Chapter 29

Fire and Blood

Author's Note: So... this took a while to get out and for that I sincerely apologize. Hopefully I can establish a more consistent update schedule for the next few months. Also, I apologize for this very short chapter. It's very much a transition chapter and sets a great deal up for the next phase of this story. I've determined that the next three or four chapters will contain the Fellowship in Lorien with Brianna and, frankly, I'm ready to start tackling them as I'm sure you all are ready to read it. Anyone getting frustrated with the romantic pining? I certainly am and I *wrote* it, haha!

Anyway, please enjoy! If you have any questions, comments, or concerns let me know by way of review!

Thank you!

January 14th - Mid-Afternoon - Isengard - Saruman's Study

Hades studied his estranged wife trying to decide whether he wanted to give into his rage or not. Beside him, Daenith stood silently with her hands clasped at her navel and a single blond eyebrow raised at her fellow siren. He understood Daenith's point in the matter. Incredulousness was his first reaction as he heard Persephone's report of her failure to ascertain the particular hobbit that had the ring. He desperately wanted to blame the entire fiasco on her, yet the truth of the matter - as unbelievable as it was - gave him pause.

Athena had a second child.

Athena had been in Arda during her exile. During that period of her life, she'd married and birthed two children and left one with the father upon her return to earth. Beside him, Queen Mab tapped the top of the table with a thoughtful expression on her porcelain face.

"To think the bitch queen had found her destined one here of all places," the queen muttered.

Hades glared at her and abruptly stood from the chair he'd occupied for the past thirty minutes while Persephone spoke. This information, while technically old news, was a development that he'd missed three thousand years ago. He approached his estranged wife and began to circle her. Persephone remained stoic and Hades had to keep himself from cringing in disgust at the sight of her disgusting face.

"What do we know of Legolas Thranduilion?" He asked.

"My sisters have discovered that Legolas is the son of King Thranduil in Mirkwood. King Thranduil was said to have a wife who took his eldest son and left for a strange land many years ago. No one knows where Thranduil's consort and his eldest son went, only that she felt the call of the stars and needed to leave. His son, Legolas, was a small child at the time and has few memories of his mother. The elven king will not speak of his late wife," she replied.

Hades growled. His darkness oozed from his pores. Even with the rift between this ardanian elf king and the last son of his niece, they could - and would - pose a threat to his part in Sauron's quest for power in the realm. Should his nephew be allowed to continue to work against them in any capacity, everything they worked towards would be for not.

"He can't protect the elven queen from the curse once it is cast," Mab reminded him.

"But her destined one can," Persephone said.

Hades froze. It couldn't be possible…

He whirled on her, red eyes blazing eerily in the dim candlelight. Persephone didn't flinch and continued to stare at him serenely.

"Who is her mate?" He hissed.

"A human," she stated through her damaged throat. "I do not know his name. I know he is dressed as one of the dunadan and wields a sword of flame. He fought with equal strength against my coven and killed my sisters with his wizard friend. I have seen his mind and strongly suspect that her intended one is he."

Hades considered this information. If they knew who her destined one was then there was a possibility of damage control. He looked to Persephone and nodded.

"Take care of the queen's puny human. I will redouble our efforts to finding the queen and ensure the curse is cast," he ordered.

Persephone inclined her head. Then, with a flare of ink black robes, she whirled around and strode out of the room. Two of her remaining coven sisters followed closely after. Hades turned to study Daenith. The elf's eyes were blank, but he could read her mind easy enough to know she found this entire venture distasteful.

"Your Grace, take Daenith into the wild and meet up with Erebus' scouting party. I will send a contingent of our own creatures with you. Make sure they know that their primary objective is the capture of Queen Aracasse ven Aldura and, once she is captured, they are to bring her to the both of you directly," he said.

Mab stood and inclined her head, "It will be our honor to follow through. Let it be known to your nephew that he will have his prize soon."

She left and Daenith followed after her a few steps behind. Hades was left alone to stew in anger and bitterness towards the spawns of his brother. At the end of it all, he would have his revenge. He would take the elven throne for Aries and spit in the face of Athena's legacy even if it was the last thing he accomplished with his miserable existence!

