Author note; hope you all like this! Becomes a bit confusing, mixing book
and film, so it messes up a bit here – still! Never mind…
Chapter 7
Doom. Doom.
The Fellowship stood rooted in terror. The orcs were stirring.
"Bar the doors!" yelled Aragorn, and they sprang into action. Boromir leapt forwards, snatching up a rusty sword that lay dormant and sliding it across the doorframe. Aragorn did the same, sweeping up the strongest spears and swords in one armful, thrusting them in position. Fearfully, the others drew their own swords. Gimli leapt atop the tomb, wielding his axe, the remorse in his eyes now flaming with anger.
"There is one dwarf in Moria who still draws breath!" he roared.
The door crashed.
Doom. The orcs smashed towards it. Doom. They charged it. Aragorn and Boromir ran back, readying themselves.
"They have a cave troll," muttered Boromir. Gandalf cast aside his hat and drew forth Glamdring. Doom. Mariel unsheathed her own weapon. Doom.
The second assault. The door swayed, straining. Doom.
Harsh stamping and a terrible frenzy was brewing beyond the door. Doom.
Third assault. Doom.
The door buckled.
Crash.
They were through.
Orcs swarmed in at uncountable rate as the great door flew into splinters in the dust. A violent eruption of shards sang through the air, exploding around the Company. They were hacking, thrusting, chopping, flaying. Left, right, left again. The quick feet of Mariel stepped nimbly aside and she brought her sword down hard on the unattended back of an orc. She swerved, dodged, leapt aside. Gimli had hewn the heads from several, barely with space between the strokes. Gandalf's blade sailed in a long arc – back, forwards, cutting them down where they stood. Boromir was ploughing through the infestation with no breath, chopping and slaying, tireless. Aragorn's noble blade moved to fast for the eye, sweeping across and back again stinging all those near.
The push increased. Orcs, hundreds of them, ran in, on and on. The room was a violent crowd, soundless past the undying clang of shield on blade and blade on sword. Legolas loosed arrows, slaying many near the doors. The mob screamed, and somewhere in there, fighting with all the heart of any long experienced warrior in Middle Earth, the four Halflings were battling relentlessly. Mariel felled one orc where he stood, and glimpsed Sam.
"Sam!" she shouted, but above the tireless stamp, no voice was distinguishable. Suddenly another, new noise sounded. Thud. They had a cave troll.
"Get back!" yelled someone, as orcs and Fellowship alike threw themselves aside the hideous beast that now came slumping in, grotesque and brutish, killing the unfortunate orc by its chain with a single blow. It roared angrily. Mariel called again to Sam.
"Sam! Come out of the way!" he was too close. The troll lifted his club – a great, effortless raise, and sent it crashing down. Sam leapt to the right, and missed it by a hair's breadth. He was too far across. Mariel could not hope to save him from where she was.
Merry and Pippin had scrambled up to a high ledge; Frodo dived behind a thick pillar. The troll saw this, saw something to attack. He heaved his bulk through the chamber, crouched down, thrust in a putrid hand. Frodo skimmed round, dodging the eyes. Behind them, Aragorn slew through the tide of orcs. The chamber was emptying of the living. Dead orcs piled around. It was the Fellowship and the troll.
Frodo dodged, but was forced to leap into the open as a massive hand crashed round the pillar. Exposed, he was powerless. Aragorn charged towards him, but a hefty blow sent him reeling to the ground. Sam dived towards his master. Too late. The troll, identifying its prey, lodged a long spear deep in Frodo's chest.
Shouting, Merry and Pippin jumped onto his back, stabbing maniacally; Mariel sprang forwards with Gimli. Boromir roused Aragorn, who leapt to his feet, sword in hand.
"Jump!" they cried; the hobbits could not. A spear was up his nose – he staggered back in pain. Legolas, placing a shot, drew his bowstring taut, sought out a target, and released the deadly shot.
The troll let out an anguished cry, a deep bellow. It careered awkwardly around; the others skipped out of its path. It swayed violently. Merry was thrown off. It fell to its knees, and Mariel sliced at its thick body. Pippin wobbled near its head. One last, agonised moan, and it collapsed. Pippin was cast several feet. As one man, the Company ran to Frodo.
