AN/CW: I'll try not to get too gross about it but for all that she is seen as a rather manly woman, Cass is a person who menstruates. This is setting up for later parts of the story including how Gondorian culture treats women, elves being uncomfortable about sex, and the ironies of being in a body that is supposed to be able to give life but being way better at bringing death. And a gag later on that I think some of you might have a laugh at.

Chapter 32: Orcs and Elves

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

My grip tightened on the old wooden shaft of my found weapon. I swallowed around the lump in my throat and hoped to whichever deities were listening that I'd get to see the sky again before I died.

Faux casually I swaggered to stand beside Boromir, glaive ready to swing. Hopefully it was still sharp, I thought as I exchanged determined nods with my husband.

"Let them come!" Gimli roared, standing on his kinman's sarcophagus, "There is one dwarf yet in Moria that still draws breath!" Way to guarantee us getting curb stomped, Gimli.

A couple of holes were cut into the door. In amazing feats of archery, Legolas and Strider managed to shoot through them and the screams they got for it were both terrifying and satisfying.

More and more holes developed until finally the hinges failed and both doors were slammed downward into the floor, revealing the oncoming horde. Like every other goblin I had ever seen they were ugly as hell and the last few arrows Legolas and Strider fired proved that their armor was no better. They charged without thought of their own lives, only to lose them.

Bless Boromir for trying to look after me, getting immediately between me and the orcs, but all too soon we were surrounded in a flood of enemies. We ended up sort of back to back; his fighting style was rather stationary, part of a wall, while I had to move around simply to use my weapon. But there was no getting past either of us.

It almost looked like we would survive long enough to flee.

Then with a roar, the doorway seemed to be blasted apart by an enormous stone colored body that was led in on a chain. Its round head was tiny but its beady little eyes were full of malice as it swung its enormous fucking club. The cave troll was here.

Automatically I moved out of its way, slashing at various orcs but with one eye on the troll at all times. It was strong enough to smash Balin's sarcophagus open, showering us all in bits of bone and stone, its skin thick enough that Legolas's arrow and Gimli's thrown axe were mere annoyances. As I stabbed one unfortunate orc in the groin, I noted with alarm that it was going after one of the hobbits.

Without thought I left my borrowed glaive stuck in another orc's head to dive for the chain attached to the troll's collar, pulling with Boromir and Strider to keep the thing from having hobbit toe jam. We were even able to pull it off balance to our surprise. At that point I dropped the chain again in favor of picking up a fallen enemy's sword and cleaving another goblin that was coming up behind Strider.

Boromir, meanwhile, just fucking stood there until the troll whipped its chain so hard that he went flying against a wall. He looked barely conscious as he fell a good dozen feet to the floor.

I huffed, shook my head, and dodged several enemies on my way over. No time, I realized with growing panic; an orc was standing over him, ready for the kill. I pushed another orc out of the way with my bare hand in order to sprint the last few steps and jump on Boromir's would-be assailant. I'm not sure how I managed to stab it at least ten times within a minute but this thing was not getting to kill him.

The moment Boromir seemed to come back to full consciousness, I darted off to try my luck at the troll. It was looking around the upper levels for something; I took advantage of its distraction. Inspired by being about knee height on it, I dropped the sword in favor of one of Gimli's discarded axes for better heft and with a loud shout, I swung with all the force I could muster. My aim was true and somehow my strength was enough to get through the thinner skin behind its knee, sending it to the floor with an earth-quaking roar.

Just to make sure, I ripped the axe out and dodged its angry swat in order to get the tendons behind the other knee. Black blood sprayed my face this time, blinding me for a long moment. "Agh!" I stumbled backward, trying to tear up faster in order to clear my eyes.

I'm not quite sure what hit me but it smelled like troll feet and sent me flying several yards. A hard hit to my head dazed me; I wasn't sure which way was up and sound briefly blurred. For a long moment I couldn't breathe. Loud ringing in my ears made me flinch and slap my hands over my head.

And dear lord, my back hurt! It had been aching off and on throughout Moria, but this was like that fucking bunker. A spasmodic jerk assured me that yes, at least I could move my legs, even if I wasn't quite sure how.