January 15th - Midday - Moria - the Dark Stairs

They only just reached the bottom of the stairs when a stab of white light briefly illuminated the narrow stairway. The drumming increased wildly, causing Aragorn's blood to thrum in time. Then, to the company's relief, the drums stopped and Gandalf flew down the stairs and stumbled to his knees among the company. Aragorn and Legolas quickly bent to help him to his feet. Gandalf's eyes were focused, but his legs were unsteady and it proved difficult to stand.

"That is over," Gandalf said while leaning heavily on Aragorn and Legolas, "I've done what I could, but I've met my match. It was nearly too much. No matter, we must go! Quickly!"

Aragorn heard the strain of urgency in Gandalf's voice and wondered at it. What had shaken the wizard so? What was so powerful that it nearly drained Gandalf of his strength? For a moment, he considered the possibility that they were pursued by those evil entities from Earth, but promptly banished such a dark thought. If that had been the case, the enemies of earth would have sent their sorcerers into the room with the goblins.

What was it? He wondered and glanced at Gandalf as he ran ahead with Gimli at the front.

They traversed the dark passageway for an hour in silence. Aragorn remained tense as he listened for even the softest signs of pursuit. None came and, finally, at the bottom of the seventh flight of stairs they'd hurried down, Gandalf halted and leaned tiredly against the black wall of the corridor.

"I think we've reached the level of the Gates by now," he gasped. "There should come a left turn soon, but I must rest before we find it."

"What happened at the door?" Gimli asked as he stepped forward to place a hand on Gandalf's arm.

The old wizard shook his head as his breathing - which had previous been harsh and abrupt - quieted. He took another moment longer to regain his breath before answering Gimli's question.

"I don't know what that was, but whatever was in that room was something I had never encountered before. Something of this world which had been long buried in the depths of Moria that never should have awakened," he said gravely.

Aragorn shuddered. It wasn't only the gravity of Gandalf's words that caused the action. The ominous feeling of evil that had been present in his mind seemed to grow.

"And what of you, Frodo? I feared Aragorn carried a dead hobbit until you spoke," Gandalf inquired.

"What about me?" Asked Frodo, "I am alive, and whole, I think. I am bruised and in pain, but it isn't too bad."

Aragorn's lips twitched from relieved amusement and he said, "I can only say that hobbits are made of a stuff so tough I have never met the like of it. That spear-thrust would have killed anyone else."

Frodo smiled, "I am not skewered, though I do feel as if I had been caught between a hammer and an anvil."

With Frodo's final remark, Gandalf rose to his feet. From Aragorn's vantage-point, it seemed as though his breathing was steady once more though he couldn't say for certain. They continued on and before long Aragorn and the rest spied a red light at the tunnel ahead. As they neared the light, it flickered and glowed on the walls of the far passage. Aragorn's heart pounded in his chest as the feeling of dread grew.

"Gandalf!" He whispered.

The wizard slowed the company to a halt as they came upon an arch that would have led them into another great cavern. He peered at the fire in the hall and frowned.

"There is some new devilry here," Gandalf observed. "But I know where we are. The gates are at least a fourth of a mile away."

Aragorn moved, intending to check the hall with Gandalf, started at the sound of the drums that began to pound, once again, throughout the cavern. He met the wizard's grey eyes as the dread nearly overcame him. His friend released a breath and closed those eyes a moment later.

"Run!" He barked and Gandalf leapt into the hall beyond.

The company hastened after him. In a time that seemed like an age, though Aragorn believed it was only a few minutes, the bridge stretched out before them. In front of the bridge was a great fire and he heard the scuttling foul cries of the goblins on the other side as well as above them. They reached the bridge just as the enemy began firing black-bolted arrows at them. The company halted once more and Legolas notched an arrow.

Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom doom! Doom!

"Lead the way, Gimli! Pippin and Merry will follow next!" Gandalf cried.

As Legolas turned to aim at the fire his arrow fell from his hand as the elf froze in horror. Aragorn looked beyond his friend at the great, flaming creature leapt into the hall. All warmth left him and he gaped at it in horror.

"A Balrog! A Balrog is come!" Legolas cried.

Aragorn glanced at Gandalf who leaned heavily on his staff and felt hope begin to leave him. The hoard of goblins followed behind the Balrog as it quickly advanced on them. Boromir raised his horn to his lips and blew. A challenge. Mouth dry, Aragorn turned and motioned for Gimli and the hobbits to continue their trek over the bridge. He drew his sword and followed Legolas as the elf shewed Boromir across. Gandalf stepped onto the bridge last and crossed until the middle. Aragorn reached the end and turned to face the Balrog as well. Boromir steppe up beside him, sword draw, and grim determination in his eye.

