Amera held back a sigh as Pippin bumped into her back yet again, slipping on the steep stone stairs. She imagined that the next time she bathed and stripped off her filthy clothes, a distinctly hobbit shaped bruise would be pressed into her skin.
"Sorry, Mera'!" He murmured, clearly embarrassed at this point.
She shrugged amicably, glancing over her shoulder. "It's alright. Rather you bump me than tumble."
Pippin offered a quick smile and she continued onwards down the staircase, casting a wary glance towards the corpses littering the scene. She had presumed her extreme discomfort to be from the chaos of Moria, the stone roof and bodies and broken arrows and gaping chasms, but as their journey continued onwards Amera had slowly begun to realize there was more to her inexplicable anxiety. Save for the first night, when she had gotten a decent sleep after conversing with Boromir, she had been unable to get a wink of sleep. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw flame, flickering from the darkness before bursting into a wildfire. She would open her eyes then, shaking, and more than once she had needed to bite her lip to keep from crying out.
As she rounded a corner, considering her troubled dreams, Legolas guessed at her troubles. He slipped into Elvish, speaking softly. "You look ill at ease, Amera."
"I cannot grow comfortable here." Amera admitted, replying in his tongue. "My dreams worry me, though I cannot explain them."
Legolas frowned deeply, choosing his words carefully as he walked alongside her. "What is it you dream of?"
"Shadow." Amera brushed back hair away from her eyes slowly, "And flame. Fire out of the darkness."
His handsome face grew dark. "Then you sense it, as well." She said nothing, disturbed by the revelation that Legolas, who had the keenest senses of all the Fellowship, was haunted by something unsee, as well. Her fears, it seemed, were not unfounded. "We are not alone," Legolas continued, lowering his voice to a mutter. "Something dwells here, something unseen. We must not tarry in this place. I fear if we do."
"And is there a chance I might happen to know what we're discussing?" Pippin asked irritably from behind her. "I'm feeling more than a bit left out of the conversation, considering I don't understand a word of it."
Legolas and Amera exchanged a look. "Forgive me," Legolas apologized, inclining his head. "I had not meant to be rude, Pippin. We were merely discussing our desires to be free of the mines."
It was a lie, well, a partial one, but Amera did not correct him as a light suddenly illuminated the cavern before them. Up ahead, Gandalf's staff had begun to glow fiercely, casting white light into the dark, vast chamber surrounding them. Amera had been so tired she had been focusing on nothing save stepping carefully, exhausted by the caution required in Moria, that she had assumed them to be in just another hall. However, as the light spilled onto the forest of pillars stretching far above her head, she gasped softly.
As far as she could see and as far as the light could stretch stood enormous pillars, hewn from dark stone and proudly lined in dwarven fashion. It seemed a sea of them and she heard Gandalf announce from up ahead that this was Dwarrowdelf. Despite the silence and the great darkness, Amera found she was able to imagine the city as it once must have been, as it should be, as they all walked in awe. Dwarves, men, women and children alike, must have trekked beneath the arches just as she did now, the vast city ringing with laughter and life. They would be carrying their wares, food and gems and gifts and weapons, torches battling the darkness of Moria and casting the realm in bright light.
Sam murmured his wonder beside her and each in the Fellowship walked wide-eyed, even Legolas. It was breath-taking, the proud architecture, and it seemed to her that just as the elves made their cities out of earth, out of tree and water, so did the dwarves turn to stone. Gimli had just cause to be proud. It was silent save for the clicking of their boots upon the dusty floor. Amera had never felt smaller. She imagined she must seem a tiny dot, just a slow moving speck beneath the towering pillars. Neither Minas Tirith nor Annuminas, for both their grandeur, had caused such reaction from her. Dwarrowdelf was something different entirely, something ancient and unmoving and cold despite its beauty.