Gentle hands pried my palms from over my ears and Strider was really fucking lucky I could smell that it was him. I still jumped of course, blinking wildly. "Wha?" I grunted and peered blearily up at him.

Slowly his face came into focus, frowning as he examined my skull. "Can you move?" he asked quietly.

"Help me up," I groaned and barely missed hitting him with my tingling arm. At least I could feel it fine when he wrapped his hand around my wrist and pulled me up. I swore when I stumbled and needed to lean on him for a moment; he needed a bath so badly.

"Cass? Are you alright?" It was Boromir's voice; he frowned down at me with concern and wiped at my scalp with a finger; it glistened red in the sparse light. Pot, meet kettle, I thought somewhat deliriously.

There was a faint, echoing screech that shot through my aching head like an arrow. I halfway wanted an arrow in the brain just to make the pounding stop. It only got worse as my pulse sped up at the realization of what those renewed shrieks meant.

"Can you run?" Strider questioned hastily.

I jerked my head in an approximation of a nod; I'd learn to fly if I needed. Despite that, I stumbled when he released me and with one hand on Boromir's arm followed our fleeing friends out of the chamber. Damn all the stairs going down, I thought as we descended in the near-darkness.

We reached the end and finally there was level ground to run on. Fear took us forward with orcs coming at us from every side. There were even orcs scurrying from holes in the ceiling like the insects they were.

I skidded to a stop before I could run into the assembled orcs' weapons and found the breath caught in my chest. Goblins on all sides and above us, and no way to go below.

We cannot get out.

I fumbled for Boromir and squeezed his hand around the handle of his shield. With my other hand, I reached for the hammer that had miraculously remained on my belt this whole time. If we were going to die, we'd take out as many of these bastards as we could on our way to Valhalla.

Red light caught my eye from further down the hall. There was a sort of growl that echoed, almost rippled through the pillars toward us.

Immediately the orcs panicked. As fast as they had appeared they disappeared, down floor drains and up pillars.

Gimli laughed but the knot in my stomach only grew more heavy and painful. If an army of orcs were frightened off, this could only be bad news.

The red light seeped further down the hall.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir asked in barely more than a murmur. Minutely, his hand shook on his sword.

I put my hammer back on my belt in preparation for more running.

When Gandalf spoke, his voice was defeated in a way I had never heard from him before. It scared me even more than the orcs running away. "A balrog," he answered darkly, "A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!"

It felt almost too late. The floor vibrated with one huge, heavy footstep after another as we desperately ran, faster than I think I've ever run in my life. We passed through a doorway that I hoped would be too small for whatever a balrog was to fit through, then down even more goddamned stairs in the near-blackness.

There was a yelp from up front and everyone stopped so suddenly that I almost barreled into Sam. "Go right!" Legolas shouted.

Now I was near the front of the procession and even though my head felt like it was in a forge, my back was screaming, and my stomach was in painful knots, I kept running down the stairs as fast as I could. A gap in the stairs a couple feet wide didn't stop me. In fact, I sped up in order to jump the gap and barely kept from rolling the rest of the way down.

It at least gave me a little time to pull myself together while everyone else negotiated the gap. Blood was dripping down my hair and scalp and I prayed I wouldn't get an infection from this stupid place, or the orc blood I was covered in. Was my back injured? Nothing particularly zinged when I gently pushed on each vertebrae, the entire thing just felt like I'd been… well, slammed into a stone wall.

Worst of all was the growing ache in my lower stomach that made me feel like getting sick over the side of the stairs. Not now, I demanded of my body.

Only luck kept me from being shot by the arrows that orcs fired at us while Strider and Frodo, the two most important people in this goddamned party, were stuck on the other side of a gap now far too large to jump. What the hell? Why hadn't somebody tossed Frodo over first?

That didn't matter in the end; the collapsing ceiling was kind enough to bring them to us and we continued to flee.

Again we encountered a long pillared hall and with it, the enormous footsteps were back; we barely, barely outpaced it as Gandalf shouted, "Over the bridge! Fly! Fly!"

I wanted to tell him to shut up and run but didn't have the air for it. The deep, panting breaths I took were almost too painful to continue but it was either gasp for breath or die. Momentum kept me going even over a narrow bridge that must have once been terribly useful. Now we were all just struggling to not look down; I prayed there wasn't a sudden downdraft.

