Warmth did not last long. Soon Boromir carried Merry and Pippin through blizzarded peaks and twists, and Aragorn held Sam. He offered to take Frodo as well, but I challenged him, asked if he would be as watchful as I was. He reluctantly replied that while I felt more strongly about it, Frodo would be safer with Aragorn. I conceded, then, and took up refuge in my own cloak.
Legolas and I walked upon the top of the snow. I was not bothered by the cold to such a deep effect, and I found that by touching Pippin's nose I could drain the cold from his face. I did not tell Aragorn; I didn't want to seem compulsive, and figured Aragorn knew better than I did about life anyway.
Legolas perked, and so did I.
"There is a foul voice on the wind," he said. I listened, but still could hear nothing . . . until a crack and spray above us sent showers of snow cascading down the mountain. Legolas leaped against the mountain, and Aragorn ducked with the hobbits under his arms. I leaped away from the snow as well, accidentally knocking into Aragorn. My hand skimmed over Frodo's chest, and my palm burned with contact on the Ring. I hissed and cowered into the snowbank.
"It is the voice of Saruman!" Gandalf called.
"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn called. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"
Gandalf denied him and began to recite spells in response, but there was a crack of thunder, and lightning split the sky, snapping on the peak of the mountain. I grabbed Aragorn and threw him against the back snowbank, but the momentum shoved Frodo away from Aragorn. I grabbed him by the waist and yanked him back as a boulder slammed into the path where Aragorn had been. A cascade of snow followed, and Frodo and I burrowed together as the snow crunched in swathes.
Somehow in getting him to his feet and digging us out of the snow, my hand met Frodo's nose, and his face began to brighten immediately. He did not react much, dizzied by the snow and numbed by the freezing cold met by immediate warmth. I let his face drift back to a bright peach, then removed my hand and squeezed him a little around the shoulders. I lifted his cloak hood back over his head.
"Gandalf, we have to get off the mountain!" Boromir cried. "This will be the death of the hobbits!"
"We have no choice but to press on," was another's opinion.
"We must go through the mines!" Gimli insisted.
Gandalf swallowed, glancing at me. I didn't know what to do. I wrapped my other arm around Frodo, shaking my head in response. His eyes drifted back to a silver-blue, from their seemingly darkened and troubled state. I felt all he was doing was hiding worry that grew deeper and deeper.
"Let the Ringbearer decide," Gandalf said finally.
Gasping at the cold, Frodo glanced up at the wizard. "We shall go through the mines."
I winced, and Gandalf nodded gravely. We pressed forward, quickly exiting the pass. Once we stumbled out of the snowdrifts and in to gray canyons and labyrinths of mountains, I pulled to take my arm from Frodo, but somehow his remained around my waist.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
I nodded.
"I'm here to protect you, Frodo," I said. "I may not do a perfect job of it, but I'm trying."
He squeezed me just a little, then we continued on. He moved, however, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, holding me in to him. He was afraid, and tired. So was I. But I couldn't afford to let him down because of my own weakness.
"Frodo!" Gandalf called. "Come and help an old man."
Frodo and I raced to the front of the line, and Frodo slipped under Gandalf's arm. I suddenly felt cold, and shivered a little.
"How's your shoulder?" Gandalf asked quietly.
"Better than it was," Frodo said finally as I slipped under Gandalf's other arm. I winced, pains throbbing. My fault, and I felt horrid about it. Gandalf warned him of the Ring's growing power; all three of us had felt it, and Gandalf told him not to trust some. This was said as Boromir passed.
"Then who do I trust?" Frodo asked.
"You must trust yourself," was all Gandalf said before he acknowledged the grandeur of Moria.
We spent the rest of that day looking for the door. "Dwarf doors are hidden," Gimli explained proudly as he knocked along the canyon wall. Gandalf added, "And the Masters can't even find them if the secrets are lost."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas muttered.
Frodo slipped, and his foot slid into a huge lake of water. I grabbed his elbow, cocking my head. He assured me he was all right, and we continued. I was more cautious about keeping a hand on his arm from that point onward, though.
