Far Horizons ❦ Boromir

twєntч-ѕєvєn: lσng dαrk σf mσríα

THE Pass of Caradhras had proven to be a treacherous route. It was dangerous by the inherent twists and turns it took around the mountain slopes and the slow that often sloped over the edge of the mountain. The storms conjured by Saruman the White helped little and only slowed their sluggish pace. Oft times lightning would strike from the pitch clouds and rocks would fall from the peaks above. They had not traveled far at all since dawn and already the hobbits were falling behind, even Boromir had a weary appearance.

The Gondorian had both Merry and Pippin beneath his arms, holding them above the snow that elsewise would be over their heads. "You cannot bear both their weights, Boromir, I will carry Pippin," Aeardis told him. Pippin looked between the two and nodded. Boromir passed the hobbit to her and she carried him on her back, beneath her cloak to protect him from the frigid wind.

As they trekked further up the mountain that wind grew colder and stronger and the snow was up to even Aragorn's waist. "This will be the death of the halflings, Gandalf," said Boromir. "It is useless to sit here until the snow goes over our heads. We must do something to save ourselves."

"Give them this," said Gandalf, searching in his pack and drawing out a leathery flask. "Just a mouthful each — for all of us. It is very precious. It is miruvor, the cordial of Imladris. Elrond gave it to me at our parting. Pass it round!"

As soon as Frodo had swallowed a little of the warm and fragrant liquor he felt a new strength of heart, and the heavy drowsiness left his limbs. Aeardis had scarcely tasted something so sweet, warmth budded in her chest and spread across her body. The others also revived and found fresh hope and vigor.

That day the weather changed again, almost as if it was at the command of some power that had no longer any use for snow since they had retreated from the pass, a power that wished now to have a clear light in which things that moved in the wild could be seen from far away. The wind had been turning through north to north-west during the night, and now it failed. The clouds vanished southwards and the sky was opened, high and blue. As they stood upon the hillside, ready to depart, a pale sunlight gleamed over the mountain tops.

"We must reach the doors before sunset," said Gandalf, "or I fear we shall not reach them at all. It is not far, but our path may be winding, for here Aragorn cannot guide us; he has seldom walked in this country, and only once have I been under the west wall of Moria, and that was long ago. There it lies," he said, pointing away south-eastwards to where the mountains' sides fell sheer into the shadows at their feet. In the distance could be dimly seen a line of bare cliffs, and in their midst, taller than the rest, one great grey wall.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Gimli now walked ahead by the wizard's side, eager to come to Moria. Together they led the Company back towards the mountains. The only road of old to Moria from the west had lain along the course of a stream, the Sirannon, which ran out from the feet of the cliffs near where the doors had stood.

The morning was passing towards noon, and still, the Company wandered and scrambled in a barren country of red stones. Nowhere could they see any gleam of water or hear any sound of it. All was bleak and dry. Their hearts sank. They saw no living thing, and not a bird was in the sky; but what the night would bring, if it caught them in that lost land, none of them cared to think.

Suddenly Gimli, who had pressed on ahead, called back to them. He was standing on a knoll and pointing to the right. Hurrying up they saw below them a deep and narrow channel. It was empty and silent, and hardly a trickle of water flowed among the brown and red-stained stones of its bed; but on the near side there was a path, much broken and decayed, that wound its way among the ruined walls and paving-stones of an ancient high road.