Miraculously everyone made it over, stopping to briefly catch our breath. Everyone except Gandalf.

No, the old wizard had stopped dead in the middle of the thin stone bridge, facing what I could only describe as a goddamned demon. The sight of that thing would make anybody religious, I realized weakly. And Gandalf was going to face this thing? Alone?

"You cannot pass!" the wizard shouted at the balrog.

On ne passe pas, I thought; this was Gandalf's Verdun.

"Gandalf!" Frodo yelped.

For the first time, I got a good look at some real wizardry: Gandalf lit up the bridge around him with a bubble of light from his staff as he proclaimed, "I am the servant of the sacred fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! Dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun!" I didn't understand a lick of it but it sounded cool as hell.

The balrog tried to smite the tiny being that stood in its path with a sword made of motherfucking fire. It was driven back with a roar, its sword broken on Gandalf's protective shield of light.

"Go back to the shadow!" Gandalf bellowed.

This time the balrog snapped a whip. Nervously I watched the tip swing around, hoping it wouldn't go for any of us.

"YOU… SHALL NOT… PASS!" Gandalf's voice filled the enormous, echoing chamber as he struck downward on the bridge with the butt of his staff. Faintly I heard a crumbling sound.

Arrogantly the balrog stepped forward onto the bridge. In one of the most spectacular sights of the world it fell into the abyss, not even able to be saved by wings like a bat's that spread from its back in a cloud of ash.

Again, everyone else relaxed and I stayed tense. Training stated that until I knew for sure that an enemy was fully gone, I should never turn my back on them; the red light still reflected off the sheer walls.

Gandalf sighed and his shoulders slumped wearily as he turned around. In a horrible, horrible split second, there was a flash of red light and suddenly he was pulled over by the balrog's whip. Barely he hung on by the tips of his fingers.

Frodo tried to run forward and help our friend, but there was nothing he could do. There was nothing any of us could do against something like the balrog. Boromir and I held back the screaming hobbit, me gritting my teeth against the renewed pain in my head. He was a slippery little dude and in the end Boromir had to pick him up and carry him like I do to my nephew when his hips hurt, shouting… something. I couldn't quite hear him over Frodo's tearful screams and the pounding of my heart.

Gandalf said something and then he- I couldn't quite believe that he let go. Just like that, he released his grip on the bridge and was gone.

Disbelief radiated through me as I stared at where our friend had fallen from. Of all the people to die, Gandalf was the last I had expected; he was centuries old and now that was suddenly over, just like that?

Faces flashed before my eyes- Jerome, Shahrazad, Irene, Tyler, Angel. This wasn't the first time I'd lost a comrade but it hit harder than any other. My heart ached even worse than my back as I grabbed Strider's arm and pulled him toward the stairs that led to freedom.

We emerged in sunshine that seemed too cheerful for what had just happened. Why wasn't it raining? Had the world just not gotten the memo yet that Gandalf- wise, funny, surprisingly optimistic Gandalf, was dead? There should have been a storm raging with the same strength as our loss.

Again Boromir was holding someone back, this time Gimli. Tears were in both of their eyes and I more than understood the dwarf's need for revenge, it burned in me too.

Instead my body decided that it was a fantastic time to collapse. Now that I was out of danger (for the most part) my adrenaline was dying down and I realized with dread that it was the only thing keeping me functional. It felt like my spine was being used as a whip against my lower back; the pain from my head spread down my neck and shoulders until it hurt to move them at all. Worst of all, I leaned over and finally got sick from the multitude of things I was feeling but especially the tight grinding feeling in my lower abdomen.

Barely I kept myself from falling into my own sick with exhaustion and agony.

"Cass?" Boromir whispered and his hand on my shoulder was comforting.

"Uuugh," I groaned.

There were footsteps nearby but I didn't feel like seeing what was happening. Could I maybe just stay here and be absorbed into the rock?

"Legolas, get them up," Strider called.

Angrily, Boromir argued, "Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" His thumb rubbed the back of my neck and I dry heaved.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs!" Damn Strider for being so logical. "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien."

