIRE AND FATE¹ ━ legolas greenleaf

𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, kill the monsters . . .

CARADHRAS HAD SOMEHOW MANAGED TO BE EVEN WORSE THAN THE SOUTH PASSAGE, which Raelyn grudgingly admits is quite a feat. Mountains seem cursed to be her downfall on momentous quests like these — indeed, the first mountains she'd crossed had turned out to be rocky giants having a wrestling match in the centre of a storm. Compared to that, she'd say that Caradhras measured quite respectably — nobody had died, at least. They'd almost been buried alive in piles of snow, but no death. 

Despite all this, she can't help how shaky she feels, walking beside the walls of Moria. There are two reasons for it; the first is whimsical, the second practical. Balin is said to rule this place — at least, he was. It's been a while since Raelyn has had the chance to ponder the torture of immortality, but it seems like this may be the perfect moment. It's been sixty years, and she hasn't aged for fifty-five of those. But Balin — he might be six feet under in a crate of stone. 

The second reason is Gandalf. Foundations seem to have been ripped out from beneath her feet, leaving a city to crumble and cave in below her. Gandalf lost. Raelyn has known Gandalf for almost a century, and he's never lost a fight as far as she remembers. He's always been some stable, reliable presence backing her up, and she's always lived with the faith that he'd be there to pull her out of trouble if the occasion arose. But he lost. 

Do we really have any chance at all, against wizards like Saruman? Wizards who can topple mountains and break the earth with half a thought.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Gimli, exclaiming: "The walls of Moria!"

He is staring at a blank mountainside. It stretches for miles and miles and miles, endless lines of carved mountain-stone. It reminds Raelyn of another hidden mountain, far away. 

 "Stunning," Raelyn mutters. "I do love the blank mountainside and blocks of stone."

Maybe she's understating it a little. The mountain is rather large, running so deep that Raelyn wonders how deep into the earth the dwarves burrowed. If she climbed to the peak, how long would it take to fall to the bottom? 

(She doesn't intend to find out. Some questions are better left unanswered.)

Gimli doesn't hear her mocks, too swallowed up by excitement. He's brimming with it, overflowing like beer in the cup of a hobbit. "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed." He hits his axe against the wall; it makes a clanging sound, reverberating through the air, echoing. Raelyn can't help but feel that he's missing the point of them being invisible. 

Gandalf nods, leaning on his staff, face crossed with weariness. He seems to be ageing rather fast after his fight with Saruman. His skin seems paler, his beard darker, more unkempt; relying on his spear even more than usual. "Yes, Gimli. Even their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgottten."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas mutters, narrowing his eyes at Gimli from the side. In reply, Gimli only stiffens, glaring up at the taller elf through his thick red hair. 

They're trapped between the lake on one side, and the mine on the other. Raelyn doesn't like it; it feels too enclosed, like walking straight into your own prison. She half expects bars to drop down, enclosing them within the suffocating maze. Or maybe the mountain will crack in half, the the top will topple down and crush them, and the ring, under towers and piles of mountain rock. That would be inconvenient for Sauron. 

"Well, let's see," Gandalf says, once they reach  the place where the door must be, for the path has ended. "Ithildin. It mirrors only starlight and moonlight."

As if on cue, the moon slips out from behind the mask of clouds, casting them all in eerie moonlight. There are no stars ― the sky is an abyss of inky blackness, empty of all signs of life. A barren wasteland of sky. Where the light of the moon falls, the doors paint themselves, coming to life in a portrait of glowing blue and white lines, traced over the doors with delicate artistry. Admittedly, nobody has skills to match dwarves in terms of craftsmanship.