Hello my lovely readers thank you so much for reading my story, some of you may have noticed that I changed the cover of my Fanfiction. I did, I made it a real cover, instead of just a pic. I actually really like it, tell me what you think! I also did the same to my other books (Elven Princess Under the Mountain - LotR and The Story of How It All Happened - PJO) -you should go check them out *hint hint, nudge nudge*.
I have also been re-reading the chapters I have posted and becoming very aware of my crappy grammar and spelling mistakes. Also the fact that in one of the earlier chapters I wrote her eyes as mint green. They are grey. Sorry if any of you became confused. Once I am finished the story (I don't know how long that will take but I do intend to finnish it so please bear with me) I believe at one point I will go back and fix any grammar and spelling mistakes I find, along with any plot holes that may appear.
Sorry for the long author's note and the even longer gaps between updates. Thank you to all those readers that have been with me since the beginning, and who take the time to comment and review. (PrettyRecklessLaura) THANK YOU!
The insides of the Mines of Moria looked nothing like Under the Mountain. It was beautiful yes, but the way an aging woman was beautiful, mere echoes of former majesty. Dark and lonely. All shadows and secrets, dingy with gloom and despair. Sadness and death hung over the place like a heavy fog, bringing the spirits of the company down with every passing step. Where Moria was shadowy and somber Under the Mountain had been bright and joyus. Brimming with life and laughter. Children would run down corridors of stone, race through halls of rare metals. Mothers would nurse they're children as the men would march off to the mines, grinning in anticipation at what that day's dig might bring. The beautiful, artfully crafted walls would shine, rich and luminous, healthy and strong. Moria was a cruel mockery of her former home, Jackie decided, as she walked soberly beside Gimli. Offering silent support for the grief stricken dwarf.
It was nothing like they expected. Granted she had been passed out unconscious during their initial entrance to the mines, fighting off dreams and illusions of fiery pillars and ice queens. It had mortified her that she had been sleeping in Legolas's arms while their company was attacked by sea monsters and forced into mines. That she was unconscious and drooling when she could have been helping discover the riddle. She had come to this quest pledging her sword and skills to Frodo and had ended up taking a beauty sleep when he was truly in danger. She had done nothing to help this fellowship so far. And Boromir. Her face flushed -as much as her elven skin and pride would allow. That- that pig.
He had been decent she supposed, back in the forest. Seeing the walls she put up. Then there was her run in at the fire when he had stared at her like she was a piece of meat, and when she finally came to after being unconscious, a day into their journey through the mines, he had been the pinnacle of male nature. His grin was mocking and words were cruel diggs toward the female gender. Words and taunts that had still not abated three days later. The fact that she had been passed out in Legolas arms had supplied endless ammunition for his 'facts"
"Warrior." Boromir scoffed. "Please. Woman, more like. Typical women. A damsel in need of protecting, faint at the site of a horrible monster. Falling into the arms of a fierce warrior who not only protected the weak woman but helped saly the monster."
Many things were wrong with that statement. One; that she was unconscious due to getting a facefull of snow and nearly dying of hypothermia. Two; that they couldn't even saly the damned beast. And three; that he had never seen her fight and had no clue what her skill level might be, though she would be glad to test him in combat. And she told him as much.
The man just snorted. "I wouldn't want to mar your fine skin now would I? You have need for it to find a husband and be an accomplishment to this world. Our duel would be over before it began. I do not find women. I have no need, they are inferior."
She was fuming now. "How dare you! Women may be just as accomplished as men! Earn the same spots in government, be as smart, learn the same things, have the same jobs."
"Yes, by crawling into a man's bed. Is that how you managed a place at the council? Was it Elrond himself? One of his sons? Or maybe Aragorn?"
The ranger stepped in. "Boromir, such accusations are ungrounded."
The man just sneered. "It's the only way women accomplish anything in life. Opening their legs." He smirked at her, a pure grin full of male entitlement, intent in his eyes. "I'd be glad to carry you the next time you swoon my lady. After all you'll need someone to protect you from the dangers that lie beyond the kitchen. Of course you'll need to offer something in return and are expected to show me a good time, though they could be one and the same-"
Legolas stepped toward the man and glanced swiftly at Gandalf who sat moodily a rock, debating what of three hallways to take and paid them no heed. "Stand down boy."
Boromir narrowed his eyes. "Did you sleep with him too, crawling into his bed? Were you on hands and knees or did he have you splayed out-"
The Prince of Mirkwood growled low in his throat, flist clenching at his sides. "Finnish that sentence Gondorian and you will see what two centuries of life can teach someone."
The man smirked, but it appeared he had the good sense to shut up. He winked at her and gave a quick final retort before going off to survey the passages, "My bed role is the farthest from the fire."
Such taunts and comments had flowed no stop from his mouth since then, though he was more careful who was around him when he spoke. About her ineptitude in battle, the fact that she most likely slept with the majority of the fellowship and elves at Rivendell, how she should at least 'show him a good time'. She let it all brush over her. I am the rock on which the surf crashes against. He was an insignificant human man. Who would be nothing but dust on the earth in mere decades. Who was a short sighted buffoon, self interested, and an ego to match that of a king. But when they did face battle she could not deny the fact that she may or may not have plans to use her most complicated maneuvers, most daring moves and just how smart she was. And would do so with a smile on her face. Then she would make that man eat his words. Make him piss his pants when he realised just what she could do. But until then-
"Do you want to hold someone's hand my Lady? I believe it may become a little dark up ahead. We wouldn't want you to faint at the sight of such scary shadows." Boromir called from the back of their line, the only thing standing between them being four hobbits and a dwarf.
