Enduriel awoke that evening with no memory or the night before, nor (to Fenrohir's relief) earlier that morning. He had clad her while she slept in some of the spare garments she kept in her pack. Though Enduriel stared for a moment at the strange things, frowning as though trying to reckon how she had come to be so clothed, she said nothing. Fenrohir suspected she still ached a great deal, but perhaps was too embarrassed to speak of it.
"What a pity I cannot recall that damnable password," she muttered sullenly as they shouldered their packs and headed out of the dell. As they skirted the perilous lake, Fenrohir searched the waters for signs of life, but there were none. Just as well--he felt he had only narrowly escaped a much worse fate, and did not wish to try his luck a second time with the strange monster.
They had decided to make for the Redhorn Gate, a road which would lead them up the treacherous cliffs of Caradhras. Why Enduriel insisted on taking such a hazardous road, Fenrohir could only guess; she claimed only to be looking for adventure. Well, she had found it, and if she did not remember it, then she seemed none the worse for wear.
It was a cool spring evening that grew colder as the evening went on. Enduriel was clad now in the clothes she had brought for cooler weather: a thin white blouse paired with a pair of short cotton trousers rolled up to her knee. She wore on her feet a pair of light walking shoes. Though she made no complaint, Fenrohir could see she was growing colder with each passing step.
Finally he stopped. "Enduriel, you will catch your death of cold without warmer clothes," he pleaded. "I myself find the chill of the night wind difficult to bear. Come, let us build a fire and warm ourselves beside it." Indeed, a breeze had picked up and flowed cool and swift down the mountain to greet them.
"I have already told you, Fenrohir, we cannot build a fire," said Enduriel. "There are creatures in these hills that I fear a fire would only draw to us. We cannot risk such an attack."
Fenrohir thought once more of the encounter with the tentacled beast, but said nothing. "And I suppose freezing to death is a better alternative," he retorted hotly. "At least then the creatures that find us won't find us particularly tasty."
Enduriel stopped and threw up her hands. "Very well," she said. "Very well, we'll light a fire. But when it brings every warg, wolf, and who knows what else here looking for a evening meal, I won't hear any complaints from you."
They had climbed to the knees of Caradhras; Fenrohir cast about searching for a place to camp that would be hidden from what was quickly becoming a cold, biting wind. To his great joy, he found a small cave set away in the rocky hills: it did not appear to be home to any living creature, and as Enduriel prepared their evening meal, Fenrohir quickly set about building up a fire at the mouth of the cave.
Soon, they were roasting bits of meat on sticks over the fire, talking and laughing together like they had so often done before. Fenrohir brought out a flask of a strong draught from Bree, which they passed between them. Enduriel's eyes were shining brightly in the firelight: Fenrohir was happy to see her so happy once again.
Suddenly they heard footsteps outside the cave. Fenrohir's hand went to the knife at his belt. "Who's there?" he called gruffly, rising to his feet.
Abruptly the twinkling stars outside the cave were blotted out by a huge shape. It stepped closer into the firelight, and Enduriel cried out in fear. Though neither of them had before seen such a beast, they knew instinctively that it was a great cave troll which stood there, staring at them.
"What may you be wanting?" demanded Fenrohir, striding forward to meet this new foe. "Away with you, if you mean us harm."
To his surprise, the troll began to speak. "Begging your pardon," he said, "but this is my cave. You and your companion had better be off before I roast the two of you for dinner!"
"I did not know trolls spoke in the common tongue," Fenrohir replied with amazement, for though the troll's words were harsh, his tone was rather polite.
The great beast nodded. "Most do not. I learned the language of Man during my time in Moria, where an allegience was formed between troll and dwarf. They taught me both the tongues of Dwarves and Man. At the time I did not see the purpose of this, and thought it rather a waste of time. Now I see that it was well done indeed, for you seem a pleasant man, and not one with whom I would wish to fall so quickly to blows."
Fenrohir smiled, sheathing his knife. "Then if this is your cave, let us share it with you! Our fire is warm and we would be happy to have such intelligent company."
So the troll sat down beside Enduriel, and she beside Fenrohir. They talked and laughed long into the night, sharing tales of their respective adventures. The troll carried with him a bottle of his own spirits, and he brought it out now, sharing it with the two travelers. As they drank, they told the troll of their quest to pass through the Redhorn Gate.
The troll shook his head. "I am sorry, my friends, but you'll never get there. Caradhras is not fond of visitors, especially the likes of you. Meaning no offense," he added with a wink. "I know a secret way through the mountains, a secret way used by trolls and other mountain-dwellers. Unfortunately, that is one secret I must keep from the two of you." Despite Fenrohir's pleas, the troll would say no more on the matter. Eventually the conversation turned to other subjects.
