Don’t speak Elven!
As the fellowship made their way through the cavernous halls
of Dwarrowdelf the knotted feeling Chris had felt all the way through Moria
began to loosen. She knew that soon they would be out of the dark of Moria and
heading towards the light of Lothlorien. She felt a little bad about being
relieved their time in Moria was coming to an end and in turn the time of
Gandalf the Grey but he would return stronger than ever. Glancing over at her
Elven friend she noticed the shift in her expression when Legolas was beside
her, from the edges of contentment she had been pulled back in to worry and as
her hollowed eyes fell upon Chris she knew that it was going to get worse
before it got better.
‘Elle? You o-’
‘He knows.’ Elle said in a defeated tone as she fell instep with her friend as they walked behind the hobbits.
‘Who knows what exactly?’ Chris asked with her echoed voice as softly as she could manage as Elle was clearly in no state for sarcasm.
‘Legolas, he knows I can’t speak Elven.’
‘It’s Elvish, not Elven.’ Chris interrupted unable to stop herself.
‘See! I’m useless! And now he needs to know why I can’t speak Elvish!’ Elle exclaimed as her pitch went higher in exaggeration.
‘So? Just make something up.’ Chris thought casually as the light from a room ahead caught her attention.
‘But I think he can tell when I’m lying!’ She whined giving Chris a minor migraine.
‘Then tell him the truth and doom us all!’ Chris finally snapped at Elle causing her friend to jump a little. If the rest of the fellowship noticed they had little time to react as Gimli suddenly raced towards a barren room as Gandalf shouted after him. The group quickly followed him into the dusty room to find him knelt beside a large rectangular slab of thick rock, wailing loudly.
“Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.” Gandalf read after he wiped away thick dust from the tomb causing Gimli to weep louder. Chris perched herself on a low ledge as she watched the others quietly. Gimli’s cries had softened and Gandalf had picked up the ancient looking diary of one of the decrepit dwarves. The rest of the fellowship had taken to resting or were watching the door wearily. Elle had taken to leaning against one of the thick pillars in the room. Aragorn and Legolas lingered close to the door at the edge of her vision as most of her focus was on one hobbit in particular. Pippin was sat holding both Gandalf’s hat and staff, his gaze drifted towards a cobweb encrusted corpse perched precariously on a well that ran deep into the depths of Moria. As Gandalf leafed through the delicate pages he read scrawled dwarven runes Pippin seemed to drift towards the well and Chris knew what was going to happen. She heard the familiar words as Gandalf read the last runes that had been written, the high pitched scrape as he twisted the arrow in the long rusted armour and the loud clang as the helmet fell into the dark abyss. All eyes darted to the young hobbit as he was scolded by the grey wizard and he took back his things. Then the rest of the armoured skeleton fell into the black, announcing its dissention in loud echoed crashes.
“Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!” The elder snapped as Pippin looked ashamed, his eyes directed at the cold stone floor.
Then they started; the drums in the deep, echoing in the dark dwarven halls becoming louder and frenzied as they drew close. Chris looked over at Elle, the worry in her eyes seemed to have doubled. This was it, their first real fight and they would see if the little training they had done would pay off.