She ignored him, plowing ahead to the front of their company, passing Legolas who focused that intent blued eyed stare of his on her. Another person she had taken to avoiding. The Prince of Mirkwood. So far the dreariness of the mines and the taunts of Boromir had saved her from any conversation from her former superior, though she was not naive enough to believe that her good fortunes would last much longer.
She had revealed a bit more than was most likely wise. That she not only was raised by dwarves but was sentry for the royal household. It would raise questions that she did not want to answer her. If he did not remember her -through choice or otherwise, it did not matter- than she truly didn't want to talk about her time at Mirkwood. He would think her insane. Someone to be looked up. Or perhaps he would think of her as one of those vapid courtiers vying for a chance to be close to the throne. Perhaps he would think she was doing exactly what Boromir accused her of, trying to find her way into his bed through falsehoods and unbelievable tales of Dragons and Dungeons and Dwarves. No, she would not reveal she knew him. And once this insane quest was over she would return to Fangorn, maybe even visiting the Lonely Mountain and seeing her dwarven family. She had no knowledge whether or not Gimli still lived, she hoped he was. What would the dwarves say to her if they knew she was wallowing over some elven prince?
As if thinking of him summoned the blasted elf the Prince of Mirkwood himself pushed towards the front of the company, falling into step beside her. She didn't care how immature it made her, she stopped, moving toward the back of the company once more, willing to face Boromir rather than talk to Legolas. He followed. She sped up again. He followed. She tried to move back once more. Tried, before he shot his hand out to grip her arm.
"Are you truly that immature Dornessiti?" He murmured harshly, dragging her even farther ahead to bring down the chances of even the ceen eared Aragorn from hearing their conversation.
"I… I have no clue what you mean." She tried to put as much authority as she could into her voice.
"Do not play stupid Dornessiti, you are above that, I should hope."
"Explain." She dropped all semblance of civility, not downright hostility but enough ice in her town to make it clear that she did not appreciate the way the conversation was headed, even if it had just started.
"Now that you have finally given me the honor of holding your conversation," sarcasm was almost dripping from his voice, "I have questions. And I expect answers."
She was silent and apparently he took that as a cue to plow forward. "Raised by dwarves!" He spat out.
She scoffed. Deja vu much, isn't this what he kept circling back to last time? My being raised by dwarves? I suppose it was too much to hope that he could move beyond the stupid prejuduces his people -his king- holds so dear. "Yes, is there a problem?"
He narrowed his eyes, obviously not really liking her tone, he was a prince after all. To fucking bad. To fucking bad he lived in a world of stuck up assholes. To fucking bad his dad was their king, king prick, king asshole, king elf. To fucking bad he didn't rember her. Boo. Fucking. Who. "And you were a sentry at Mirkwood?" Not a question.
Deep breath. "Yes. I was one of the lower ones. Far garden patrols, Border rounds" The memory of her family's escape from the prisons of the Mirkwood realm surfaced as she lied smoothly to the prince. "Guarding the wine cellars and such. I doubt you would have seen me around."
He eyed her with apparent suspicion, as if he didn't wholly believe her. The explanation was simple enough, and made sense, and she knew that she was more than good at the art of lying. Impressive that he even doubted her. Maybe he's not completely daft after all. Or maybe- maybe some small part of him remembers me? His blue eyes pierced her grey orbs and she felt in that moment like he was looking through her skin and into her very soul. The very essence that made her her. She shivered.
In that moment an echoing plunk raced through the room they had entered. They all glanced at Mery as Gandalf, poor, exhausted, at the end of his patience, Gandalf exploded. "You fool of a Took!"
She took the excuse to flee -no she didn't like that word- leave, exit, avoid the princes gaze. One she knew continued to burn into the back of her head as she went to help Frodo un-stick a piece of his hair from his pack, all tangled up in the cooking pans that Sam had used to make greasy bacon on the night before over the measly fire they were able to make in the mines. Pans that they hadn't been able to wash.
"Throw yourself in next time, and rid us of your stupidity!"
Both her and a greasy haired hobbit flinched. Pippin looked forlorn, and quite obviously regretful for what he did. She pitied him. It was never fun to have Gandalf lose his temper, least of all opon yourself, and he was merely curious and bored, which could be very dangerous combinations. Drum beats began. Her head whipped up in shock as she met the fuming wizards eyes. She cast quick glances around the hall, no, the tomb. Noting the points of entry, and escape.
"Frodo!" Sam yelled, running to his master as Frodo drew his small sword. The blade was glowing a piercing, starlight blue. Screeching rose over the din of the speeding drums.
"Orcs." Legolas said softly, but by no means weakly.
Boromir, for all his sexist, arrogant faults, ran to the doors. Two arrows flew past his head, narrowly missing him and stuck fast to the door. Orc arrows.
