Although Gandalf had promised a brief rest, the Company followed the stairway for what seemed like hours before reaching an area that the wizard deemed suitable. The small landing boasted little comfort, only a thick layer of dust on the cold floor, but the weary travelers crowded close. The light of Gandalf's staff, pushing back the shadows that groped along the walls, warmed their hearts.
        Legolas' stomach churned with hunger, for he had foregone a full meal at their last stop, too anxious about the prospects of entering Moria to partake. Now, intending to remedy that lapse, he strategically positioned himself between Sam and Pippin. The former carried the majority of the edible supplies that had been loaded on his beloved Bill, while the latter would undoubtedly manage to secure a disproportionately large amount of food, from which the Elf hoped to profit as well. His stratagem was rewarded when Pippin, a knowing gleam in his eye, casually handed him an extra hunk of the rationed bread as he passed the pieces around the small circle. Legolas smiled his thanks, making a mental note to treat this prince of hobbits to a special feast if ever he journeyed to Mirkwood.
        As he bit into the soft loaf he felt the now familiar and unmistakable pressure of hostile eyes, and looked up to see Gimli glowering from across the circle. The Elf glared back, deliberately exaggerating the movements of lips and tongue as he chewed. Insolently he raised the second piece of bread in a mock toast, and watched in satisfaction as the dwarf's face turned brick red with suppressed anger. Smirking slightly he turned away, but his triumph faded as he met Aragorn's reproachful gaze. Whether the Ranger disapproved of the extra rations or the taunting of the dwarf Legolas could not say, but both small victories turned to ashes in his mouth, and he bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment of his friend's displeasure. He did not, however, relinquish the remaining bread, but tucked it away in the folds of his tunic for later consumption.
        Aragorn sighed in resignation as he watched the antics of the Elf and the dwarf. He was well aware of Legolas' perfectly understandable unease at entering Moria, had seen the prince swallow back the angry and fearful words that had threatened to spill forth at Gimli's patent excitement, but anxiety was a poor excuse for their childish gibes and vengeful stares. Although he was reasonably certain that neither would act so irresponsibly as to physically injure another member of the Company, their power play was certainly having a detrimental effect on the already low morale. Boromir was not so engaged in proving his strength and invulnerability that he had failed to notice the conflict, and though he had thus far refrained from comment, he had not been above directing dark looks in their direction. Gandalf, surprisingly, seemed to have overlooked at least the most recent quarrel, but then he was utterly involved in planning their route through the treacherous mines. And the hobbits plainly sided with Legolas, as Pippin's erstwhile generosity demonstrated. Frodo had consented to enter Moria only out of necessity, and now appeared lost in his own sad thoughts; Sam was consumed with guilt over Bill; and Merry, who had proven a surprisingly agile climber, had nevertheless taken to grumbling with Pippin during rest breaks and making strange faces during Gimli's more enthusiastic ramblings.
        As for Aragorn himself, he could not shake a strange sense of foreboding. Their passage thus far had been entirely too easy, if one omitted the stubbed toes, bruised shins, and rapidly fraying tempers. In his dark journey through Moria decades before he had encountered a multitude of pitfalls and traps, as well as several unsavory creatures who had nearly proved his undoing, yet the Company had not passed so much as a small chasm or a spear-wielding orc. The Ranger would have liked to consult Legolas, but he had little doubt that the Elf's keen senses would be significantly blunted, from his preoccupation with besting Gimli if not from shadows and nerves.
        Rising with a small groan, Aragorn tapped Gandalf lightly on the shoulder and motioned towards the stairs. The wizard nodded silently before addressing the group.
        "The night draws on, and we have some distance yet to cover ere we stop for sleep. If memory serves, we should reach more habitable areas before long; there we may perhaps rest until morning."
        "What exactly do you mean by habitable?" asked Merry. "I wouldn't call anything this far underground 'habitable.'"
        "Bloody depressing, is more like," muttered Pippin under his breath.
        Legolas' sharp ears caught the comment, and he smiled sweetly down at the hobbit. "In truth, Master Peregrin, you have it aright: the more uninhabitable a region, the greater the chance of discovering dwarves there; that is, if orcs and trolls do not claim it first."
        Gimli bristled, Boromir snorted, and Aragorn cleared his throat loudly. "Durin's folk, in my experience, are as fond of good living as Elves and hobbits," he said sternly, directing a quelling stare at Legolas. "A mine Moria may be at is heart, but its workers lived in comfort, and in its heyday these corridors we pass no doubt bustled with artisans and smiths and shopkeepers. Moria was once a thriving city, as fair as Gondor or Ithilien, in its own way. And certainly more impressive than Bree!"
        "A city?" Sam gazed about in wonder, as if seeking echoes of the long-dead dwarves who had toiled and sung and laughed in the silent halls. But the chilling gloom pressed in on all sides, and even the ghosts of industry and revelry had fled.
        "A great city," Gimli murmured reverently. "But then Durin's Bane awoke, and all was lost; and our attempts to reclaim our former glory have failed as well. I doubt now that my cousin Balin ever came here. Most likely he could not pass the gate, and chose instead to establish himself in some distant mountainside, where ore is plentiful and painful memories scarce.