"Fly! This foe is beyond you! Fly!" Gandalf called.

Aragorn and Boromir glanced at each other and resolved not to move. The Balrog stepped onto the bridge. As the dread settled throughout Aragorn's being a new light coursed through his mind. The flames of his own sword flickered pale and bright against the red of the creature's.

"You cannot pass!" Gandalf cried.

The rustling in the cavern stilled and silence fell.

"I am the servant of the secret fire, wielder of the Flame of Arnor! You cannot pass! The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udun! Go back to the shadow from whence you came!" Gandalf said.

As the creature drew itself up and out, the wizard glowed white against it. For Aragorn, that light in his mind increased and, with it, a strumming in his soul. The flames wreathing Anduril pulsed. A red sword leaped out of the shadow and flame. The following clang resounded across the chasm. There was a white stab of fire and the Balrog stumbled back and away from Gandalf who stood small and white against it. The wizard swayed.

"You cannot pass!"

The Balrog leapt onto the bridge. Aragorn and Boromir cried and started to run for their friend just as Gandalf raised his staff and brought it down onto the bridge before him. It cracked at the Balrog's feet and the beast fell with part of the bridge, but not before his whip hissed out to grab Gandalf by his knees and pull the wizard with it.

"Fly you fools!" The wizard cried.

Aragorn, not heeding the order, leapt forward to grasp his friend's hand. He was too late. Without another word, the wizard disappeared over the edge and fell into the chasm along with the Balrog and was shortly lost into shadow. In disbelief, Aragorn fell to his knees, hand outstretched and unable to process the truth before him.

Gandalf was gone.

January 15th - Osgiliath - Night

Men screamed.

It was a typical occurrence on the frontlines. Captain Faramir held the city of Osgiliath by sheer force of will despite the fear, the pain, suffering, and the impossibility of survival. Ailiya had been with the men on the frontlines for two months doing the best she could to heal the sick and the injured. The Steward, Lord Denathor, who was also the Captain's father hadn't been entirely thrilled with the prospect of letting the blind healer leave the Healing Halls. Reason had prevailed in the end and Ailiya had accompanied the captain with a fresh squad of soldiers to the abandoned river city on his next outing. She had worked her magic on the soldiers by healing mortal wounds and bringing the men out of their fear-induced comas.

However, Ailiya was a good healer and every good healer understood the simple fact that men were fragile creatures and that she couldn't save everyone. This understanding weighed on her conscious this night as the ancient elf walked amongst the cots of men poisoned by a dark curse reminiscent of days long since passed into the far mists of time. She had saved those who she could - those who she were brought to her attention in time - but the more men that came into her ward the less time she was able to spend with them.

The young captain stood beside her as he inspected the terror that had befallen one particular division who had the misfortune of being on t he front lines when the knight elves finally decided to attack. While Ailiya couldn't technically see him, she knew the boy's expression was grim and resigned to the horrible death his men would face.

"Is there nothing you can do?" He asked.

Ailiya shook her head, "These men arrived when the curse was past it's earliest stages. There are only a few, opportune, moments for me to begin the process of breaking it and they arrived long after the moments passed."

She felt his distress and turned to where she knew she'd meet his eyes and said, "I am sorry for this, Captain. I would rather this not be their fate."

They stood in silence for several moments as the men who were surely doomed began sprouting black boils and screaming at a pitch which pierced her delicate ears. Beside her, Captain Faramir turned to one of his rangers.

"Give them a clean death. Put their suffering to an end," the man ordered grimly and placed a firm hand on Ailiya's shoulder. "Healer, save those you can. In the morning we will ride for Minas Tirith. I find myself in need of more men. Those who are crippled will be moved to the Halls of Healing."

"A wise decision, Captain," Ailiya said and meant it.

She turned and strode to the bed of a man overcome with the black fear - a result of the presence of one of the Black Riders - and began the process of bringing him out of his fevered dreams. One by one - as she had foreseen the morning before - the screams of the terminally cursed subsided. On the morrow, Ailiya anticipated the need to write and send a letter of great importance to Loki's group by the sea. The moment was nigh and they needed to prepare.