Crawling out of her hiding place beneath a bush she was about to stand up, but a group of Orcs plowing through the trees behind someone usually makes them stay down, usually.
Cowering under her hiding place once again she watched as the horrible monsters killed every single elf in the village, growling and barking in some unknown language that hurt her ears to listen to.
She stayed still even when she saw things no child should have to see, even when they returned to the tree's on their wargs, riding swiftly back to the mountains, even when the fires turned to embers, even when the sun rose and set on the next day, and the day after that. Her mother's last words echoing in her mind; "lom- ye alā ettul- winimo, melinyel." (Elvish: hide and do not come out little one, I love you.)
She would kill them. Kill them all slowly and painfully and delight in their pain. She did not care that she was still recovering from nearly freezing to death. She had her suit, the black devil of a suit that had the high collar up to the bottom of her chin -as if Arwen had somehow known she had something to conceal along the bare expanse of her throat- a suit that was armor and death at the same time. These beasts had murdered her father and the other men, done so painfully and slow. Hade raped the women -the girls-, the mothers, those with bellies swelling with life, the virgins who would giggle and fawn over suitors, the children, some who were her own age at the time. They had no hearts, no soul. Their insides were withered and rotten. Not even the valar could save them. They did not deserve to be saved. Did not even deserve the thought of being saved.
Aragorn yelled to the hobbits as he drew his own blade, ancient and powerful and deadly. "Get back! And stay close to Gandalf."
The hobbits ran dutifully to the aging wizard, who put his arms around the small things. Boromir shut the doors quickly as Aragorn went to help barr it shut. As much as she would delight in rending orc flesh the hibbits should not have to see such a thing. They were still yet innocent to the majority of the world's horrors. And they would be in danger as well, as much as the Orcs may be monsters, there were a few who had the brains enough to go for the smaller, weaker targets rather than face warriors such as the others in the company.
Her blood chilled as the Gondorian called out for them all to hear; "They have a cave troll!"
Legolas began to throw axes to the two men in an attempt to help bar the door, prying weapons out of fallen dwarves' feet. Gandalf drew his sword, Sam, Merry and Pippin, seeing not only Gandalf, but Frodo as well with their weapons as well, copying the two. The doors were being battered. Gimli rose from where he had previously thrown himself on Balin's tomb. I will miss you old friend. May you find peace in whatever world comes next.
"AGH! Let them come! There's one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!" Stupid suicidal dwarves.
Aragorn and Legolas both drew their mighty bows. The strong wood gleamed in the faint light as the drums grew louder and faster still. She drew her own, her quiver of enhanced arrows seeming to hum in anticipation for the bloodshed to come. Valkyrie, she had named it all those years ago, bow of the incoming storm. Master of death, sure as lightning strikes and as swift as the fiercest winds. Valkyrie, myths and legends told around fires, stories her biological mother would whisper before tucking her in bed, tales her elven father would animate when she was cowering under tables, brought to life once more. She fired the first of her arrows through the small gap in the buckling door. She could hear the brutal screams as the tip of the arrow exploded in a echoing boom of powders and rock salts, all mined deep within mountains. She did not look to see if the arrow was returning to it's quiver. She knew it was. That was the ability all her arrows had, each one unique and beautiful and deadly, to return to her quiver as if by magic. If then men around her found this strange they did not comment.
As if her shot had broken a dam Legolas loosed his own arrow through the gap, followed by Aragorn. She managed to fire an arrow once more -this one flying through not one but seven orc skulls before it embedded itself in a far wall- before the monsters managed to break down the stone door. As the orcs rushed into the tomb and the world around her faded away into something of little consequence, she grinned.
Her blood sang with violence and cruel delight as she cut down orc after orc with daggers and arrows alike, all returning to her hand and quiver seconds, sometimes minutes after she loosed them. All -even the swift arrows- made of fine, strong, light metal. Mithril. A slash upward made an orcs guts spill to the floor. A swipe to the side slit another's throat. Dodge, stab, turn, fire. Duck, swing, fire, fire, fire. Her feet flew across the stone, dancing to an old song, one she had not heard in such a long time, but knew the moves to oh so very well. The ballad of death. It rose and fell in her veins. Climbing and climbing toward it's climax. Orc after Orc fell, with each corpse that hit the ground the swifter the dance became. They had marked her now, watched and seen as she felled all who dared come her way. They came to dance. Good. She wanted more partners, needed more partners.
As the violence filled her blood, as she continued to whirl around the floor, death incarnate, Jackie realised that, for the first time in a long time she felt alive. Her whole body was singing in tune to the bitter sweet melody that ran through her veins. Exalting at each body fell under her blades. The dance was fast, and fierce and vicious. Any error ment death. Any stumble brought a sword through your heart. A hesitation brang an arrow through the brain. And oh how she loved it. The thrill, the adrenaline of knowing that each step, each swift, precise move of her blades may be her last should she fumble. This peace, this is what a warrior is. The knowledge that though battle brings a high there are other things in life equally as precious. That this beautiful, deadly song can not be a life, not without ruining it.
And so the orcs kept coming, and Jackie Dornessiti, the orphan, the daughter, the sister, the warrior, continued to dance.