Aragorn whipped him over. A miracle – he was breathing! His breath was sharp, and painful, but he was alive.
"Mithril!" exclaimed Gimli, seeing the silver mail beneath the shirt. "A kingly gift. You are one of many surprises, master hobbit!"
"No time for that," said Gandalf urgently. "We must make for the bridge of Khazad-Dum."
Heaving Frodo up, Sam followed the others out of the chamber.
"Run!" hissed Mariel.
"I can manage!" gasped Frodo. Reluctantly, Sam saw to his own legs. They covered the magnificent slabs of the hall. Orcs writhed and twisted from every crack, seeping out and engulfing them like a virulent disease. They ran on, but the enemy was plentiful; they were cut off from the exit, trapped. Back to back, they clung together, determined to fight to the last but unseeing of how this could possibly end any other way. Orcs stabbed from a small perimeter, none seeming to want a close touch from the vengeful Company. They laughed and jeered, and found new roots for their courage, surging forwards suddenly, when –
A silence befell the room. The orcs quavered, and shrank back. Flame illuminated the far doorway. Noisily, clattering ungainly, the orcs scurried away into black spaces.
"What is it?" asked Pippin fearfully, unsure whether this escape was indeed that, or a worse evil than before. Gandalf sank onto his staff, and on him seemed to grow several more years in one moment.
"A Balrog," he sighed. "What ill fate! Already I am weary."
Then in an instant he spun round, and commanded them away.
"Run!" he cried. "This is a foe beyond any of you!"
Aragorn and Legolas looked set to argue, but Gandalf, as though reading their minds, demanded, "go!" and they turned and fled from the hall.
They charged down steps. A bridge, split in the middle, crumbled under their feet. A rock dislodged from the roof and thundered down. The bridge shook, and with a horrible jar a huge bulk collapsed into the endless cavity below. Legolas sprang across; Boromir leapt without question, Merry and Pippin bundled at his side. Gandalf was across – Gimli would not go.
"No one tosses a dwarf!" he bellowed, and jumped. He was short by about a foot. His feet found lodgement and his body leaned backward dangerously. Legolas grabbed at the beard and pulled him across.
Sam was cast across. Only Aragorn and Frodo remained with Mariel.
"Jump!" came the cry, but with another splitting crack, a vast boulder slammed down from above, tearing more of the bridge with it. The gap was too large, even for any elf. The small, unsupported section of the bridge wavered dangerously, the three figures on its top. "Jump!" They could not.
The section began to rock unsteadily.
"Lean forwards!" shouted Aragorn and Mariel, in unison. Hand on the others' shoulders, they and Frodo cast their weight forward all they dared, begging the steps to sail forwards. They wobbled uncertainly. Their legs shook beneath them. The stone under their feet, crumbling and looming out from peerless depths, swayed terribly. They leaned forwards.
Their weight swung in their favour. The stone crashed into its brother, and reunited with a path, the three scrambled down to join the others. The Fellowship fled, and Mariel, running behind them, felt an evil idea nudging aside her compassionate dedication to the friends.
They ran. Arrows whistled behind them, impaling mail shirts and spearing through Gandalf's hat. The bridge was visible.
On through a slim archway they ran, and faltered momentarily, whilst their eyes took in the sight before them. A black chasm lay across the length of the room, the only means of crossing a slender bridge that ran from one side to the other.
"Over!" cried Aragorn without hesitation, bringing up the rear. He spurred them on. Gandalf counted them all past. They ran the thin length, charging with the hope of seeing daylight once more. But a cry emerged that wasn't drawn by orcs.
"Ai! Ai!" wailed Legolas. "The Balrog is come!"
They turned. It was a horrendous sight. Fire came from its nostrils; it stood tall and menacing, flaming and threatening. Glamdring gleamed white and cold. Gandalf stood strong against his enemy.
"I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass."
The Balrog screamed a horrible cry. It chilled the bones of all present. Gandalf remained, undaunted.
"You cannot pass."
The Balrog reared in anger, took a step over the bridge. A bright light shone round the old wizard.
"You shall not pass!"
The Balrog charged forwards. There was a commotion. Aragorn surged forwards.
"Elendil!" he cried. "I am with you Gandalf!" and he leapt forwards, Boromir at his heels.