Finally Gandalf halted in front of an inscription, and muttered something about starlight and moonlight. Overhead the clouds passed to reveal a brilliant, beautiful moon, and it beamed upon the image of a double door wrapped in tree boughs and topped by a rounded arch.
Gandalf read the glowing, Elvish words on the arch. He finished with, ". . . speak friend and enter."
"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked.
"Why, it's simple," Gandalf said casually. "If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open." He set the end of his staff to the knob in the center and recited an Elvish phrase. We all expected the doors to swing wide open. They remained stoic and still. Even after the second or third time, Gandalf was unsuccessful.
"Well, now what are you going to do?" Pippin piped up.
Gandalf was shoving on the doors. "Bang your head against these doors, Peregrine Took, and if that does not open them, at least it will give me some rest from foolish questions!"
The wizard proceeded to attempt opening the door. Frodo and I sat down on a rock, and Sam worked with Aragorn to free the pony we had brought with us. Merry and Pippin took to skipping and throwing rocks across the lake.
"Frodo," I said, "are you sure the mines were the best road?"
Frodo glanced up at me. "No. We certainly couldn't have kept going, and I don't feel that going back down the Pass and taking our old road was wise, either." He paused. "Perhaps Moria is the best way."
"I heard Gandalf had some concerns," I said quietly.
Frodo frowned. "Really?"
I nodded. "I remember him telling Gimli that-," I shook my head and waved a hand. "Never mind that. The decision is made, and I understand your point."
Gandalf sat down, exasperated, and threw his staff to the side. Frodo narrowed his brow and stood.
"It's a riddle!" he said. I glanced up, then smacked my forehead with a palm. How had I not seen that? Probably a result of not focusing on the task on hand; I didn't even know if I would classify the phrase as a riddle or as a direct instruction.
"'Speak friend . . . and enter!' What's the Elvish word for friend?" he asked Gandalf.
"Melloch," he replied, and the thick, stone doors began to creak open. The company stood, and we followed Gandalf inside. Frodo and I took up the rear; no one else seemed to care or notice that he had just opened what Gandalf could not, and what the rest of us couldn't either. I squeezed his shoulders.
"I knew how to open it," I teased.
Frodo laughed.
"Seriously, though," I said, "that was awesome. More powerful than Gandalf; you should be feeling great about yourself."
"Soon, elf," Gimli boasted, "you will experience the hospitality of the dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat right off the bone!" At this, Gandalf screwed a gem into his staff and blew on it until it lit. "This is the hall of my cousin Balin, and they call it a mine-a mine!"
Boromir halted. "This isn't a mine," he said, horrifiedly surveying the ground. "It's a tomb."
Suddenly we all looked down. I jumped, clasping to Frodo, when I saw the impaled remains of dwarves and orcs scattered about the floor. I backed away, and Frodo with me. He put a reassuring arm about my shoulders, although I was sure he was scared too (if not for the same reason I was). Gimli cried out in despair.
Legolas snapped an arrow from the web-covered ground. "Goblins," he said.
I hissed to myself, laying a hand over Frodo's chest. That was initial; I didn't mean to, but he didn't seem to care.
The others drew their weapons. "Get out of the mines!" We began to back out, the hobbits first, all five of us lined up in a row. Then, suddenly, Frodo vanished from beside me with a cry.
I whipped around. A huge marine creature with multiple, serpentine arms and a miniscule beak had wrapped a leg around Frodo and was waving him through the air, trying to beat him against the shore. I grabbed my sword and hacked at the thing, calling for help from Aragorn. The other hobbits rushed in, but Pippin and Merry were swatted back. I supposed the creature could sense the Ring and targeted Frodo as a result.
Finally I leaped onto the beast's leg and hit hard until, with a shriek, it released Frodo. I jumped out of the way, back onto the shore, and brought Frodo to his feet after I scrambled to my own.
"You all right?" I asked, lungs heaving.
He nodded—he breathed hard, but seemed to be trying to quell it.
"Back to the cave!" Aragorn called. The hobbits jumped up, Frodo and I supporting each other back into the empty, black mouth of Moria. The water creature shrieked madly, wrapping its tentacles about the shore and dragging itself up into the hole. All of its struggling, though, brought the walls of Moria crumbling down over the only way in or out.