And then the world stood still. The music calmed into a soft tune as the fellowship lowered the weapons. If only for a second, to watch as a cave troll entered the tomb, a broken chain hanging around it's thick neck. Skin the off-white of marrow, skin thick as any armor a man could bear. The mighty beast bashed walls with it's fists, bringing ruble and stone raining down on the Orcs who had the misfortune of being in its way. The Elven Prince fired his arrow into the things chest, doing nothing save anger the creature as it bellowed with rage, the yell shaking the very mountain. And with that cry of fury the song began anew.
It raised it's mighty club over its head aiming to squash Sam into little more than a splatter of blood on the floor. She began to move, the melody in her blood urgent with the need to not only kill but to protect. The small, brave hobbit dove through the towering giants legs, confusing the dumb beast beyond that which it's pea brain could handle. It turned and followed the fleeing hobbit. It's steps slow and heavy, vibrating the world around it. Aragorn and Boromir pulled on the chain around its neck. A valiant effort to draw and divide the trolls attention.
"PULL!" The Ranger yelled.
Unfortunately for them, it worked. She ran toward the somewhat stupid but brave men -who had really no clue what to do next- a threw dagger after dagger into the beasts thick hide, stalling for mere seconds of time. The troll stumbled backwards, turning it's wretched mug toward her. Boromir was still holding the chain as it began to lurch toward her, and, as if just realising the man was there the beast used it to fling the Gondorian against the wall. A stray orc began to advance on the dazed Boromir, drawing a wicked and curved knife, she embedded her knife into its skinny neck, black blood spurting from the wound. Boromir glanced up to- Aragorn. And nodded his thanks. Aragorn just tilted his head quizzically before continuing to move toward her, killing any orcs unfortunate enough to cross his path.
The Troll smashed it's club into the stone walls of the tomb, causing Gimli to fall to the ground, heavy and weighed down with dwarf armor. Sam, Merry and Pippin dove behind a pillar. Orcs went flying as they got caught in the path of the mighty, barbaric weapon. Gili fell once more. Legolas stood in front of it, two arrows loaded on his strong bow and fired, the arrows flying straight and true, sending the monster stumbling. Gandalf held his own, standing guard near the hobbits as he felled orcs by both sword and staff. The Mirkwood Prince fought off orc after orc, standing on a platform, as the Mountain Troll went for him, swinging the mighty chain. The elf ducked and weaved, gracefully avoiding the clumsy, bulky attacks with elven speed and elegance. The chain wrapped itself around a pillar. Seizing the opportunity she nimbly jumped up to the chain, firing an arrow at a stray Orc in the chaos that reigned. Dornessiti walked up it swiftly, with poise she knew only an immortal could achieve, to the Troll's head. She flipped onto it's thick, ruff, muscle packed shoulders and fired an arrow into its head. Deaths Sigh. She had named the arrow, the first ever given to her by Thrain himself. The arrowhead made of Mithril, the shaft of a darker, copper shade of the same metal, silver engraving painstaking etched into it. The fletching stiff plumes of moon white bewitched to never fade or go lank. It's ability none, other than being able to fly through armor of any kind, be it skin or metal or both.
The beast screamed and reached for her. She merely smirked in satisfaction and jumped slightly down, landing in a crunch and holding her hand for the arrow to fly to. It did. Right through the skull of the beast. It tore through the forehead of the now dead -or at least dying- Mountain Troll and returned to her hand. She frowned at the blood and bits of brain matter. The chain snapped, leaving just the collar around the corpse's thick neck.
In her peripheral vision she saw Sam fighting orc after orc who marked the small hobbit as an easy target, hitting them on the head with his frying pan. "Think I'm getting the hang of this!" He shouted, whacking another beast on its head. She grinned, a dagger the length of her forearm sliding smoothly out of her suit, into her palm, and through an orc who though attack her from the side might actually change the fact she would murder it. Murder its entire species.
The Mountain Troll found Merry and Pippin and Frodo- it is supposed to be dead! The giant beast was far from dead as it lumbered for the hobbits. They all looked up in horror and ran to the sides as the troll smashed it's mighty club to the ground. Breaking stone. Aragorn shouted to Frodo amidst the fight, words most likely lost to the hobbit in the noise that was this battle.
"Frodo!"
Frodo hid behind a pillar. She watched as the troll thrust his ugly visage around the column of stone, sniffing, and swiftly began fighting her way over to the little hobbit. The troll moved around to the other side and Frodo -bless his little soul- had the good sense to slide around the pillar in tandem with the movements. As the hobbit completed a full rotation he sighed in relief. He thinks the troll is gone… The troll's face appeared in front of Frodo and roared. A loud bellow that made her finch, sensitive elven ears ringing. The troll reached out a meat, distorted hand and grabbed the hobbit by his foot, dragging him along the cold stone floor. His shout of her name pushed her to be even faster, to be even fiercer than she was before.
"Jackie!" He held fast to a pillar as he was dragged. "JACKIE!"
"Frodo!" She yelled in reply, freeing an orc from the burden of it's head.
