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!