        "But come, I will walk again beside Gandalf, and Gimli, not Balin, will help to lead our party through Khazad-dum."
        "And a stouter guide I could not wish for," the wizard replied, and brightening the dim glow from his staff, he mounted the next flight of steps with Gimli at his side.

        Onward they climbed, until at last the stairs leveled off into a narrow pathway that snaked its way above vast depths. It was just wide enough for two to walk carefully abreast, for there were no railings; and Gimli marched eagerly beside Gandalf, one eye fixed on the floor and the other scouting ahead. He recognized the construction style, as timeless as the race of dwarves itself: the winding path signified a transition between the formal splendor of the entrance halls and marketplaces and the more homely furnishings of the dwellings, which would themselves eventually give way to deep pits, accessible only by spidery stone bridges, rough-hewn ledges, and innumerable sturdy ladders.
        Gimli fondly recalled his own mining days, spent in the company of legends such as Oin and others of his father's companions. He had climbed nimbly through the warrens beneath the mountain, a lantern and a pickaxe strapped to his back and a length of stout rope coiled at his side, searching for treasure and glory. He had found both, but the menacing words of the Enemy's messenger and the encroaching shadow of Mordor had wrested him from his beloved caves and set him on this perilous mission. Ironic that I should now journey with a wizard, two men, four frightened hobbits, and a proud and disagreeable Elf through Khazad-dum, long closed to even the bravest of my people!
        Musing over fate's whimsy, Gimli nearly missed the sudden gap in the footpath, and hastily flung out an arm to keep Gandalf from tumbling into its depths. Behind them came a series of grunts and muffled squawks as the rest of the Fellowship stumbled to a weary halt.
        "What's the matter?" came Frodo's voice from the darkness.
        "We have come to the first of Moria's many checks," Gandalf replied over his shoulder. "Were it not for the sharp eyes of Gimli, we might all have fallen in. The gap is not overlarge, I deem, but it is quite deliberately situated, and it would behoove us all to be more wary from this point on." He nodded to the dwarf, who crouched low for an instant before leaping across the fissure. The others followed with varying degrees of skill, though Gimli was somewhat displeased to note the ease with which Legolas sprang over the four-foot breach. Turning away from the Elf's smugly superior expression, he shouldered his axe and set out in the lead.
        Legolas smiled faintly as the dwarf stomped on ahead, and met Aragorn's knowing gaze with an innocent expression. It was scarcely his affair if the son of Gloin could not control his foul temper. He himself was encountering enough difficulty in maintaining his usual air of inscrutability, for though he had conquered his fear of the suffocating blackness several staircases back, he now found himself unexpectedly dazzled by the magnificent architecture. The massive walls and high, arched ceilings were utterly foreign, but the slender walkway that threaded its way among the columns and pits was not unlike the tree-trails in the darkest recesses of Mirkwood. True, it lacked the vibrant quality that pervaded the living paths of the forest, but if Legolas listened hard enough, he could almost discern a restless energy in the stone, as ageless and unchanging as his own Elven race. Yet beneath this surface flow there pulsed a barely-concealed malice, disturbing but not wholly unexpected in caverns that ran beneath Caradhras. How much was due to the nature of the mountain, the Elf wondered, and how much to the orcs and other foul creatures that lurked somewhere in the depths?
        For despite Gimli's claims that his relatives might have retaken the mines, Legolas had little faith that evil had left Moria. The others harbored similar fears; he had not missed the furtive glances exchanged between Aragorn and Gandalf, or the way Boromir peered suspiciously behind him at intervals. More disturbing was the way in which Frodo would surreptitiously check his sword, Sting, for the tell-tale blue glow that would signal the presence of orcs. The Ringbearer's senses seemed oddly heightened, almost paralleling those of Legolas himself. The other hobbits, especially Sam, were content to follow their guide, but Frodo was constantly alert, his eyes troubled even in times of rest. Legolas could not suppress a twinge of regret that the hobbit should be forced to bear such a spirit-sapping burden; and yet he felt sure that the Ring was not, as Boromir would have it, beyond Frodo's strength. Like Elves, who could turn from merry-making to deadly combat at a moment's notice, only to return to their hilarity at the end of battle, the hobbits seemed to possess hidden reserves that helped them enjoy life in times of peace and bolstered them in times of strife. Even Pippin was keenly aware of the importance of their mission and sensitive to the others' feelings, for all he played the joker during less serious moments. Although the Ring might exert a powerful force, sharpening Frodo's perception and dampening his natural enthusiasm, Legolas had little doubt that the resilient hobbit would bend under its weight rather than break, and snap back in the end.
        Still ruminating about the respective strengths and flaws of the Free Races, Legolas heaved a sigh of relief as Gandalf called for a halt. The archway at which the travelers now found themselves had confounded Gandalf and Aragorn both, and the wizard had decided to stop for what was left of the night. A wide chamber in the left-hand passage appealed to all, and as Gandalf, brooking no opposition, prepared to take the first watch, Legolas wrapped his cloak around himself and curled up with the others on the cold stone floor. As he drifted into sleep, the last thing he saw was Pippin, brow slightly furrowed and wide open eyes reflecting the dim glow of the wizard's pipe.