The Silver Flame (LOTR)

The Darkened Path

The Fellowship moved cautiously along the shore of the still lake, their breath visible in the cool night air. The oppressive cliffs of Moria loomed high above them, casting shadows that seemed alive, shifting with the moonlight.

Gimli stood in awe as his eyes traced the sheer walls of Moria, the ancient Dwarven kingdom now long lost. "The walls of Moria," he whispered reverently. His voice echoed off the stone, swallowed by the silence that felt too unnatural.

Gandalf, with a soft hum of energy, approached the smooth rock face. The moon began to rise behind them, its pale light casting long reflections on the water. As he ran his fingers across the stone, faint veins of silver began to glow, threading through the ancient rock like roots searching for light.

"It mirrors only starlight and moonlight," Gandalf explained, his voice almost drowned by the chilling breeze.

Visenya stood quietly beside Aragorn, her silver hair catching the moon's glow, her hand resting gently on the hilt of her sword. The shadow of Cregan's memory tugged at her heart as she gazed into the vastness of the doors, but she stayed silent, observing the intricacies of the ancient Elvish script now glowing before them.

"The door of Durin, Lord of Moria," Gandalf continued, "Speak, friend, and enter."

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked innocently.

Visenya's sharp gaze flicked to Gandalf. Though she had not been long in Middle-earth, she could sense the weight of something deeper within those words.

Gandalf raised his staff and incanted, "Annon edhellen, edro hi ammen!" But nothing stirred. The doors remained tightly shut. Time passed in agonizing silence, with only the occasional splashing of Merry and Pippin's stones disturbing the water.

As the Fellowship gathered in frustration, Gandalf tried again and again, but to no avail.

Visenya, feeling the unease growing in her chest, shifted slightly closer to Aragorn. "The longer we linger, the more danger we court," she murmured, her voice a whisper between them.

Aragorn nodded grimly but was interrupted by Frodo's sudden exclamation. "It's a riddle," he said with a smile. "Speak, friend, and enter. What's the Elvish word for friend?"

"Mellon," Gandalf muttered. At that, the ancient stone doors creaked and slowly parted, revealing an impenetrable blackness. The fellowship exchanged wary glances as they stepped forward into the shadowed depths.

As they crossed the threshold, Visenya's hand instinctively reached for her sword. She turned her head back toward the lake, eyes narrowing as a deep disturbance rippled across its surface. The stillness was no longer peaceful—it was ominous.

They entered the Mines of Moria, and the stench of decay and death hit them like a wave. Gimli led the way, excitement filling his voice. "This, my friends, is the home of my cousin Balin. Fires, ale, and grand halls!"

But as Gandalf's staff illuminated the vast cavern, the Fellowship froze in horror. Before them lay countless dwarf skeletons, their bodies twisted in eternal agony, arrows and axes embedded in their once mighty forms.

"This is no mine," Boromir whispered darkly, "it's a tomb."

Visenya's breath caught as her eyes scanned the skeletal remains. Her silvery-blue eyes glinted in the torchlight, her senses on high alert. She knew battle—she could feel the lingering presence of whatever dark force had claimed these dwarves.

Suddenly, the sound of a heavy splash echoed from outside, far too close. Visenya's sharp instincts kicked in as she whipped around to face the entrance.