𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ɴɪɴᴇ

They reached the Gates of Moria that same day, shortly before nightfall.

To Robb, the area looked like nothing but a rock wall with a few half-dead trees and bushes, and a lake that was so deep it looked black.
(He couldn’t see the bottom of the lake, even close to the shore where the water should have been shallow.)

Gimli, however, had informed them that Dwarven doors were invisible when closed, so Robb assumed that this was exactly what it should look like.

He did not find the prospect of not finding the door at all appealing, though, because if Gimli was right—and Robb was fairly sure the Dwarf in the company could be trusted on Dwarven matters—only those who knew its secret could reveal and open the door or it could never be found again.

Which, according to Gandalf’s grumbling, they did not.

Make no mistake, they had found the door—it was finely etched into the stone and shone in the moonlight, all trees and stars and beautiful inscriptions—they just had not a single idea as to what the fuck the password was supposed to be.

Robb had given up on helping them about three minutes in. He understood neither the language of the inscriptions (and thus could not take a closer look at potentially hidden clues there) nor did he know the history of this place. In short, he was useless.

The more time passed, the grouchier Gandalf became and so Robb removed himself from the wizard’s proximity as quickly as possible. He had so far managed to keep Gandalf's impressive glare off of himself and had no intention of changing that anytime soon.

Instead, Robb sat down at the foot of a tree next to Gimli and close to the Hobbits, who were probably the most agreeable company at the moment. Grey Wind followed him, lying down at his feet.
Sam was helping Aragorn with unloading their packing pony, while Merry and Pippin were sulking close to the shore of the lake, the latter having been yelled at by an angry Gandalf for asking ‘insolent questions’.

In Robb’s opinion, those questions had been entirely reasonable—after all, what was Gandalf going to do, since he didn’t know the password—but maybe that was just Robb’s cluelessness talking.

And so, while Gandalf alternated between yelling at the wall and sitting in silence with Frodo by his side, Robb watched Aragorn and Sam release Bill into the wild, and Merry and Pippin grow increasingly bored.

The longer Robb stared, unmoving, the heavier his eyelids became. He had slept awfully in the nights since he had come to Middle-Earth. It had not been any better before that, either, what with him being stressed and all too aware of his many mistakes, of all the battles and problems still before him. That had made it impossible to rest properly.
Walking through the day, fighting, and being awakened by nightmares after too short periods of rest—well, one nightmare, always the same, always Jeyne and his family and Bolton—had not improved his situation.

It was no wonder, then, that Robb nodded off not much later.

Robb’s sleep was light and his ears registered the occasional splash, someone talking, but nothing truly woke him up.
Not until the gnashing and gritting of stones jerked him awake.

Robb blinked a few times, his vision still hazy. Then he spotted the open gate that almost everyone else had already entered, save for the Hobbits.

“Oh,” Robb said, following everyone else and confused as to why Boromir was yelling at them to get back out, “you got it open, then? How did you do it?”

Nobody answered, due to the giant tentacle monster that emerged from the lake and grabbed Frodo, presumably to kill and eat him.

What the fuck, Robb thought, and drew his sword.

He started hacking at any tentacle in sight. If this… thing ate Frodo, the Ring would be lost and they would be unable to destroy it (and Robb had a hard time imagining that anyone would survive trying to remove the Ring from this place), which was bad.
And Frodo would be dead, which was also bad.

Thus, Robb sliced away.

Grey Wind, meanwhile, also tried his best, but the tentacles seemed to unnerve him. The slime was probably not the best thing to have in one’s mouth either, judging from the faint sense of disgust Robb could feel coming from Grey Wind.

Luckily, it was a short fight. As soon as Aragorn had managed to sever the limb holding onto Frodo and caught the Hobbit in his arms, he yelled at them to retreat into the mines.

And retreat they did, closely followed by the monster as it began to haul its body out of the water.

Robb really wasn’t sure whether the words ‘what the fuck’ or just incoherent screaming predominated in his mind by that point.

They barely made it into the mines before the monster slammed into the too-small opening behind them, its tentacles stretching out to grab them, but only succeeding in tearing off parts of the wall. In the end, it damaged the entrance so badly that the ceiling collapsed, almost burying them… and closing off their way out.

It was pitch black and Robb could see nothing until Gandalf lit up his staff, illuminating their surroundings.

“We now have but one choice,” Gandalf said, obviously unhappy to be here at all, “we must face the long dark of Moria.”

The light hit the stairs before them, beautiful but unused for a long time, for there was a thick layer of dust on them. It also hit dozens of decomposing skeletons.

Robb choked.

“Seven hells, what happened here?”