They walked in impressed silence, each craning their neck upwards from time to time. Aragorn had lit a torch, the added light welcome. She determined the realm must stretch on for leagues. Turning to ask Gimli if he knew of how large Dwarrowdelf truly as, Amera was startled by the dwarf's sudden cry of anguish. He sprinted forward towards an open door before any could stop him, ignoring Gandalf's call.
Moving quickly after him, her hand resting by her blade, Amera cast a worried look towards the corpses littering the doorway. There had been a battle here of some sort and the dwarves had clearly lost. She paused as she saw Gimli kneel before what appeared to be some sort of a stone casket, the sort kings and lords were laid to rest in, in the center of the chamber. He let out a sob of despair and Amera removed her hand from her sword. He knew whoever was buried here.
Her heart aching with further pity for the dwarf, who had endured far more than any of them the past few days continually stepping over his fallen kindred, Amera took a few steps back to allow him space. Grief was something was to be experienced alone, or at least that was how she preferred to mourn, and though she could not grant him privacy, she determined she would do the best she could. She cast her gaze around the room. It was a small chamber, the floor and second level filthy with bodies and ruined pages of parchment. Weapons lay broken in corners along with crumbled stone. It was an uncomfortable sight, made all the eerier by the pale light that illuminated the tomb Gimli now openly before.
Gandalf moved to read the runes inscribed into the dusty stone. "Here lies Balin," He stated, "Son of Fundin, lord of Moria." He sighed, removing his hat and glancing back to the rest of the Fellowship. "He is dead then. It is as I feared."
Gimli let out a pained cry.
Her heart filled with dread at the realization. If the lord of Moria, Balin it seemed his name was, had fallen, then no doubt so also had the rest of Moria. There was no hope for the Fellowship to meet any still living within the Mines. They were truly alone. Amera shuddered. She saw the hobbits, Sam in particular, appeared as anxious as she felt.
As Gandalf knelt down to pry a large book from the skeletal hands of a corpse resting against the cairn, she felt a small tug on her robe.
"Amera," Merry whispered urgently as Gimli continued to weep, "I don't trust this place. We should keep moving."
She knew he was right. "Allow him time to grieve, Merry," Amera replied quietly, "Soon enough we will be on our way."
He nodded, but remained wary. She did not blame him.
"They have taken the bridge and the second hall." Her attentions were focused once more on Gandalf as he flipped open the worn pages, reading softly. "We have barred the gates but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep."
Amera swallowed hard, curling her fingers into firsts as she worked to fight back the wave of claustrophobia that washed over her, prompted by Gandalf's ominous words. Sam fidgeted uncomfortably beside her and Boromir looked noticeably worried.
"We cannot get out," the wizard continued, "A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out. They are coming."
A metallic clang then filled the chamber, shattering the silence. Amera nearly cried out in surprise, drawing her blade in an instant reflex. A body that had been slumped over the edge of a well plummeted into the darkness, dragging with it a heavy chain and bucket. They all stared in wide-eyed, silent horror towards a horrified Pippin as the noise seemed to reverberate throughout all of Moria. It continued for far longer than Amera could have expected; the thuds and clanks echoing and echoing until a complete silence.
Finally, after a long moment, Amera allowed herself to breathe. The rest of the Fellowship joined her. "Fool of a Took," Gandalf glowered murderously, "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!"
Pippin lowered his head in shame, flushing brightly in his humiliation. Had she not been so fiercely on edge, Amera might have comforted him but for now he only received her silent pity. She slipped her sword back into its sheathe and ran a hand through her dirty hair, her heart racing. Thud. She froze, her breath catching. It had surely been a trick of her worry, the noise, it had to be. Turning back to face the well, Amera was flooded with fear as another single, slow thud sounded throughout the deep of Moria.
Then came another, and another. The drumbeats grew louder and louder, faster and faster. They were not alone, not anymore. Boromir was the first to move out of startled horror, sprinting towards the door. Amera, adrenaline surging through her as the sounds of goblins and other creatures of the depths grew louder, drew her blade in an instant. Behind her Gandalf grabbed for the halflings, corralling them together while Aragorn helped Boromir barricade the door. Her fingers gripped around the familiar leather of her sword tightly as she prepared herself, everything moving at whirlwind speed around her.