Miserably I groaned. "How far is that?" If it was more than a few miles, I wasn't sure I could make it.

"Close," Boromir promised, "Can you walk?" He was obviously tired, the entire company except maybe Legolas and Gimli were.

I couldn't be a burden when we were all at our limits. Even though I wasn't sure I could, I forced myself to sit up. It made me dizzy but I didn't let Boromir see it and instead pulled myself up using his arm. My legs shook noticeably.

Suddenly Strider was in front of me and I jerked back against the sudden intrusion.

Cautiously he raised his empty hands. "Let me see your head now that we're in the light," he murmured and rearranged a little of my hair. Thankfully he didn't try to touch the wound with his dirty hands. "This needs to be bandaged," he declared, then asked sternly, "Are you injured elsewhere? Like perhaps, your back?"

I went to shake my head but had to swallow back bile at the slight movement. "Hurt but not injured," I replied grimly, "As long as we don't have to run again, I can make it." I didn't know if that was true but I'll be damned if I didn't try.

Very briefly Strider paused to bandage my head, winding the cloth tightly enough to constrict the pounding feeling. It almost helped.

Then we had to go. There was no other option than to make Lothlorien by nightfall, not with such precious cargo.

With one hand on Boromir's arm, I began to shamble after the rest of the company. There was no conversation; we were all too weary and grief stricken. I was simply grateful that I didn't have to pretend to be coherent.

Warm, thick wetness shocked me out of my dizzy non-existence and I swore. "Just a sec," I told Boromir with a groan, "Can you turn around?"

This wasn't supposed to happen for another two months at the very least but I had brought a little something along, just in case. My menstrual cup had been in my bag upon getting here and I was so grateful for it; moving was so much easier with this in than a wad of soaked cloth in my pants. With some sick little squelches everything got in place and I carefully adjusted my clothing until I looked fine except for my bloodied hands. "Can somebody pour water? I need to wash my hands," I requested and held out my palms in preparation

Boromir went white. "You told us you weren't injured!" he scolded.

Within seconds Strider was there and he similarly balked. "Where is your wound?" he questioned and looked ready to undress me by force to find it.

My face went hot. Oh gods, this was the last thing I wanted. Even the hobbits looked frightened of what admittedly did look like a lot of blood streaked across my skin. "What? Never heard of menstruation before?" I laughed awkwardly.

If possible, Boromir and Strider looked even more frightened. Fucking babies.

At least Gimli seemed to have a handle on his faculties and poured me enough water to clean my hands adequately. "It's just a bit of blood," he told the men gruffly, "The lass can handle it, you said we need to go."

I was so grateful for his nonchalance that I wanted to hug him. Once I could use some soap, I totally would.

Slowly, with everyone except Gimli looking even more unsettled than before, we continued on. It took an hour before we reached a shallow hill from where we could see a canopy of gold and green stretching as far east as I could see. Spirit seemed to infuse Strider and Legolas then: with new energy they urged us all forward.

Everyone except for Boromir, Gimli and I jogged the rest of the way. I physically couldn't, Boromir was the only thing holding me up, and Gimli looked like he was facing some new enemy as we approached the trees.

They were odd trees, I acknowledged as we entered the treeline. The tree trunks were an actual silvery color and not the white or grey I had seen on other trees and several we passed were thick enough for my bedroom to fit comfortably inside. Curiously I reached out and touched the bark, finding it smooth and pleasantly cool.

This place seemed to make Gimli as suspicious as Moria had made him excited, motioning the hobbits closer. "Stay close, young hobbits!" he told them in a hushed voice, "They say there's a great sorceress who lives in these woods. An elf witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell… and are never seen again."

I barely held in a scoff. For all that there was tangible power in this world, that seemed like a ridiculous rumor spread by those who have more fear than sense. Then again, dwarves and elves.

There was a pressure in my mind that seemed to try to form words and I shoved the ring back into its mental box. The throbbing in my head actually helped drown it out. This felt different from the ring but I wasn't going to take chances.

"Cass?" Boromir whispered.

I hadn't realized that I stopped until then. With a grimace up at him, I took a ginger step forward.

Movement from just past his head caught my attention and I stopped again. Years of watching for rangers in the trees was paying off; I counted at least two people watching us from the foliage.

