the doom of man!
then. what are we waiting for?
and i suppose you think you're the one to do it?
i will be dead before i see the ring in the hands of an elf! a storm of argument erupts around the room. close on: frodo. sound disappears as he watches in slow
never trust an elf!
and my axe.
if anyone were to ask for my opinion, which i note they have not, i would say we are taking the long way round. gandalf, we can pass through the mines of moria. my cousin, balin, would give us a royal welcome. gandalf clearly thinks that is a bad idea.
nothing. it's just a wisp of a cloud.
we cannot pass over the mountain. let us go under it. let us go through the mines of moria. gandalf has a concerned look on his face.
the walls of moria!
so, master elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves; roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone. this, my friend, is the home of my cousin, balin. and they call this a mine.  a mine!
oh. no. no. no.  ! legolas pulls a crude arrow out of a skeleton.
no. no. oh, no!
let them come! there is one dwarf yet in moria who still draws breath!
mithril! you are full of surprises, master baggins.
nobody tosses a dwarf! the balrog smashes through the wall and spreads its vast wings.
it swoops down past the fellowship, disappearing into a flaming pit!
stay close, young hobbits. they say a sorceress lives in these woods. an elf- witch of terrible power. all who look upon her fall under her spell.
and are never seen again!
well, here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. i have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!
aragorn! these woods are perilous. we should go back.
oh, yes, just a simple matter of finding our way through emyn muil, an impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks. and after that gets even better. a festering, stinking marshland, far as the eye can see.
recover my.
then it has all been in vain. the fellowship has failed.
yes! ha!