She rushed over to him. The toll pulled Frodo off the small ledge and dropped to the floor. Jackie jumped in front of the massive thing as it raised it's heavy club above its thick head -blood gushing from a ragged hole near the top of its forehead. How it was still moving, nonetheless fighting was a feat in itself- to strike. She drove a nearby wooden stake into its chest, the troll let out another wretched scream, the tenderness of her already throbbing ears returning full force. Pippin and Merry -brave idiots- threw rocks at it's head. The troll took a swipe at Jackie, enraged, flinging her across the room. The last thing she saw was the impending wall before the chaos reigned around her turned swiftly into a blissful black silence.
There was pain. And darkness. And memories. The bad kind. And darkness, never ending, eternal darkness. At first it was comforting, the serene silence, the feeling of nothing, of not having a body. Just being her. It quickly became suffocating. The inky blackness closed in on her, a never ending wave of darkness crashing against her. She had somewhere to be, people to protect. She would not sit by idle again as the men did all the work. She would not prove Boromir right. She knew that this fog of dark gloom would come for her. There were things here she had yet to face, things that really, were the dark and lonely pieces of herself. That she ran from, every fucking day. Knew that she was merely postponing the eventual confrontation she knew she had to face. But- Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Aragorn, Boromir, Gandalf…. Legolas.
A troll corpse falling rocked through the chamber. Most definitely dead this time, three elven arrows sticking out of it's thick skull, black blood streaming to the floor. Another body lay on the floor, this one small, child sized really. Curly, chestnut brown hair and a glowing blue sword. NO. Not again. Jackie dragged herself over to Frodo, pulling her battered and bruised body to its feet, buckling, and then sank slowly to one knee as a compromise. Her ribcage was sending blinding pains shooting through her body, she was fairly certain that wasn't good. Sam was watching her with a worried expression, the rest of the fellowship looked on as well. She heard Boromir scoff.
"Oh no." She murmured, flipping the comatose Frodo over. She sighed in relief when he groaned and gasped, sucking in air to that tiny body of his. Sam ran over to his master's heaving body, Frodo just continued to gulp in air as he clutched his chest.
"He's alive!" Sam said, breathing a deep sigh of relief. She could hear Gandalf lose a deep breath as Frodo sat up and looked around, wincing gingerly.
"I'm alright, I'm not hurt."
"You should be dead. That spear would have skewered a wild boar." Aragorn said dryly. What the hell happened while I was unconscious.
Gandalf chuckled; "I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye."
As if to confirm the wizards statement Frodo parted his shirt to show- to show a chain link vest. A vest of pure Mithril. Sam touched as if in a daze. Gimli looked at the vest as if in awe. "Mithril! You are full of surprises Master Baggins!"
Jackie turned her head to glance behind them, the braided plait the held back her long silver hair -sprinkled with rubble, matted with blood red and black alike- swishing with the movement as she heard the screeching behind them, killing her poor ears, and the dense shadows swiftly approaching.
Gandalf was the next to notice, and reacted in turn. "To the bridge of Khazad-dum!"
The fellowship of the ring flew out of the tomb, orcs swarming behind them. Even she did not dare loose an arrow. The edges of her vision were still tinged black and she ran and doubted that she would be able to keep her aim to hit one of them, although it may end up hitting another. A glance around her proved that thousands upon thousands of orcs were chasing them through the lofty mountain halls, climbing out of cracks in the floor, out of the roof and down great columns, through the walls, swarming them, herding them until eventually they would be forced to- stop. Orcs closed in on all sides, she fingered her least deadly arrow, hoping that if it did end up hitting one of the fellowship it wouldn't do that much damage. Their wicked weapons pointed at them as she forced the darkness of her vision to stay at bay just a few minutes more, though it may not matter either way.
A great roar echoed through the cavernous hall, she flinched. My poor ears… It was no Mountain Troll, nor goblin, nor orc, nor small dark beastie. No, the creature who owned this roar was as old as the mountain itself. The sense of foreboding that had shrouded these mines, the sense of unease that had followed her through the long abandoned corridors, it had not been just the orcs. No, something else was here, something far more ancient, far more powerful than anything she had ever seen before. Something that was told around fires on rainy nights, something that parents whispered to their children about to make sure they stayed in their bed the whole night, something evil. But what?
The orcs around them look worriedly at their companions, weapons shaking slightly. The roar split her ears again, more terrifying than the last. And they screech in terror, fleeing back to the cracks and holes they crawled out of. Cowards. But if they flee… they fear this creature. Do not wish to provoke it's wrath, even with hordes a thousand strong. … Shit. We're in deep shit. Gimli, however, didn't get the memo, and grinned. The roar comes once again. She flinched. A red light grew stronger at the far archway. And drew ever closer.
"What is this new devilment?" Boromir asked accusingly
The old wizard closed his eyes, the wrinkles on his aging face became more prominent, the grey in his hair turned a shade deeper, his shoulders seemed to curve the barest way inward under an invisible weight that none could see, or even begin to understand. He was thinking hard, as if contemplating how much to reveal, how much to tell them about the roar that had scared a host of orcs away like nothing more than sewer rats. He knew what was there. She could sense it, the tang of fear, true, deep fear, filled his immortal scent. He had wanted to avoid Moria, had been willing to travel through a snowstorm, risk freezing to death rather than enter here. The old fool should have told them! The daft idiot! As the old man opened his eyes, looking every bit the ancient fool the tales told about, the red glow bathed the entrance path all around them, column and people alike, in a crimson hue.
