Disclaimer: Tolkien fashioned his characters, in his Middlearth.
He was used to finding his way in the dark.
Many of his paths were long and hard, but scarce so black as this... Moria’s depths had been lit by flame, or Mithrandir’s staff. Even the darkness beneath the unwholesome trees in the dankest corners of Mirkwood were pierced by stray shafts of sun or moonlight – there at least one could claw through the canopy to the stars... but here...
Legolas shuddered – the Dead kept this place. It was only Aragorn, the pathfinder, his sword gleaming ahead of the Grey Company that made this wild ride through the blackness bearable.