Legolas and Aragorn stood on either side of her, their weapons at the ready. She drew in a slow, small breath. It seemed to her the beating of her heart pumped even above the rising clamor of the goblins shrieking in the distance. She had seen battle before. She had been afraid then and she would not be afraid now. Amera closed her eyes.
I am Aeliniel. I am born of Nenuial. I have guarded the tombs of the ancient kings and I have guarded their city.
Her fingers gripped tighter around her sword, holding it at the ready. The goblins pounded against the doorframe, screaming.
I am Dagorwen. I am honored of the first born and a champion of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. I will not flinch. I will not fear.
Amera opened her eyes. Around her the rest of the Fellowship prepared themselves for the sea of battle that would sweep over them at any moment. Boromir caught her gaze and they exchanged a silent understanding. Be safe. Fight hard.
Then the doors broke. Goblins swarmed towards them in a dark mass, their crude blades glittering in the faint light. Amera roared and side stepped a blow from a mace, driving her sword through a neck with all her force. She briefly met a yellow-eyed gaze wide with surprise at her swift instincts. A quick parry and thrust and the eyes were dull with death. She hacked and slashed, her reflexes singing with battle. She had drawn blood before, long ago, and had wept for it. But now, as she twisted her blade around her wrist in a single motion, defending a low cut before plunging the sword into the chest of a rushing goblin, there would be no tears.
Sam forced himself to choke back the bile stinging the back of his throat as he fought. After all this, then he could be sick but for now his focus had to remain solely on his sword. He cried out as he ducked a blow from a creature far longer than himself, grateful for Merry's blade that cut into its back a moment later. They had clumped together as best they could, the hobbit, as per Gandalf's orders. He had quickly found himself growing used to the tide of battle. He felt reassured by Pippin's shoulder nudging against him as they kept close to the wall. Aragorn, Legolas and the rest were the true warriors. He was content to keep himself and his friends safe.
He managed to deflect another strike, swinging a pan with his left arm towards the goblin. It smashed into its hideous face with a resounding clang, knocking the creature backwards long enough for him to stab it. He ducked again, catching glimpse of something from the corner of his eye, and delivered yet another assault with his pan. Sam felt a rush of courage surge through him and moved away from the rest of the hobbits with a proud yell. He brandished his sword, glad to be of aid to the Fellowship as he cut down two small archers.
However, his feet caught on the rubble strewn over the steps, his balance thrown off as he deflected a crude sword. Sam stumbled and fell in a tangled heap at the bottom of the stairs, starring upwards in horror as a goblin towered over him. It was brawnier than the rest, taller and stronger, and he realized it must be some sort of captain. He rolled onto his side with a cry for help as a blade arched through the air towards him, desperately reaching for his sword amidst the deafening chaos. His fingers reached up a chunk of rock and he hurled it with all his mighty. The captain staggered back with a roar of confusion, clutching his face.
He vaguely heard someone cry for him to hold on, scrambling backwards towards his sword. Just as his fingers clutched around it, prying it from beneath a fallen goblin, something silver glittered in the air, too fast for him to recognize. The goblin suddenly howled anew, a dark spurt of blood gushing from the dagger that had struck it's neck. Sam caught sight of Amera moving like quicksilver through the fray, her blade moving as fluidly as water. She moved with the same graceful, lethal precision as the elves, as Legolas and as he drove his sword into the armored chest of the captain, she cut through its neck. Kicking the body aside and retrieving her dagger, Amera helped him bring down another enemy before crying out, "With the rest of the hobbits! Hurry!"
They met eyes very briefly and she offered him a nod of comfort before disappearing once more into the chaos.