"It is a Balrog, a demon of the ancient world. It is a foe beyond any of you. RUN!" A what! That old, senile, bastard had led them into the mines knowing full well a fucking Balrog lay there, waiting to pray on any of those foolish enough to enter the ancient dwarven metropolis. He was insane, and an idiot. And a fool. If they survived she swore she would kill the old buffon herself, maybe even do so know and save the fucking Balrog it's trouble. A stream of curses so vile fled her mouth as she ran it would have made any fisherman proud, and nearly tripped Sam.
They ran as fast as she could, the darkness at the edges of her vision darkening and swelling dangerously, leaving the cavern of columns. She watched as Boromir ran up a set of stone stairs, and tried to cry out in warning as the staircase above him grumbled away, leaving a chasm like gap between him and the rest of the stairs. He teetered on the edge, coming dangerously close to falling in. She ran up behind him, grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back as Gandalf stumbled in at last. The man didn't even nod in thanks.
Aragorn glanced at the wheezing wizard. "Gandalf?"
"Lead them Aragorn," the old man said. "The bridge is near."
As if on cue a narrow stone bridge came into view. It stretched across the chasm, a small sliver of solid earth and rock stretching across a hole that brought you straight to the depths of hell. Another roar shattered through the mountain as the fiery glow grew closer. A sweat broke down her neck that had nothing to do with over exertion.
Gandalf pushed Aragorn away. No. "Do as I say!" Aragorn looked at the wizard confused. He doesn't understand… "Swords are of no more use here."
They turned to the right to run down the steps in front of them that had not fallen into the abyss, and wind their way to the small bridge. Before they could reach it however a gap in the staircase opened up before them, too wide to step over. Jackie watched as Legolas made the easy leap to the other side, and grumbled as she followed suit, sore that she had not jumped first. The Prince of Mirkwood looked expectantly at the others as she landed lightly on the stone steps. Gandalf looked puzzled and a roar sounded behind them again. The roof began to crumble. Shit.
It was Legolas who yelled however; "Gandalf!"
The wizard jumped the gap, holding onto her shoulder as he stumbled a bit on landing, tent like robes swishing around his feet. An arrow fired out of seemingly nowhere, narrowly missing Boromir and the hobbits. Legolas turned, aimed an arrow and shot the offending orc through the head. She pulled out her own arrows, aimed her bow, and fired as orcs began to spill into the cavern.
"Merry! Pippin!" Boromir shouted. He grabbed each hobbit under an arm and jumped. A chunk of rock fell from the ceiling, hitting the steps they had just jumped from, narrowly missing her… friends. The piece of staircase fell away. Legolas and herself continued to fire at orcs, her arrows returning to her quiver. His getting lost in the chaos.
Aragorn, Sam, Frodo and Gimli remained. "SAM!" Was all the warning Aragorn gave the hobbit before he picked him up and threw him across the gap, then turned to look at Gimli. Please, Gimli would never.
Gimli held up his hand. "Nobody tosses a dwarf." The idiot took a giant leap and landed teetering on the other side. Legolas -to her surprise- grabbed his beard to stop him from falling into the chasm. "MINE BEARD!"
Aragorn fired an arrow at the oncoming orcs as Legolas pulled Gimli to safety. As if by pure luck the steps they had just leaped from fell away, leaving only Aragorn and Frodo left. In order to avoid falling into the void themselves the Ranger threw Frodo unceremoniously further up the steps -farther away from them- and clung to the stairs as a great portion fell into the abyss. The gap was too big to jump. Dread began to pool in her stomach and even Boromir had the decency to look worried as Frodo wobbled dangerously on his feet.
Aragorn hefted himself up and grabbed Frodo's back. "Hold on."
The doorway entrance behind them glowed a foreboding ruby red, another great roar coming from just behind it. The doorway and roof above them all began to crumble, and a great chunk of rock fell from the ceiling, into the staircase behind Aragorn and Frodo, creating another cavernous gap. They were trapped on the staircase. Now nothing but a slim column of stone jutting out from the murky depths that made up the gaping chasm. The small junk of rock the two were abandoned on began to crack, and the staircase began to sway.
Aragorn grabbed Frodo's clothing from behind and shouted over the thundering of falling rocks and bellows of the balrog. "HANG ON!"
The staircase on which they were standing on continued to sway from side to side, coming closer and closer to their side of the staircase. Now everyone on the safe side of the stair looked frightened. Come on… you can do it.
"Lean forward!" Aragorn yelled.
The staircase swayed and fell forwards towards the rest of the fellowship. Legolas held out his arms. "Come on!"
Aragorn and Frodo jumped. The Elven Prince grabbed hold of Aragorn, Boromir held onto Frodo. As they all ran down the remaining stairs the part of the staircase they were standing on collapsed completely, falling into the abyss. They rushed into another room -hall whatever. The entire place in burning flames, casting ruby shadows and sunset orange silhouettes all over the place. The bridge was now mere yards in front of them, a narrow strip of stone to salvation. And life.
"Over the bridge!" Gandalf yelled as the flames grew ever brighter, chasing them. The old man waited for all the others to pass, including herself. "Fly!"
