Chapter 3

On that less-than-cheerful note, the Company’s informal meeting adjourned.  Each embroiled in their own thoughts, the members of the Fellowship drifted back to their places, resting, checking gear, sipping the overly-strong tea that Gimli and Legolas had prepared.  Picking up a mug for himself and one for Sam, Merry returned to where Sam sat with Pippin still sleeping in his lap, rocking the young hobbit gently.

“It’s not very good,” Merry cautioned in his softest voice, mindful of the Elf’s excellent hearing and how sound echoed in the vast caverns of Moria.  Quickly, he filled Sam in on the discussion that he had missed.  Sam nodded and sipped his mug with the hand not cradling Pippin; his eyes tearing as he gasped after swallowing. 

“Let me give him back ‘ta you,” Sam said.  “Maybe if I add more water an’ some honey, I can save it.”  The transfer was accomplished with Pippin barely stirring, except for an unintelligible mumble and a sigh.  Taking one more sip and shaking his head, Sam rose and went to assist Gimli and Legolas, who were holding a quiet but animated discussion about the proper way to brew tea.

Checking that Frodo was still asleep, Merry glanced around to make sure he knew where everyone was.  Gandalf and Aragorn was moved off too, closer to he and Pippin.  They had their heads close together and immediately Merry’s interest was piqued.  Unobtrusively, Merry leaned back and tried to eavesdrop.  The wizard and the Ranger were deeply involved in their conversation and did not notice the tilt of pointed ears in their direction.

“…concerns me greatly.  It is not common among such evil creatures, but not unknown, either.”  Gandalf shook his head, his lined face tense and worried.  Merry was careful not to turn his head further towards them, to do nothing that would attract their attention and halt their conversation. 

“Could we tell by examining the bodies of the creatures?”  Aragorn looked strained … no, more than strained, Merry thought.  Frightened.  Frightened and – sickened?

“No, not unless it was far advanced.  The first symptoms we would experience would be fever, headache, a general weakness in our limbs.  Then, as the days pass, insomnia, anxiousness, confusion.  There might be a slight or partial paralysis of our bodies … hallucinations, and uncontrollable salivation.  Death would follow within days of being infected.”

Merry had gone very cold.  His eyes centered on the deep, inflamed bite over Pip’ eye, at the many bites and scratches on his own hands and face.   All of them, covered with wounds.   And Frodo, bitten most deeply and most often.

The foaming sickness…

He had never seen it, or known anyone who had it.  He knew it came from sick animals, very often bats, and was some kind of inflammation of the brain.  He knew that those who had it died of it, always, within days, screaming and maddened.  He knew there was no cure.

Merry’s hand flew to his mouth as his stomach heaved.  The sudden movement turned Gandalf’s head towards him and Aragorn followed the wizard’s gaze.  Both of their faces whitened when they realized that they had been overheard.  “Merry, “ said Gandalf, very softly, but the hobbit paid him no heed.  His gaze was directed downwards, meeting the wide-open and terrified eyes of the young one in his lap.

* * * * *

“We must move on.  We cannot linger.”  Sam looked up to see Aragorn gathering up the Company to resume their march.  Gandalf was crouched down, talking to Merry and Pippin, who had apparently just woken up.  Looking at them past the wizard’s back, Sam could see that both looked sick and frightened, and his heart went out to them.  The wizard reached out and stroked Pippin’s curls, rested his hand on Merry’s shoulder as he rose.  'This dark, horrible place,’ he thought, ‘no wonder they’re scared.  I’m scared, too.  Looking forward ‘ta getting out o’ this dreadful place tomorrow.’  Regretfully, he laid a gentle hand on Frodo’s shoulder and woke him.

While his master drank a cup of the much-improved tea, Sam put out the fire with Boromir’s assistance, scattering the ashes carefully to ensure that nothing remained burning.  Sitting with Pippin, Sam had watched as the Man spoke with the others then started to clean his great shield.   It had been covered with blood and bone and the smashed, sliced bodies of the foul things.  Boromir had exclaimed in disgust as he pried off the crushed body of one of the bats, pushing it distastefully to the ground.  Aragorn had hurried over and donning a pair of leather gloves, had picked up the small corpse to examine it.  In the Shire, Sam reflected, the little brown bats were welcome guests, honored for the insects and other pests they ate. Many a bat-house he’d put up, hoping to entice to the helpful little creatures to live nearby.  But these were different, these were … evil.  Sam shuddered as he watched the Ranger turn this one over in his hands; he never wanted to see another one of the vile things again.

Sam had to almost lift his master to his feet.  The rest had helped, but Frodo was still shaky and needed Sam’s strong arm to impel himself into moving.  Sam carefully slid his arm under Frodo’s shoulder, avoiding the deep bites on the back of his neck, and they fell into line behind Legolas and Gimli.  Merry and Pippin came up behind them and Sam sent them both a smile, but neither returned it or even noticed. Young Pip looked ghastly, like he could barely walk.  ‘Ah, poor lads,’ thought Samwise.  ‘Just one more day in this awful place … jus’ one more day.’

* * * * *

The hobbits had long ceased to try to track time in the Black Pit; they halted when Gandalf said ‘halt’ and walked when the wizard said ‘walk.’  Increasingly they fell into a dark dream, withdrawing their minds from the pressing blackness and dank, stale air about them.  Merry found his thoughts returning again and again to summers spent on the Brandywine; boating and swimming in the gentle river, fishing, long afternoons idled away on its banks, doing nothing more than watching the water pass.    