"Gondor!" cried the warrior.
"For Sueth," muttered Mariel bitterly, and stepped after them.
"Lady!" hissed Legolas, but she cast him aside.
"I will not let him fall to the Balrog!" she shouted. It was true – not to the Balrog would Gandalf lose his life. She leapt upon the bridge, which groaned and cracked under Gandalf's staff.
"You shall not pass!" he commanded, one last, final time.
The bridge broke. The staff shattered. The old wizard, for a second so grand, turned his back on the screaming demon, falling into the abyss.
Aragorn and Boromir were close; they had almost reached him. They barred the bridge. Mariel could not reach past. The two men ran to greet him, gladness in their faces. Unseen by anyone else, Mariel regarded the long flaming whip as it coiled upwards and sought its prey.
She could have shouted. He would have made it across. The others had not seen. In front of her, two men and a wizard, unwary, unknowing: behind them, four Halflings, their focus not on the floor but their friend, as with Gimli. But Legolas. Legolas may have seen.
He may have seen the whip as it shot upwards, and in a last act of vengeance, crawl around the foot of its attacker. He may have seen the others, unwarned by Mariel, who stood staring upon Gandalf's imminent face with no compassion in her face. He may have seen her focus all her mind on sending Gandalf off that terrible edge.
He slipped. He crashed to the ground, and slid to the edge, hanging there.
Aragorn gave a cry and ran to him, but something he could explain held him back. Almost as though a will not of his body was restraining him. Boromir felt it too.
"Gandalf!" he bellowed, but the wizard was all but lost.
For a moment, movement was suspended by the unthinkable. Then Gandalf, stirring the last of his spent strength, cried out.
"Fly, you fools," he called, and was gone.
They stood stunned. Frodo screamed in anguish. The other three fought against the taller members, ready to cast themselves down after him.
"Come on!" Mariel roused them. Aragorn and Boromir felt the will lift. They forced themselves to move. Each took a hobbit under either arm, wriggling in agonised protest; they were all crying. Gimli stumbled away up the steps, Legolas checked the Company.
"Mariel!" he called, and a steely tone was in his voice. "Away! He is gone!"
They ran up the stairway, weeping with bitter tears they couldn't restrain; only the steadfast faces of Legolas and Mariel were clear. Even Aragorn suffered tears. They stumbled on, orcs screaming at their heels, arrows hissing behind them. They stumbled out of the dark, and came at last to the cold white light of the anticipated day.
Chapter 7
Doom. Doom.
The Fellowship stood rooted in terror. The orcs were stirring.
"Bar the doors!" yelled Aragorn, and they sprang into action. Boromir leapt forwards, snatching up a rusty sword that lay dormant and sliding it across the doorframe. Aragorn did the same, sweeping up the strongest spears and swords in one armful, thrusting them in position. Fearfully, the others drew their own swords. Gimli leapt atop the tomb, wielding his axe, the remorse in his eyes now flaming with anger.
"There is one dwarf in Moria who still draws breath!" he roared.
The door crashed.
Doom. The orcs smashed towards it. Doom. They charged it. Aragorn and Boromir ran back, readying themselves.
"They have a cave troll," muttered Boromir. Gandalf cast aside his hat and drew forth Glamdring. Doom. Mariel unsheathed her own weapon. Doom.
The second assault. The door swayed, straining. Doom.
Harsh stamping and a terrible frenzy was brewing beyond the door. Doom.
Third assault. Doom.
The door buckled.
Crash.
They were through.
Orcs swarmed in at uncountable rate as the great door flew into splinters in the dust. A violent eruption of shards sang through the air, exploding around the Company. They were hacking, thrusting, chopping, flaying. Left, right, left again. The quick feet of Mariel stepped nimbly aside and she brought her sword down hard on the unattended back of an orc. She swerved, dodged, leapt aside. Gimli had hewn the heads from several, barely with space between the strokes. Gandalf's blade sailed in a long arc – back, forwards, cutting them down where they stood. Boromir was ploughing through the infestation with no breath, chopping and slaying, tireless. Aragorn's noble blade moved to fast for the eye, sweeping across and back again stinging all those near.
