Moria is a tomb littered with the skeletal bodies
of Dwarves and Orcs. I wish we could do something for
Gimli's people - it seems wrong to leave them lying
among the carrion - but it isn't possible. We can't
spare the time or risk attracting attention.
  
   Possibly the small watchfire at my back is a
mistake. Light of any kind is all too noticeable here.
But we can't travel in the dark and one look at the
Little Ones' faces when Mithrandir suggested camping
without light was enough to make me announce firmly that my courage did not extend to sleeping in pitch blackness
surrounded by unknown numbers of Orcs and those other,
fouler things he had mentioned.

   Aragorn agreed. Mithrandir looked from him to me
then at the Halflings and conceeded the point.

   Legolas said nothing. In fact he has been markedly
silent ever since we entered the Mines and his
habitual alertness has taken on an almost feverish
edge. If he were a Man I would say he was nervous and
perhaps he is, certainly he has cause enough.

   Gimli has also been silent, grimly so, since his
one outbreak of grief in the entrance hall. I have
seen enough slaughtered garrisons and sacked towns to
know all to well what he is feeling.

   At least the Little Ones have fallen asleep at
last. Merry and Pippin huddled together near Gimli,
and Frodo and Sam lying between Mithrandir and
Aragorn. What possessed Elrond to put this burden on a
Halfling? and worse to let those two young ones come
along on such a grim quest. It is like taking children
into battle.

   Merry and Pippin won't be going into Mordor, not if
I have anything to say about it. Nor any of us if I
can help it.

   I must, perforce, accept the judgement of the Wise
that the Ring cannot be used against its Master. That
being so I agree it were best destroyed - were that
possible. But it is not.

   To take the Ring into Mordor itself in a vain
attempt to reach Mount Doom is sheer madness. Whatever
happens it must never come within reach of Sauron,
surely that is clear enough?

   Somehow I must bring the Company to Minas Tirith
and to Father. He can argue some sense into Mithrandir
if anyone can. The Ring will be safe in the vaults of
the White Tower. Frodo will be glad to be free of it.
    
   But the One Ring isn't all our Company will bring
to Minas Tirith. Aragorn son of Arathrorn, Isildur's Heir. There he lies in the well worn green leathers of a Ranger but with a ring of mithril and gold glinting on his finger in the fitful firelight. The ring that Barahir had
from Finrod Felagund. Strange to think the Man wearing
it has the blood of Barahir and his son Beren flowing
in his veins and some kinship to Felagund as well I
think.   
  
   My House is old, going back to the very beginings
of Gondor, but his - his goes back to Numenor itself
and to the heroes of the Elder days when Men and Elves
together faced a greater enemy than Sauron. He is like
a name from the old tales come to life.

   But that is nonsense. He is a Man who reminds me in
some ways of Father and even more of Faramir, my
brother. They would like each other I think. But how
Father will deal with him...

   You owe him your allegiance Legolas said. And
something in my blood feels the tug of ancient oaths
sworn by my fathers to his. I am no longer sure
Gondor needs no King. We need *something* perhaps we
need him. But does he need us? Or want us? Can we -
can I - blame him if Gondor means nothing to him?   
   
    Something moves in the darkness, low to the ground
scuttling like a spider, then a pale gleam like eyes.
The whisper of steel on steel as I draw my sword
rouses Aragorn. He springs to his feet, his own blade
in his hand, and joins me searching the the darkness
pressing upon our circle of firelight with keen eyes.

   "What is it?" pitched low, for my ear alone.

   "I know not." I answer as softly. "A small Orc? Its
eyes shine green."

   By this time Legolas too is on his feet, comes
silent to Aragorn's side and Gimli, grunting slightly,
to mine. Peering almost eagerly into the darkness
gripping his axe. It would be a relief to him to kill
something. I know that feeling too.

   "Gollum." says Mithrandir's voice, quietly from
behind us. As one we turn to look at him.

   "The creature Bilbo took the Ring from?" Gimli
asks.

   "The same."

   "Is it dangerous?" I want to know.

   "Not if one is armed, and on one's guard." Aragorn
answers.
     
   "But he may bring the Orcs down upon us." from
Legolas.  

   Mithrandir shakes his head. "No. He hates and fears
them as we do. It is the Ring that draws him but he
cannot come at it as long as we keep good watch."

   Pippin chooses this moment to wake. Yawns, sees us
all standing there, weapons in hand, and stares in
alarm. "Is something wrong?"

   "I thought I saw movement in the dark." I answer
quickly. "But there is nothing there." Not now anyway.

   "It's almost time for my watch." says Gimli giving
me a glinting upward glance. "Get some rest young Man,
it will steady your nerves."

   I give him back a look that promises retribution
but there is no heat in it. Better Pippin think I'm
seeing things that aren't there then something that
is. And a touch of humor from Gimli is a good sign. "I
thank you for your courtesy, Master Dwarf."

   I settle myself between the Little Ones. By now all
four are awake. I hear Frodo and Sam being soothed by
low voiced explanations from Mithrandir and Aragorn as
Merry asks fretfully what's going on.

   "I thought I saw something move, but there is nothing
there now." I tell him.

   "You're nervous too?" Pippin asks wistfully.

   "Certainly I am." sometimes it is best to hide
one's fears but other times it is well to share them.
It comforts a young recruit to know he is not the only
one who is afraid. "I am not accustomed to living
underground as you Hobbits are."

   "Hobbit holes are nothing like this horrible
place." Merry tells me firmly, then apologetically to
the Dwarf. "Sorry, Gimli."

   "No offense taken, young Hobbit." he answers
unruffled, lighting his pipe.

   Pippin huddles to my side and I put an arm around
him and the other around Merry. Poor Little Ones.
Nothing is going to happen to them if I have the power
to prevent it. That I swear.