Sansûkh (Bagginshield & Gigolas)

Chapter Thirteen

"We now have but one choice," came Gandalf's old and creaking voice. "We must face the long dark of Moria."

The crystal atop his staff rekindled, and Thorin blinked in the sudden white, wan glow. The faces of the Fellowship were tense and pale in the darkness. Gimli's jaw rippled and his cheeks were stained with tears, but he no longer wept. Rage still burned in his deep dark eyes.

"Stay close, all of you," Gandalf continued. "There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world."

The dim light of his staff only illuminated a few feet ahead, and Thorin blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted. His heart was still hammering from the collapse of the Doors and the attack of the Watcher. His pulse thudded and raced in his neck and temples.

Óin licked his lips and stepped close as the Fellowship began to wend their way from the collapsed rubble towards the stairs. "The First Level lies ahead," he murmured. "They needn't go higher than the fourth to get to the other side."

"Which way from the stairs?" Thorin murmured back. His voice was hoarse from shouting.

"Left," Ori said tightly.

"Gandalf," Thorin said, and waited for the Wizard's eyes to flicker to him. "Left here."

Gandalf rolled his eyes and nodded, before he muttered, "that the day has come, Thorin Oakenshield, in which I should take any sort of directions from you..."

"Take the advice or discard it," Thorin replied crisply. "Either way suits me well, but if you would ignore the directions of a Dwarf underground, I will think less of you than I did before."

Gandalf smiled grimly. "Plain-spoken as always. Very well, left it is!"

"Who are you talking to?" asked Pippin, his piping voice small and frightened in the darkness. His eyes were very large and his face very white in the glow of Gandalf's staff.

"Myself, Master Took," Gandalf said, with a warning glance to the dead Dwarves. "Just remembering the way. We turn left here. Now, don't look so scared! I told you I had passed this way before, and with care and caution I know it can be done. I will see you safely to the other side, never fear."

"Easy enough for you to say," Pippin mumbled, and he looked around at the crumbling stone and swallowed. "I don't like this at all. It's very unfriendly."

"And cold," Sam added. "And these stone floors aren't all that forgivin' on the feet, if you'll pardon me saying Mister Gimli."

Gimli did not answer. His head was bowed and his eyes downcast. His fist was still clenched around the haft of his axe, and it shook slightly as he trudged along behind Boromir.

Gandalf glanced over at Thorin, who also lowered his eyes. "You know him best, I believe," the Wizard said in a voice that could scarcely be heard, his lips barely moving. "What should we do for him?"

"I honestly don't know," Thorin said, regarding his star with worry. "I have never seen him like this. Gimli is a merry soul. I do not believe he has ever known tragedy so closely before."

"Hmm. Tragedy has a way of revealing our greatest strengths," Gandalf replied, and he lifted his staff to peer down the tunnel.

"Or our greatest weaknesses," Thorin said darkly.

"As cheerful as ever, I see."

"I feel as if the mountain is pressing in on me," Legolas said, his face wooden and his voice halting. "How long is the journey?"

"Four days," Gandalf said, "though we will have some trouble counting them without the sun. Gimli will be our guide there."

The Elf frowned. "How so?"