I clutched Frodo's upper arm as the entrance smashed to pieces, blocking the light from coming in.
"You will want to stay close," Gandalf said, lighting his staff again. "There are worse things than orcs in the shadows of the great deep. It is four days' journey to the other side."
We walked almost single file most of the time, although there were times when the shadows seemed to shift . . . and the edge was far too close. I shuddered and drew my cloak around me. Frodo somehow noticed, and brought me up to stand on the opposite side of him from the edge.
Gandalf revealed the presence of mithril in the mines. When he mentioned the coat of mithril granted Bilbo (and Gimli proclaimed it a kingly gift), Frodo glanced at the ground, looking a little self-conscious. "Do you have it?" I asked.
He nodded.
"On?"
He nodded again.
"Would you show me sometime?" I asked. "What you look like with it on, I mean."
He smiled slightly and nodded a third time. "I suppose you never got to see."
"Poor Bilbo," I responded, thinking back to Rivendell.
Then came a steep, tall stair, meant not for hobbit legs, or so it seemed. We had to climb it with our hands and feet, and I went right behind Frodo, hoping I could at least help from behind. I heard Pippin slip behind me, and Merry reprimand him, probably frightened something could happen.
When we got to the top, my heart sank at Gandalf's words.
"I have no memory of this place."
There were four ways to go.
Frodo didn't want to read much. I understood; I wouldn't either. But he asked me to tell him a story of sorts, and so I wove a tale I would have much liked to live. I kept it close to my own biography for the first while, but then changed it, once I had gotten ahead to what I did not know would or wouldn't take place.
Then Frodo spotted something.
"Sev!" His eyes widened. "There's something down there."
I glanced down. There was a ghastly, frail shape climbing the walls of Moria like a spider.
"Gollum," Gandalf said from behind us. "He's been following us since we entered Moria." He spoke of the creature's attachment to the Ring, and how he was once called Smeagol . . . that his life was a tragic story.
"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance," Frodo said bitterly. I lifted an eyebrow.
"Pity? It was pity that stayed his hand!" Gandalf said. "Some things that deserve to die live, and some things that die deserve to live. Don't be so quick to deal judgment of that nature."
Frodo sighed, obviously a little chastised but not willing to challenge the truth in Gandalf's words.
"I wish the Ring had never come to me," he said. "I wish none of this had happened."
My breath caught, and at a nod from Gandalf, I sidled up to him and rubbed his shoulder gently. He subconsciously laid a hand over mine, swallowing, but he didn't lift his gaze.
"So do all who live to see such times," Gandalf assured, "but that is not for them to decide."
I felt like I knew where Gandalf was going, and so I picked it up. "The only decision left to you is what to do with the opportunities you've been given." I glanced at Gandalf for assurance, and he nodded back to me. I felt that truth radiate through my body; I didn't want to be the only one of my kind, incapable of having a family and incapable of being one like Frodo. And yet that decision, that choice to protect Frodo, was the only good thing that had ever really happened to me.
I squeezed Frodo's shoulders. I didn't want to lose him, if he truly was the light in my life.
"And you've made the right decision," I whispered. "Saving the world like some knight on a quest." I ruffled his hair. He smiled a little.
Then Gandalf said something about Frodo being meant to have the Ring. My eyes narrowed at that. So no one else could have taken it; but I hoped that didn't mean Frodo was resigned to a fate he couldn't want to have. I hoped he felt good about saving the world, because that lay on his shoulders now.
"Ah!" Gandalf said, grabbing his hat and staff. "I believe this is the way out." He aimed for the southernmost tunnel . . . or so I assumed. I had lost my sense of direction completely in this labyrinth of caverns.
Merry's face brightened. "Ah, so he's remembered!"
"No," Gandalf said, "but the air isn't so foul down here." We all followed him, ready to get out of this death trap. I released Frodo for a little while, thinking I was probably being just a little overprotective for the moment. Resultantly I sank to the back of the group.
We passed a door where light filtered in from a window. Gimli spotted it, then gasped in disbelief. He sprang at the wooden door that had been cranked, splintered, left open.
"Gimli!" Gandalf shouted.