She ran past Gandalf, the last of the line save for the old wizard himself, and watched as he turned towards the growing flames. No. Out of the midst of the burning inferno a great, black winged creature appeared. Skin like the darkest depths of hell and curling horns telling tales of wickedness and evil so old and vile she shuddered. As tall as the cavern around him it dwarfed even the mountain troll, she did not feel shame when she began to shake slightly, though it made her feel much better when she saw Boromir doing the same. It roared at Gandalf, breathing a blaze of pure heat and flame from it's cruel mouth. It began to walk toward them, it's great strides thundering through the hall as one by one the fellowship crossed the narrow bridge. The wizard taking up the rear. Halfway across the slender stretch of stone the ancient man halted, and turned to face the towering demon behind them. No. He-
"You cannot pass!" Gandalf shouted, his voice as strong and adamant as the very earth. Power lacing the words as promise as what to come, or just him reigning in the power she knew twisted and writhed beneath his wrinkled skin.
"Gandalf!" Frodo cried, looking back at the wizard in horror.
The balrog stretched it's horrible wings to their full length, the massive reach of them seeming to make even the darkest shadows seem like patches of bright sunlight. The mighty beast rose to its full height, but still Gandalf held firm.
"I am the servant of the Secret Fire. Wielder of the Flame of Anor."
The balrog reached down and drew its heinous weapon, holding high above its wretched head.
"The dark fire will not avail you." Gandalf held out his flimsy staff in front him, glowing with the white of stars in a void of darkness. "Flame of Udun!"
The demon brang it's horrendous sword down upon Gandalf, who protected himself with his powerful staff. A clash and flash of a blinding, great light blinded the room for seconds before it receded, showing the balrog dropping his sword and roaring with what could not be classified as anything but pure rage.
"Go back to the shadow!"
The balrog put a cloven foot on the bride. If he continued his weight would surely crack it, the demon himself would be fine, it had wings but the fellowship would fall to their deaths. She pushed a lagging Merry the last few steps off the bridge, to the illusion of safety the other side brought. The balrog brang his hand up again, in his black fist a whip of concentrated fire.
"You shall not pass!" The Wizard yelled, raising both his sword and staff above his grey head and brang the glowing rod of pure power down hard on the bridge.
The balrog merely snorted at Gandalf and raised his whip, taking another step forward. As his foot touched the narrow stone the bridge collapsed, and the balrog, epitome of death, bringer of chaos, as old as the very earth around them, fell -anticlimactically- into the chasm. Had she had the energy, had her ribs not been burning, had she not been feared for the life of herself and the rest of the company, she most likely would have laughed at the inadequate end of the balrog. Gandalf, however, was able to muster the energy to make a satisfied grunt and turned toward them, shoulders sagging. As he turned the tail end of the balrogs painful whip snaked around his ankle, dragging him down with the falling creature. No. He clung to the broken ridge of the bridge, unwilling to fall into certain death and nothingness just yet it appeared. Frodo dashed forward but she flung out an arm to stop him, ignoring the blinding pain the arched through her chest, and did not abate.
"NO!" She yelled.
"Gandalf!" Frodo cried.
The old fool tried to hold on by his fingertips, just buying himself time, but he knew that as he looked at them one last time. "Fly you fools!" He fell into the chasm."
"NOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Frodo screamed, the grief in his broken voice breaking her own as she tried to drag him away.
"Come on Frodo, we must-" She let out an oomf of pain as he began to struggle in her grip. She heard another crack in her ribs and flinched, the darkness in the edges of her vision flushing and receding. A tear of both sadness and pain tickled down her face. Aragorn was staring at the gap in disbelief, as if Gandalf was going to jump and say SURPRISE! And tell them it was all just a cruel joke.
"Aragorn!" She yelled, dragging the screaming hobbit with her.
The rest of the fellowship broke into a hybrid between a run and a walk, those who damaged to move carrying or pulling those who could not. Aragorn paused, looking once more at the never ending abyss, at the orcs swarming along the other side of the chasm, the arrows flying toward them, and turned, dodging the arrows and helping her move Frodo. He didn't even try to hide the tears.
The fellowship of the ring ran swiftly across a meadow into the woods. The trees were sturdy mallorn, the mighty bows and branches the gold of a western setting sun. Lothlorien. The forest of legends. Jackie had heard stories of this forest growing up. Had heard of its inhabitants. And loved them. How many times had she imagined she had the gold spun locks of Galadriel, giving wisdom and gifts to all the noble warriors that crossed her path. How often had she dreamed of flying through those majestic treetops? How frequently had she envisioned arriving here as an honored guest? This was not how she envisioned it. Sneaking in like thieves, blood dripping loudly, offering too big a trail -both visible and otherwise- for her to be comfortable, even if the orcs would not dare enter here. Still, they tried to be as silent as possible, or at least she and Legolas did while the rest blundered along making the two elves flinch. They moved cautiously and slow, looking at the moonlit world around them, taking in anything and everything but the beauty.
She heard Gimli beckoning to the hobbits. "Stay close young hobbits." He grabbed a very depressed looking Frodo's arm. "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…"
She snorted, sometimes she forgot that the dwarves were just a s prejudiced as the elves. Then winced as the small action shot pain through her body. "Jaclaë-Frolana!" She stilled, Aragorn nearly running into her back. That was- that was- not possible. No one, no one. Knew that name. Not even the dwarves. And certainly a voice in the wind -that nobody else seemed to hear. "Jaclaë-Frolana!" She saw Frodo look around quickly. So I'm not the only one.
