They moved cautiously through the Mines of Moria. It was a battle between speed and safety. Everyone was tense and alert, ears and eyes strained for the quietest of sounds and the smallest of movements. They were not alone; they were only unnoticed. For now. It was unsure how long their good fortune would hold.

They took breaks just long enough to eat and sleep. Shiros refused to rest despite Legolas and even Aragorn's protests. She was uninjured – Legolas had checked her ribs thoroughly – and accustomed to long periods of time without sleep. The others needed it more. Gandalf silenced their protests. During one of these rare breaks, Shiros suddenly stiffened, her head tilted to the darkness behind them, attuned to something hidden from the rest even Legolas. The Fellowship immediately paused their activities and stared at her. She pulled down her scarf to discreetly smell the air, but it was so foul she sharply pulled it back up. Her whispers carried through the air to Gandalf who listened warily. Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn observed the tautness of her body and, as if ready to pounce, rested their hands on their weapons, ready to pull them out in seconds. Gandalf waved them down and spoke again only to Shiros. With a nod, Shiros slinked along to the edge of the thin bridge they had just crossed. Aragorn barely managed to muffle Pippin's cry when she swung herself over and dropped silently into the shadows. Legolas ran to the edge and spotted her moving out of sight into what used to be a hallway. Boromir, feeling a strange tug on his heart, hissed at Gandalf.

"What is the meaning of this? Have you gone mad? Have you sent her off to die?" Boromir struggled to keep his voice no louder than harsh whisper.

Gandalf glared at him. "She is to explore the grounds and tunnels below. She will return with news. Let us move on."

Shiros did return an hour later and no worse for wear much to their comfort. However, her findings broke that sense of comfort. The catacombs stretched far underneath them and told of failed resistance and goblin and orc infestation. She had not dared to go further after she saw the outline of light from their torches, but their colonies thrived in the depths. There had been a whiff of ash that had stung her nose badly, but she'd written it off as something they were burning for food. She rubbed at her nose and wrinkled it, the feeling of burning not yet gone. Legolas sympathized and offered her some sweet-smelling herbs from Sam's bag. She pulled down her mask, which had done little to block the odors, held them up to her face, and inhaled deeply. Her stomach was strong after years of exposure to unsavory smells that came with unsavory deeds, but it churned from the vile and putrid stench of goblins and orcs. She grabbed the same herb she'd used after the Crebain from her own pack and chewed it.

"Mir diod lurn, Legolas." He flashed her a brief smile.

But beneath it brewed a thought. An elf's senses were fabled and extraordinary, superior to all others. And while he, too, was repulsed by harsh smells, she fared far worse. Like with the Crebain, the smells had nearly made her sick. He could blame it on a weak stomach, but it seemed doubtful since even the hobbits did not react as strongly. He recognized the herb she used – it dulled the sense of smell and taste, reduced it to hardly anything. It was a very potent herb. An ugly feeling of suspicion stirred in his mind and in his heart. He did not voice these thoughts anyone and kept them locked tightly. For his sake and hers.

The Fellowship eventually came to a three-way crossroad on the fourth day of their journey and stopped.

"I have no memory of this place."

"No memory?" Shiros asked Gandalf, alarmed. "I can scout ahead," she offered, but Legolas caught her arm and held her still.

"There are too many paths, and you are tired." Despite her earlier claims, he had noticed her becoming more sluggish. She had slept only once since they'd been in the Mines. "It would be unsafe. Rest," he stressed. "Ethnadal, Shiros. Please"

Legolas would not cease, and Shiros begrudgingly relented and settled on the ground beside him. And they waited. Aragorn and the hobbits had pulled out their pipes and smoked. Shiros had tried to reach for her whetstone after a few minutes, but Legolas had taken it from her and kept it far from her reach. She was to rest and nothing more. To her benefit, she did try, but Merry and Pippin's conversation kept her from successfully doing so and aroused her ire.

"Are we lost?"

"I think we are."

"Shh. Gandalf's thinking." There was a pause.

"Merry?"