The push increased. Orcs, hundreds of them, ran in, on and on. The room was a violent crowd, soundless past the undying clang of shield on blade and blade on sword. Legolas loosed arrows, slaying many near the doors. The mob screamed, and somewhere in there, fighting with all the heart of any long experienced warrior in Middle Earth, the four Halflings were battling relentlessly. Mariel felled one orc where he stood, and glimpsed Sam.
"Sam!" she shouted, but above the tireless stamp, no voice was distinguishable. Suddenly another, new noise sounded. Thud. They had a cave troll.
"Get back!" yelled someone, as orcs and Fellowship alike threw themselves aside the hideous beast that now came slumping in, grotesque and brutish, killing the unfortunate orc by its chain with a single blow. It roared angrily. Mariel called again to Sam.
"Sam! Come out of the way!" he was too close. The troll lifted his club – a great, effortless raise, and sent it crashing down. Sam leapt to the right, and missed it by a hair's breadth. He was too far across. Mariel could not hope to save him from where she was.
Merry and Pippin had scrambled up to a high ledge; Frodo dived behind a thick pillar. The troll saw this, saw something to attack. He heaved his bulk through the chamber, crouched down, thrust in a putrid hand. Frodo skimmed round, dodging the eyes. Behind them, Aragorn slew through the tide of orcs. The chamber was emptying of the living. Dead orcs piled around. It was the Fellowship and the troll.
Frodo dodged, but was forced to leap into the open as a massive hand crashed round the pillar. Exposed, he was powerless. Aragorn charged towards him, but a hefty blow sent him reeling to the ground. Sam dived towards his master. Too late. The troll, identifying its prey, lodged a long spear deep in Frodo's chest.
Shouting, Merry and Pippin jumped onto his back, stabbing maniacally; Mariel sprang forwards with Gimli. Boromir roused Aragorn, who leapt to his feet, sword in hand.
"Jump!" they cried; the hobbits could not. A spear was up his nose – he staggered back in pain. Legolas, placing a shot, drew his bowstring taut, sought out a target, and released the deadly shot.
The troll let out an anguished cry, a deep bellow. It careered awkwardly around; the others skipped out of its path. It swayed violently. Merry was thrown off. It fell to its knees, and Mariel sliced at its thick body. Pippin wobbled near its head. One last, agonised moan, and it collapsed. Pippin was cast several feet. As one man, the Company ran to Frodo.
Aragorn whipped him over. A miracle – he was breathing! His breath was sharp, and painful, but he was alive.
"Mithril!" exclaimed Gimli, seeing the silver mail beneath the shirt. "A kingly gift. You are one of many surprises, master hobbit!"
"No time for that," said Gandalf urgently. "We must make for the bridge of Khazad-Dum."
Heaving Frodo up, Sam followed the others out of the chamber.
"Run!" hissed Mariel.
"I can manage!" gasped Frodo. Reluctantly, Sam saw to his own legs. They covered the magnificent slabs of the hall. Orcs writhed and twisted from every crack, seeping out and engulfing them like a virulent disease. They ran on, but the enemy was plentiful; they were cut off from the exit, trapped. Back to back, they clung together, determined to fight to the last but unseeing of how this could possibly end any other way. Orcs stabbed from a small perimeter, none seeming to want a close touch from the vengeful Company. They laughed and jeered, and found new roots for their courage, surging forwards suddenly, when –
A silence befell the room. The orcs quavered, and shrank back. Flame illuminated the far doorway. Noisily, clattering ungainly, the orcs scurried away into black spaces.
"What is it?" asked Pippin fearfully, unsure whether this escape was indeed that, or a worse evil than before. Gandalf sank onto his staff, and on him seemed to grow several more years in one moment.
"A Balrog," he sighed. "What ill fate! Already I am weary."
Then in an instant he spun round, and commanded them away.
"Run!" he cried. "This is a foe beyond any of you!"
Aragorn and Legolas looked set to argue, but Gandalf, as though reading their minds, demanded, "go!" and they turned and fled from the hall.
They charged down steps. A bridge, split in the middle, crumbled under their feet. A rock dislodged from the roof and thundered down. The bridge shook, and with a horrible jar a huge bulk collapsed into the endless cavity below. Legolas sprang across; Boromir leapt without question, Merry and Pippin bundled at his side. Gandalf was across – Gimli would not go.