"Well here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily!" Gimli boasted, "I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!"

He really should stop talking, I thought as numerous elves appeared out of the surroundings like magic. Arrows were pointed at faces without warning, each face as elegant and cold as a statue.

Boromir automatically tried putting himself between me and the nearest archer. Another changed his target from a Mexican standoff with Legolas to aim at me.

"The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark," said one elf silkily, apparently the leader.

Everyone froze and I wondered if they dreaded this as much as I. At least Gimli did, saying in a clear panic, "Aragorn! This place is perilous! We should go back!"

The leading elf answered for Strider. "You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back." He seemed to enjoy the dwarf's fear, the sadist.

Then his eyes darted to my head, specifically the bandages on it. "Your injured will be treated at an outpost. We need to move," he said to the group at large.

We were then escorted up a rope ladder dropped from some treetop platform. Sam was no more comfortable than Gimli, freezing every time the ladder so much as swayed in the breeze, while Pippin was practically elf-like in his agility. Meanwhile I excused myself to deal with my stupid womanly issues again, this time taking advantage of relative safety to properly wash my hands.

"Two of my men say that you spotted them earlier," the lead elf said from behind me.

I startled badly enough that I nearly fell in the brook. It brought back the nausea but hopefully I concealed it well. "They used the same tricks as some of the western rangers," I said faux casually as I waved my hands a couple times to dry them, "It was luck that I looked in the right place."

That appeared to satisfy the elf, who escorted me up one of the trees we were parked in. The hobbits and Gimli were seated or standing as close to the tree trunk as they could get without crawling inside of it, while Legolas and the lead elf immediately began speaking.

The translation spell came in handy again, but I was too tired to care much for what was going on at the moment. Everything hurt, including the motion of sitting down. With a hiss, I let my head fall back against the trunk of the tree and closed my eyes. Even though I'd probably get mistaken for an orc again, I hoped that we could stay at least a week until I got back on my metaphorical feet.

It seemed like minutes between closing my eyes and falling over onto my side. A near heart attack ensued and my wide eyes darted all around, seeing that it was dark. How had I managed to fall asleep so quickly and completely? At least I felt a little better in the head and most of my back, even if everything else felt like it was on the spin cycle of a washer.

Strider and Haldir were arguing quietly while everyone else tried to rest. Gimli was wide awake and following the conversation with suspicious eyes. Beside me, Boromir snored softly wrapped in his cloak.

"Cass?" Frodo's hesitant voice made me jump a little. When I looked over, my heart broke for him; the burden the ring already laid on him was only getting deeper with grief over Gandalf and it showed in his pretty blue eyes.

"Yeah? What's up, hon?" I whispered, to not disturb anyone else.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked.

For some reason I was blindsided. "Wha- yeah," I told him with a tired, tight little smile, "In a week or so I'll be as alright as I've ever been. I should be asking you if you're alright."

He returned the expression, only he looked haunted. "You always get hurt saving me," he murmured. Oh. Because of course the troll had been hunting Frodo when I hamstrung it.

I scoffed out a little laugh. "That's just proof that I love you. You're family, and if needed, I'm more than willing to die for family. Even without being on a quest to save the world." It was half joke, half serious; the entire fellowship by now felt as close to me as Stevie and Madhav, and one day I hoped that I could introduce them all to Tharbad. Everyone I knew and cared about in one place, safe and happy.

It was a pipe dream and I knew it. But to do the impossible, one needs dreams that are just as impossible as their task.

Frodo looked overwhelmed, eyes shining with tears. "Gandalf was family to me. I don't know what to do without him," he confessed in a choked voice.

"We have a phrase back where we come from, saying, 'what would Jesus do?' to guide us on the right path," I told him, smiling a little to myself, "Now it's usually used sarcastically, but maybe we should ask ourselves, 'what would Gandalf do?' when we're in trouble." I could always use more nuggets of wisdom like following my nose, or using well the time that is given to me.

I offered a hand.

It was taken and for a long moment we simply felt relief in the connection to another person in the face of struggle and loss.

Gently I squeezed his palm. "We'll get through this," I assured him with gravity that I didn't really feel.

"I hope so," Frodo murmured.

So did I.