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

Shiros hissed through her teeth, causing them to freeze on the stop. She wiped a hand down her face and sat up, ushering them to her with an annoyed flick of her wrist, ignoring Legolas' disappointed sigh.

"What will it take for you to be quiet?"

Pippin smiled mischievously, and she glowered.

"A story."

"Now is not the time," she told him. "Once we reach the other side, I will tell you the story of Oriph the Stag. It's a popular Easterling fable. But only if you stay quiet until Gandalf has determined the way."

Pippin and Merry nodded vigorously and scuttled back to their original places on the rock. Shiros laid back against the stone, exhausted. Legolas began to hum a soothing Elvish tune, and it carried her away. She always looked so peaceful during these sleeps but these sleeps only, and he wondered if malformed stars still haunted her dreams.

It was too soon, he thought, as he shook her shoulder to wake her. Her head hurt from the abrupt disruption, and he looked apologetical. A small handful of herbs known to help with headaches were pressed into her hand, and she chewed on them to ease the pain.

"Gandalf has found the path," he told her and helped her to her feet.

The Fellowship followed Gandalf down a dark stone corridor, which opened to a great hall. It was extraordinary in size and detailed with intricately carved pillars and arches. They stared in amazement at the great realm and dwarf-city of Dwarrowdelf, almost forgetting the horror that had transpired there. Shiros pressed a hand to her chest to stop a phantom ache. As beautiful as it was, it was abandoned and ramshackle. Debased and desecrated. Another precious city full of precious people and precious histories destroyed by Sauron, and another reminder of the filth that stained the world. She tried to imagine Dwarrowdelf in its prime – it must have been lovely. They walked through the halls slowly to take in everything. Their eyes were above, but Gimli's were below, familiar with this place, and searching. It was he who spotted the small door off the side of the hall. Skeletons decorated the floor like a carpet to welcomed visitors to the grim antechamber. It was another tomb. They hurried after Gimli and found him sobbing at the base of a sarcophagus, illuminated by a single stream of light. The breath was knocked from her chest at his cries. She made to kneel at his side, but Legolas' hand stayed her.

Gandalf read the inscription. "'Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.' He is dead then. It is as I feared." He stooped to the ground to pick up a heavy tome.

"We must move on. We cannot linger," Legolas warned Aragorn.

"'They have taken the bridge and the second hall,'" Gandalf read. "'We have barred the gates but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep. We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out—'"

Shiros pulled her gaze away from Gandalf at the sound of shuffling stones. Her breath hitched and she moved to grab Pippin away from the well, but she was seconds too late. "Cett!"

She froze as the clangs echoed and echoed and echoed throughout all of Moria.

No one spoke, and no one moved. They hardly dared to breathe as they waited for something to happen. A terrible minute passed. Boromir relaxed with a relieved sigh, thinking they had avoided disaster. Gandalf snapped the book shut, angry to a point she had never seen before. He reviled the Took harshly, telling him to throw himself in next time and rid them of his stupidity.

They were deluded into thinking that perhaps they had escaped the doom beneath them. They had not.

A deep, looming drumbeat. And another. And another.

Then the screeching began.

"Sarth Eru mincha."

Frodo's blade glowed blue, and Boromir dashed to the door to close it. Two arrows landed inches from his face. They threw him axes and spears to barricade the doors, but it would do nothing against a cave troll. Shiros drew her sword and sunk into a fighting stance. The orcs broke through parts of the door, and Legolas fended them off with precise and rapid arrows. But he could not hold them all back, and the rotting wood of the door gave way. It became a massacre. Shiros dove into the battle, slashing and slicing with speed and accuracy, aiming for the weak spots in their armor – the small gap between their breastplate and their helmet exposed their throats. She nicked every orc she could, knowing the poison would slow them and sap away their strength. Blood coated the ground and created slick puddles. She was almost crushed by a stone when the cave troll burst through the entrance and barely avoided being stomped on.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam fighting with a pan. That hobbit…Grabbing a knife from her boot, she through it at an orc behind Sam, who jumped when the body fell.

"Take it," she ordered, not sparing him any more time. Distraction was a death sentence. She knew that all too well.