Merry wasn’t aware they had stopped again until he ran right into Frodo, drawing a surprised and pained gasp from his cousin.  Merry grimaced an apology, sorry that he had bumped the deep bites.  Merry’s own bites were burning, and he was more than glad when Gandalf dug into his pack and passed around the salve again.  ‘From what good it might do,’ he thought, then cut that off.

From his seat on the floor, applying the salve to Pippin’s hurts while Pip did the same for him, Merry watched as Gandalf and Gimli gathered before a wall, running their hands over it and discussing something in low voices.  It was a just a blank wall, black, polished sheer stone … nothing to commend it.  Merry pulled himself to his feet and followed his curiosity over.  Pippin came after, staying very close to his older cousin.  Despite his and Gandalf’s and Aragorn’s reassurances, Pip still had that terrified look deep in his green-gold eyes and would say very little.  He clung to Merry like his cousin was the rope that kept the terror from dropping him into a deep abyss of horror.

The wizard eyed them sharply as they drew up but did not send them back to their places.  Gimli was rumbling and muttering to himself under his breath, his deep voice almost musical as it vibrated in his throat, running the palms of his hands over the wall.  At last he drew back and wiped the dust off on his cloak.  “I measure it as but a few inches thick, Gandalf.  It could be a danger.”

As the Dwarf spoke, Merry realized that the vibration he felt in his ears did not come completely from Gimli’s thoughtful rumbles, but from the wall itself.  He placed a hand against it and felt movement behind the stone, the cold feel of rushing waters contained.   “It’s an underground river,” he said softly, in awe.

“Aye, a swift one.”  Gimli knelt and felt the bottom of the wall then stretched as far up as he could.  “And a great one.  Perhaps it fed the broken aqueduct we saw before entering the Doors.”

“How could it be a danger?”  asked Merry, wanting to understand. 

“The force of the water is very strong.  Were it to break through, it could flood this area in minutes.  It would tear more of the wall out as it did, creating a cycle of freeing itself from the wall as the wall freed it.  Like a ravening beast, it would consume all in its path.”

“Oh.”  Beside him, Pippin clung tighter and Merry slipped an arm around him.

Gandalf had stood silent while Gimli explained, his sharp eyes darting about the cavern.  The glowing crystal that tipped his staff had muted, now it blazed again and at that unspoken signal, the Company struggled to its feet and they continued on.  The salve helped, Merry thought – he could move more easily, without feeling that his skin was being torn.  Checking on Frodo and Sam, he saw that same relief reflected in their faces.  Frodo has even recovered enough to drop one particular slimy dollop down the back of Sam’s shirt.

‘Past teatime,’ Merry thought.  Pippin’s stomach rumbled loudly, confirming his guess, and his cousin looked embarrassed at the noise.  Merry was pleased to see any expression on Pip’s face rather than that look of frozen horror.  

As if he had heard (or had his own insistent internal clock), Gandalf glanced back along the line of march.  “A little farther,” he assured them, “a more sheltered place, and we will rest and eat.”  Merry’s own face reddened as his stomach answered the wizard as loudly as Pip’s, and he hurriedly pressed an arm into his belly to stifle the growls.  Pippin laughed softly and Merry thought his stomach could embarrass him as much as it liked if it would lift Pip’s spirits.

Gandalf found a spot suitable to his taste after just a short march, less than a half-hour’s walk.  They halted in what must have been a corridor at some time, a narrow passage between the cavern they had just exited and the one before it.  Legolas scouted the forward cavern on light feet, and returned to report nothing more than more dust and broken masonry.  Satisfied, the wizard instructed Aragorn and Boromir to use the torches they carried to light another fire, and Sam quickly set up his cooking gear.

Supper was consumed quickly, scarcely doing justice to the amount of work that Sam had put into preparing their dinner.  Merry licked his spoon clean, capturing the last bit of stewed carrot.  All hobbits were able to cook and most were good cooks, but Sam was a treasure.  After a moment’s thought, Merry told him so, and watched his friend’s face shine at the compliment.   Sitting beside Sam, Frodo laughed softly, and warned his cousin against designs on Sam’s service.  The gentle teasing went on for some time, relaxed and cheerful, and the four hobbits were not aware of the smiles their banter evoked around them as the Big Folk marveled at hobbit resilience and fortitude.

The wizard regretted interrupting their rest but if they were to cross the Bridge of Khazad-dûm and exit the Gates on the morrow, they still should put some miles behind them before camping for the night.  It would place their arrival at the Gates earlier in the day, and Gandalf knew that the sooner they quitted Moria, the better.

Again, it was the Elf who had the first alert of danger, and Gandalf’s heart sank as he saw Legolas raise his head and turn it towards the forward cavern.  A moment later the hobbits picked it up, then the rest of the Company.  All surged to their feet and checked their gear, tightening buckles and straps, as Aragorn joined Legolas and both stood silent, listening. 

“What is it?” asked Merry, though he feared he already knew.

“Yrch,” replied Legolas in his own tongue, his fair face twisting in dismay. 

“Orcs!” repeated Aragorn.  “They have had word of us.   Whether it was carried by those evil bat-things or that follower in the dark, I cannot say.  But they know we are here, in this narrow place, and they are coming.”

* TBC *