Gimli ignored him, racing through the open door to a stone tomb in the middle of a room. There were corpses here as well, obviously somewhat old. The tomb spoke of a Balin, Lord of Moria. Gandalf thrust his hat and staff into Pippin's hands and lifted a book from underneath the skeletal hand of one of the dwarves.
He flipped to the back of the book, which plumed with dust and shed pages at his touch. "They have taken the bridge," he read. "We cannot get out. Drums . . . the sound of drums, everywhere. We cannot get out." His face was grave. "They are coming."
Moments later, all eyes turned to Pippin. Next to him was a well, which a corpse had just toppled down, and a chain followed it with loud clanking. A metal bucket creaked and banged after it, echoing through the mines. With every rebound, Pippin winced.
Gandalf slammed the book shut and snatched his hat and staff back. "Next time throw yourself down and rid us of your foolishness!" he snapped. Pippin looked hurt, and I reached forward to help, but then the sound of drums echoed through the air.
All gazes drifted to the door. Legolas and Boromir sprang forward, slamming the doors and lifting a series of spears and wooden boards to bar it off. Then they backed away, all drawing swords and pulling up bows. Gimli ground out on the top of the tomb, grunting and urging them to come in.
The moment one of the first orcs was in sight, Legolas shot it, and that delayed them, a little bit. It only took a few minutes of pounding for an army of orcs, accompanied by a cave troll, to rage through the doors, smashing them down. Merry and Pippin weren't overall too efficient with their swords, and resorted to throwing rocks and tackling orcs. Sam used his frying pan, "getting the hang of it" rather quickly.
Frodo and I dashed behind a column when the cave troll focused his attention on the former. I tried to attract the troll's attention away from him, but somehow creatures seemed to recognize that Frodo had the Ring, or something, because I could not deter it. Finally I leaped up with Frodo, and turned to stab the troll in the eye. But it had circled the column to face Frodo, and it threw him to the ground. It was a twenty foot drop, and I cried out, leaping from the balcony on which I stood. I noted, though, that he had gotten a decent cut to the beast's wrist before falling.
I raced to Frodo, who was desperately trying to fight back the troll. The creature lifted an ugly, huge spear, and immediately impaled Frodo with it. A lurch and a groan, and Frodo crumpled to the ground.
"Frodo!" I cried. The rest of the Fellowship repeated my cry, and the cave troll was quickly taken over by them. I leaped down to Frodo, trying to wrench the spear from his side. It simply would not come. I struggled, I shoved against the wall with my feet, but absolutely nothing worked. Nothing at all. I breathed hard, tugging and yanking until my hands bled inky black all over the spear shaft. My eyes stung.
"Please live, please live," I pleaded, blabbering my tongue out, even though the possibility of his survival wasn't even calculable anymore.
Aragorn came over to help me, and we lifted Frodo off of his stomach. He gasped, hyperventilating until his system flourished again.
"He's alive!" Sam cried. I grabbed the spear and yanked it away, but it slipped out easily, and no blood or flesh came with it. The poison in my bloodstream didn't react much, just pulsed as it often did in the presence of a bruise.
Aragorn looked just a little shocked. "That spear should have impaled a wild boar," he said.
"I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye," Gandalf said with a twinkle in his visage. Mithril, I thought as Frodo pulled his shirt away to reveal a glimmering layer of bright, silver-ish metal. I leaned over and touched it; it was warm and smooth against my fingers.
"Mithril," Gimli said in awe.
"We must be gone," Gandalf said, turning to go. I grabbed Frodo's wrist and helped him to his feet. I bit my lip, then embraced him hard.
"Frodo, you're alive!"
He held me back, obviously still dizzied.
"Yes, Sev."
It was all I could do not to explode in a show of affection to remain where I was. Frodo was alive, and I was holding him; he was fine. Minutes later, however, I had to pull away, and Frodo and I raced after the others. Aragorn had kept them going, and the creatures outside subsequently followed them; for that I was extremely grateful. Frodo was safer here, but not for long.
No sooner had we begun racing through the halls of endless columns that goblins began swarming us, from the tops of the raftered ceilings, down the shafted columns, and surrounding us in a circle. We were prepared to hold them off. I grabbed Frodo's hand, wielding my sword.