"... and are never seen again."
"Your coming to us Jaclaë-Frolana, is as the footsteps of great doom." The image of a pair of piercing sapphire blue eyes opening and staring, as if into her very soul. "You bring great evil here!" An echo filled her head and she knew the voice left, "Aranel!"
"Well! Here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily! I have the eyes of a hawk, and ears of a fox!" And the stealth of a rhino, she thought begrudgingly as Gimli puffed out his chest.
He was brought to an abrupt stop as two eleven arrows appeared in front of his bearded face. I'm surprised it took them this long to find us, we were practically ringing the doorbell. The fellowship was surrounded by drawn arrows on all sides, all held by numerous elves. Legolas and herself had drawn their own arrows in response, though she doubted it would do anything. They were outnumbered two to dozens, and she doubted her accuracy in the failing light -though elves could see just fine in the dark. No, it was her vision getting darker. If the elves of Lorien had wanted them dead they wouldn't have made it a thousand meters into the forest. Aragorn had the good sense to hold his hands up in a gesture of peace.
An elf stepped into the silver moonlight. His fine hair was a dark brows at the roots, though quickly faded -naturally- into a buttermilk blond shade, cast a pearly white in the light of the moon. A cloak and traditional elven armor guarded his body and daggers of varying sizes were sheathed all over it. He carried his bow with a marksman's ability, enough so that it made her survey him twice more before he began to speak
"The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark." He spoke calmly, as if he had a company of hobbits, men, dwarves and elves come by every day. She snorted, to Gimli's chagrin. The proud dwarf growled low in his throat.
They had moved to an open area high in the
ancient trees, much like the flets of Mirkwood, though much more spacious and open to the element, the sky. Truly it was just a great leaf of a Mallorn branch. The stars had come out and the moon was nearing its peak in the sky as they finally began to speak.
"Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduillion. (Elvish: Welcome Legolas, son of Thranduil.)" Haldir said in elvish, completely ignoring her.
"Govannas van gwennen le, Haldir o Lorien. (Elvish: Our fellowship stands in your debt, Haldir of Lorien.)" Legolas replied with trained grace and charm. Oh please.
"A, Aragorn in Dunedain, istannen le ammen. (Elvish: Oh, Aragorn of the Dunedain, you are known to us.)" Haldir said, turning to the ranger.
Aragorn merely bowed. "Haldir."
Gimli burst out; "So much for the legendary courtesy of the elves! Speak words we can also understand!"
"We have not had dealings with the dwarves since the dark days." Haldir replied in that calm -indifferent- voice of his. She had forgotten how cold and aloof the elves could be, especially those whole were not their race, or valar forbid dwarves. She snorted quietly, but glared at the side of Haldir's head all the same. He still had not acknowledged her existence.
"And do you know what this Dwarf says to that? Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul! (Dwarvish: I spit upon your grave!)"
She suppressed a laugh. "Ath igurbraeth, - voth vrathi ilv darthu tharas tulti ziligiur avor balkz mju skuld voth? (Dwarvish: Be nice, Gimli we wouldn't want to hurt their small sense of pride now would we?)"
Gimli grinned at her, a devilish grin that meant he was about to bring hell until- "That! Was not so courteous!" Aragorn's strong hands came down on both Gimli and her shoulder, she almost winced at the impact.
Legolas and Haldir were both staring at her. At least Legolas knew the reason she spoke fluent dwarf, but what would Hadir think? And why did she give a damn? Haldir turned his back to her and faced Frodo and Sam. Bastard. "You bring great evil with you." He paused, as if contemplating. "You can go no further."
"Boe ammen veriad lîn. Andelu I ven! (Elvish: We need your protection. The road is fell!)" She yelled, and his attention snapped back to her. I'm an elf dipshit. Of course I know the language.
"Merin le telim, Nin híril... (Elvish: I wish that we may come with you, my lady…)" Haldir replied quietly.
She pushed herself off of the tree she was leaning against. "Jackie, Jackie Dornessiti. A im am baw híril. Henio, aníron boe ammen I dulu Iín! (Elvish: Please, understand, we need your support.)" She did not care that she was pleading, that Legolas and Aragorn and- really all of the fellowship were staring at her like they had never seen her before, like she was a true elf. "Andelu I ven. (The road is very dangerous.)"
Frodo looked uncomfortable and alone, and she was glad when Legolas stepped in to console the little hobbit. "Gandalf's death was not in vain. Nor would he have you give up hope. You carry a heavy burden Frodo. Don't carry the weight of the dead."
Haldir heard the conversation as well. He walked up to Frodo. "You will follow me."
She had done what she needed to accomplish. The burning in her ribs and the darkness at the edge of her vision could not be held back. She swayed dangerously and clutched the side of her neck, ensuring it was covered. As the wave midnight tore into her vision she could have sworn the stars sang. And then she collapsed.
Thank you for reading! I feel very proud of this chapter.
I would again like to thank all you who review. I have so much more incentive to write!
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