Amera growled with disgust as her sword cut through another foe, her arms aching with battle. The sea of goblins seemed endless. For each one she defeated, another screamed and took its place before her, swinging a hideous weapon that paled in comparison to the elven steel in her hand. Her mind was utterly vacant, filled with nothing but the base reflexes that kept her alive and her friends safe. She heard a great roar behind her and glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening as a cave troll smashed through the door. A club swung from his mighty hand, obliterating any that stood in his pass, friend or foe.
A part of her, deep within, sighed heavily. Were not goblins enough? She leapt upwards onto the tomb of Balin, plunging a dagger into an exposed neck with one hand before twisting it to cut the throat of another goblin. Willing precision into the dagger, she threw it with all her might towards the troll. It landed with a dull, wet thud just below the beast's neck. It roared in fury and she ducked a swing from the club as it charged forward, quickly leaping to the side as it swung again. A goblin that had made the mistake of standing too close to her and not moving quickly enough erupted in a burst of blood and armor as the club slammed into it.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the troll set its sights on Sam. Rushing towards the troll, Amera gasped with relief as Aragorn and Boromir marshaled their tremendous strength together, pulling on the chain connected to its collar. The massive foot stopped far too close to Sam's head for comfort, but stopped all the same. The beast turned, eyes dull with stupidity and rage, and its arms flailed wildly as it was choked back. Aragorn fell back, narrowly missing a swipe, crashing to the floor as the troll growled. Only a second later, Boromir stared down at the chain now limp in his hands and Amera cried out as he was savagely hurled across the room. His broad form slammed against a pillar, his sword and shield clattering from his hands. He did not move.
Before she could so much as think, she found her feet flying over the blood stained ground towards him. She cut down anything in her path with a renewed savagery, her blade singing with blood and battle. Her mind ignored the screaming pain in her legs and arms as she swung and parried with fluid fury. Boromir was still unmoving by the time she reached him. She killed the goblin nearest him, driving her sword into its chest before kicking her blade free of his corpse. Kneeling down, her hands shaking furiously, she bit her lip with the effort required to pull his limp form away from the battle behind a pillar.
Once there, she frantically brushed her wild hair behind her ears and cradled his head, terrified as he remained still. She brushed his hair away from his eyes, her fingers leaving a trail of blood over his forehead. Amera shook her head, biting her lip down as she willed him to move, choking back tears she had not expected. "Please, please please please," She muttered urgently, slipping into Sindarin without thinking. A shriek sounded behind her and she hurled a dagger reflexively as she turned her head, a goblin collapsing as the steel pierced its neck.
A strange terror surged through her as she looked down at his pale face. Utterly unsure of what to do, she dug her fingers into his shoulders and shook him roughly, needing him to wake. She saw his eyelids tremble and she immediately stopped, nearly collapsing with relief as his eyes slowly opened. His emerald gaze was hazy with confusion and he tried to say something but was unable, clearly feeling the results of his head slamming against the pillar. Trying to gain understanding of his surroundings, he blinked a few times and raised a hand to his head. Their gazes met and he went to speak again, but Amera silenced him before she could stop herself by abruptly moving her own head forward.
Her lips crashed into his own clumsily. Amera tasted blood and was not sure if it was from his mouth or her own. His beard brushed against her. She had never kissed anyone before, certainly not in battle as her entire body shook with exhaustion and adrenaline, but it was a kiss all the same, desperate and unrestrained and relieved. It ended as soon as it had begun and she recoiled, shocked by her own action. Boromir stared at her with eyes wide with complete confusion, no doubt mirroring her own. The moment passed and she remembered the battle surrounding them, rising to her feet and extending a hand to him. He struggled to rise briefly and she helped him, their eyes meeting before she looked away. Grasping her dagger out of the fallen goblin, she caught glimpse of Merry and Pippin across the chamber, sprinting towards them into the fray of a battle she that did not terrify her as much as the emotions that had, for one fleeting moment, surged through her and controlled her.