But immediately the goblins began to scatter. We all paused, and a great tremor shook the ground. In a cavern to our right, a bright flame emerged, licking the sides of the door.
"Run!" Gandalf shouted, and we all turned and began to spring away. I glanced behind long enough to see a demon, menacing and draconic, pursuing us. Fire surrounded him as he bounded after us, racing through the halls and filling the air with dense smoke.
"The bridge is near," Gandalf said to Aragorn, ushering all of us forward. We came to a thin staircase, which had a huge breach right in the middle. Legolas leaped across first, followed by Gandalf, Merry, Pippin, Boromir, Gimli (who insisted that "nobody tosses a dwarf!"), and Sam. Arrows arced through the air, and Legolas returned fire. I refused to go across before Frodo, and threw Aragorn first. He probably didn't think I had the strength to do it, but I did; he stumbled, surprised, when he reached the other side. I shook my wrist. He'd been dropping his weight, and now my arms hurt. I was about to get Frodo across when the stairs began to crack, and steps crumbled from in front of us. We scrambled back to keep from plummeting with the stone, and when I looked up, the gap was too large to jump. Well, I gathered I could at least get him across, which was all that was necessary.
I heard the demon behind us, slamming against the doorway where we had come in. Stones fell from the ceiling in boulders, crushing the stairway behind us and throwing off my balance before I could help Frodo. The entire staircase wobbled uncertainly, and I grabbed onto Frodo as the section of stairway began to collapse forward.
I jumped with him at the last second, but the momentum threw us apart, and Legolas grabbed Frodo; Aragorn grabbed me.
Why we'd sent the Ringbearer across last, I had no idea. I resolved never to let that happen again.
The staircase completely collapsed behind us, crashing into the fiery chasm below. The demon pursued us, and so we raced faster. He finally came in to view, chasing us to the thin, fragile bridge. I made sure Frodo was in front this time, and had all the others cross before I would. But Gandalf ushered me on ahead; I was stubborn enough to insist that I stay behind until he leaned close.
"Frodo needs you."
I dashed away, and up the stairs to join the others on the landing. We were almost out of Moria; I could see cold sunlight pouring down a nearby staircase.
Frodo stopped, and so did I, looking back at Gandalf. He stood in the middle of the bridge, and the demon had reached the edge. He roared angrily.
"You cannot pass!" Gandalf chanted something about demons and flames, something I assumed was powerful. He held up his staff, which glowed with a brilliant light. The demon drew a sword and brought it crashing down on Gandalf. With a great cry, Gandalf thrust against it, and the sword shattered into a million pieces.
The demon roared again, flames crackling and flaring about him. He fashioned a whip, and it cracked dangerously against the air.
"Gandalf!" I called out.
"You shall not pass!" Gandalf shouted. The words echoed about the darkness below when he cracked his staff against the bridge. In defiance the demon stepped forward, but the bridge collapsed with his weight, crumbling at Gandalf's feet. With a vicious roar the demon tumbled into the blackness.
Satisfied and grim, Gandalf turned away from the ledge . . . only to have the forked whip snap back up after him, curl around his ankle, and drag him back down. His staff tumbled away, and he collapsed until he could only hold on with his hands to the edge.
I sprang away from Frodo's side and to the bridge. When I fleetingly glanced behind me, I realized Frodo had began to run as well, but Boromir wrapped a strong hand around his torso. I cried for Boromir to let him go, that Gandalf needed help.
I turned to help the wizard myself, but Frodo's protest stopped me. I shifted my attention back to Boromir, and grabbed Frodo's shoulder to help him in his struggle.
"Gandalf!" His voice strained, anxious and hopeless.
Gandalf stared at the hobbit. Frodo's heart thrummed painfully fast beneath my fingers.
"Fly, you fools!" Gandalf said, releasing the edge and tumbling.
Frodo's heartwrenching cry echoed my own heart.
"No!"
After the awful crushing of frozen time had begun to pass, Aragorn grabbed me, hefted me onto his shoulder, and dragged me out after Boromir. I took an arrow to the upper arm, and black blood trickled down my shoulder to my elbow. I cared not; it did not hurt, it only exhausted.