Shiros ducked between the cave troll's legs and targeted the tendons at his heel, but the skin was too thick. The poison would not work well on a beast as this one, so there would be no slowing it. She cursed loudly and ducked under its swing. Legolas drew the troll's attention away from Shiros, and she killed the orcs aiming for him in return. At some point, it all began to blur. Bodies fell and blades flashed. Rocks crumbled and sprayed over them, and shrieks and screams were all she could hear.

In a moment of clarity when time seemed to stop, she spun around to watch the cave troll skewer Frodo. She screamed his name as he fell and attacked the troll with a fervor, hacking at it with Gimli and Aragorn. Pippin climbed onto its neck and stabbed it, causing the troll to rear back with a roar. Legolas took the shot, and the arrow made its mark deep in its jugular. A swift death. It fell limply to the floor, and Shiros caught Pippin before he could crash onto the stone. They ran to Frodo's side, whose head rested on Aragorn's thighs. She halted abruptly at the sight and could not believe her eyes – the hobbit was breathing and coughing. Her hand clasped onto Legolas' shoulder, and she smiled at him, even with blood and dust streaked over her face, and huffed a disbelieving laugh. He mirrored her position and flashed an even brighter smile. Eru must favor this hobbit.

"I'm alright. I'm not hurt," Frodo said breathlessly.

"You should be dead. That spear would have skewered a wild boar." Aragorn's heart was still racing.

Frodo moved his shirt to display a beautiful chain shirt. Shiros had never seen mithril before and ogled it.

"Mithril," Gimli muttered in awe. "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins."

If anyone else had wished to speak, they would have to wait. Their fight was not over, and goblins came after the orcs. The same goblins Shiros had seen and smelled in the depths. She hissed a cursed. She dreaded goblins more than orcs for their weapons were poisoned and they came in droves of hundreds. Strength in numbers.

"To the Bridge of Khazad-dum!"

Shiros shoved Merry and Pippin in front of her, and they ran for their lives back into the great hall. The goblins crawled up through the crevices in the floor and down from cracks in the ceiling. They were fast and they would soon overtake the Fellowship. They were coming from all sides. There were too many goblins, there was no way out. Shiros held up her sword. She would not die without fighting.

They were surrounded, and she swung at one who'd come too close. Blood splattered the floor, and the goblins jeered louder.

Just before the goblins jumped forward and swarmed them, all the creatures in the hall startled at a guttural, deep, wicked growl. It rattled their bones and vibrated in their chests. It was unnatural. A tint of fire painted the corner across the hall from them, a sinister illumination. The goblins scattered, and Shiros knew something was very, very wrong. Whatever was coming was born of smoke and hellfire. She could hear her racing pulse in her ears. Dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum. Her heartbeat quickened, and panic rose . Gandalf's face was contorted in dreadful fear and anguish. What he had hoped to never have disturbed was awake. The bane of the Mines of Moria, the reason he never wanted to step foot into these wretched mines, was nearly upon them. The creature was coming closer, and its growls echoed louder.

Boromir felt the same horror. "What is this new devilry?"

"A Balrog. A demon of the ancient world."

Legolas seized in unbridled terror. The Balrogs were known to the race of Elves, one of the greatest evils Morgoth had ever created. The others did not know the ancient stories of the Balrogs who had destroyed Gondolin in the First Age, the stories of the Balrog who had dragged Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, by his hair into the deep abyss. The stories of the Balrogs as devastation incarnate. But Legolas did. He knew the dangers of the Balrogs, and he feared for his life. He prayed to Eru that he would not find himself added to this tomb. He prayed for the chance to see the sun again.

"This foe is beyond any of you. Run!"

