Nepenthe [Legolas]

4

They descended. Lower than they had ever been. Skies had been traded for dark expanses, kingdoms for mighty bridges that had not been spared in the act of destruction.

Viridis gazed upon it now. The bridge stood soaring and broad, its second half reduced to shambles someplace within the chasm below. Its tips nearly disappeared into the looming fog and the low clouds that hung, as if hoping to be nearer to the closest thing alive.

He felt suddenly, impossibly small as he looked around him, at the arching rocky walls that encompassed them every direction they faced. It would have taken him years to scale the confines if he so wished.

Gimli was the first to speak once they had made their way forward, the path now obscured by a large body of water that stood remarkably still, revealing nothing of its contents. They would have to go around. "The Walls of Moria." He said, lifting a finger to the wall of rock that sprouted up at the other end of the lake. It was smooth; too steep to climb if one so wished. And for Viridis who always found solace in knowing of other ways out, found himself unsettled.

He betrayed none of this, only cast a side-long glance to Legolas who was looking determinedly ahead. He had not spoken of his queries or worries. His hands drifted then toward his bow and when Viridis raised his gaze to those familiar blue eyes, it was to find Legolas looking back at him. Even wordless, the simple gesture meant the world. 'I will protect you. My hand is on my bow.'

The path toward the door that would grant them entrance to the minds was thin, bordered closely by the small tides of the lake that rocked gently back and forth. In a brighter setting, it would have been calming, beautiful even, if it weren't for the wretched stories associated with it.

The door was inscribed in the rock, its details muted from what looked to be years of disuse.

Gandalf ran a hand along its grooves, tracing its edges.

"Ithildin." He muttered. "It mirrors only starlight and moonlight."

And, as if his words were a spell in themselves, the fog cleared, clouds moved away by an invisible breeze so that the moon shone undisturbed.

The newfound light hit its mark without fail and the door began to glow.

It was gradual and deliberate, mesmerizing to the entirety of the fellowship as they watched the details become illuminated and their fine edges highlighted. Two pillars made up the sides with an overhead arch of words inscribed. Sindarin.

Ennyn Durin Aran Moria. Pedo Mellon a Minno.

"It reads 'The Doors of Durin. Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'" Gandalf provided.

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry voiced.

"Oh, it's quite simple." The Wizard said plainly. "If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open."

Viridis frowned, a stitch forming on his temple as he recited the words inscribed above the door.

"Annon edhellen, edro hi ammen! Gate of the Elves, open now for me." Gandalf began, pausing and trying again when the doors remained shut.

"Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen! Doorway of the Dwarf-folk, listen to the word of my tongue."

"Ando Eldarinwa...a lasta quettanya, Fenda Casarinwa... Gate of Elves...listen to my word, Threshold of Dwarves..."

Again and again, he tried, repeating different cadences, different tongues, different words in Sindarin, even Quenya, the tongue of the non-Telerin Elves. None of these reigned successfully.