Shiros straggled at the back of the group, but Gandalf ushered her ahead of him. Boromir nearly pitched himself over the edge of the broken staircase, but Legolas pulled him back. Shiros sheathed her sword to swiftly down the narrow and crumbling stairs, delicately perched on the thin line between solid stone and a fatal drop. There was a large gap of fallen stone ahead of them, and the staircase itself was growing more unsteady by the second. Legolas and Gandalf crossed it with ease, and Merry and Pippin followed. Then part of the stairs cracked and fell away, leaving a bigger jump. Goblins shot at them from nearby pillars and ledges, forcing them to dodge. Boromir caught Shiros before she could fall back and crack her head on the edge of a step and shoved her towards the gap. Legolas caught her and pushed her behind him, firing and killing the goblins aiming at them. Shiros drew her own bow and shot where Legolas did not. The arrows whistled through the air, silver feathers glinting gold in the distorting firelight.

Frodo and Aragorn barely made it to the other side, and the rest of the staircase crumbled entirely behind them. They ran to the thin bridge. Shiros was the last to cross it, racing right behind Legolas, and the flames from the Balrog seared her skin through her clothes despite the distance between them. She turned around to pull Gandalf with them, but he was not there. He stood between the Balrog and the Fellowship, an impasse at the middle of the bridge. Shiros ducked under a goblin arrow and returned fire. She did not know if it hit; she could not look away. Gandalf yelled at the devilish beast.

The Balrog fully emerged from the ash and soot, a being of shadow and flame, and she felt the pain from her dreams – the blaze too hot. It was a true monster, the corrupted compliment to the Maiar. It reared its head, but the wizard did not falter. Gandalf did not move even as the Balrog howled, drew its sword, and swung. He did not move even as the strain of maintaining the shield tore his muscles. He would not falter.

The Balrog snapped its fiery whip. Gandalf raised his sword and his staff.

"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" he cried and struck the ground. The shockwave knocked everyone back. The Balrog recovered quickly and took a step forward to claim its prey, but the bridge fell, and it plunged into the dark.

But a Balrog would never fall alone. Just as Glorfindel was pulled into the abyss, the Balrog's whip lashed out and wrapped around Gandalf's ankle. It dragged him to the edge of the broken bridge, and the wizard was hanging on by the tips of his fingers, unable to keep a steady grip. The Balrog held onto him, two connected by a line. Should one fall, they both fall. Should one crawl up, they both crawl up. Gandalf realized this with a slow acceptance. Frodo was screaming his name, held back by Boromir. No one was there to grab Shiros, and she slipped by them easily, ignoring the calls. Tears fell down and slid off her cheeks as she ran. She could make it. She dodged goblin arrows. She could make it. She could grab his hands, pull him up by his sleeves, save him.

She was seconds too late. Always seconds too late.

"Fly, you fools," he whispered his last parting.

"Gandalf!" The scream tore through her throat.

Shiros dove towards the edge and skidded across the stone, chest leaning over the darkness, hand reaching into the chasm inches from his own. A pain ripped through her hip, but she was blind to it. She watched him fall into the dark nothingness, and she could do nothing but stare blankly, so far away, lost and uncomprehending. Distantly, she felt hands on her waist, hoisting her up and away from the broken bridge. She thrashed against them and punched them in the mouth. They grabbed both her shoulders and shook her.

"Shiros!" Legolas yelled in her face. "Wake up!"

The roughness jerked her into reality, and he cupped her cheek to ground her, staring her in the eyes. They were so blue, so full of sadness, but so real. It brough her back, and he saw her regain awareness. They ran together across the bridge, and she followed him up the stairs, fumbling on the steps and pushing through a sharp tug on her veil. She was the last to exit the Mines of Moria, running past the stone arches with a large, bleeding wound in her heart. The pain throbbed in her chest, making her collapse to her knees upon the stone. It clawed, it tore, and it shredded.

She'd stepped from darkness into light, so why did the world seem so much colder?


Language Notes:

**Something to mention: I decided to create the barebones of a language because I could, so I'll be incorporating some of it into the story. I'll provide translations for all non-English words (so Sindarin, Khuzdul, Shiros' language, etc.) that I use. Also, if anyone's wondering, her languages uses the VSO order.**

- Mir diod lurn, Legolas: Thank you, Legolas

- Ethnadal, Shiros: Please, Shiros

- Cett!: Stop!

- Sarth Eru mincha: Eru save us