"No one tosses a dwarf!" he bellowed, and jumped. He was short by about a foot. His feet found lodgement and his body leaned backward dangerously. Legolas grabbed at the beard and pulled him across.
Sam was cast across. Only Aragorn and Frodo remained with Mariel.
"Jump!" came the cry, but with another splitting crack, a vast boulder slammed down from above, tearing more of the bridge with it. The gap was too large, even for any elf. The small, unsupported section of the bridge wavered dangerously, the three figures on its top. "Jump!" They could not.
The section began to rock unsteadily.
"Lean forwards!" shouted Aragorn and Mariel, in unison. Hand on the others' shoulders, they and Frodo cast their weight forward all they dared, begging the steps to sail forwards. They wobbled uncertainly. Their legs shook beneath them. The stone under their feet, crumbling and looming out from peerless depths, swayed terribly. They leaned forwards.
Their weight swung in their favour. The stone crashed into its brother, and reunited with a path, the three scrambled down to join the others. The Fellowship fled, and Mariel, running behind them, felt an evil idea nudging aside her compassionate dedication to the friends.
They ran. Arrows whistled behind them, impaling mail shirts and spearing through Gandalf's hat. The bridge was visible.
On through a slim archway they ran, and faltered momentarily, whilst their eyes took in the sight before them. A black chasm lay across the length of the room, the only means of crossing a slender bridge that ran from one side to the other.
"Over!" cried Aragorn without hesitation, bringing up the rear. He spurred them on. Gandalf counted them all past. They ran the thin length, charging with the hope of seeing daylight once more. But a cry emerged that wasn't drawn by orcs.
"Ai! Ai!" wailed Legolas. "The Balrog is come!"
They turned. It was a horrendous sight. Fire came from its nostrils; it stood tall and menacing, flaming and threatening. Glamdring gleamed white and cold. Gandalf stood strong against his enemy.
"I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass."
The Balrog screamed a horrible cry. It chilled the bones of all present. Gandalf remained, undaunted.
"You cannot pass."
The Balrog reared in anger, took a step over the bridge. A bright light shone round the old wizard.
"You shall not pass!"
The Balrog charged forwards. There was a commotion. Aragorn surged forwards.
"Elendil!" he cried. "I am with you Gandalf!" and he leapt forwards, Boromir at his heels.
"Gondor!" cried the warrior.
"For Sueth," muttered Mariel bitterly, and stepped after them.
"Lady!" hissed Legolas, but she cast him aside.
"I will not let him fall to the Balrog!" she shouted. It was true – not to the Balrog would Gandalf lose his life. She leapt upon the bridge, which groaned and cracked under Gandalf's staff.
"You shall not pass!" he commanded, one last, final time.
The bridge broke. The staff shattered. The old wizard, for a second so grand, turned his back on the screaming demon, falling into the abyss.
Aragorn and Boromir were close; they had almost reached him. They barred the bridge. Mariel could not reach past. The two men ran to greet him, gladness in their faces. Unseen by anyone else, Mariel regarded the long flaming whip as it coiled upwards and sought its prey.
She could have shouted. He would have made it across. The others had not seen. In front of her, two men and a wizard, unwary, unknowing: behind them, four Halflings, their focus not on the floor but their friend, as with Gimli. But Legolas. Legolas may have seen.
He may have seen the whip as it shot upwards, and in a last act of vengeance, crawl around the foot of its attacker. He may have seen the others, unwarned by Mariel, who stood staring upon Gandalf's imminent face with no compassion in her face. He may have seen her focus all her mind on sending Gandalf off that terrible edge.
He slipped. He crashed to the ground, and slid to the edge, hanging there.
Aragorn gave a cry and ran to him, but something he could explain held him back. Almost as though a will not of his body was restraining him. Boromir felt it too.
"Gandalf!" he bellowed, but the wizard was all but lost.
For a moment, movement was suspended by the unthinkable. Then Gandalf, stirring the last of his spent strength, cried out.
"Fly, you fools," he called, and was gone.
They stood stunned. Frodo screamed in anguish. The other three fought against the taller members, ready to cast themselves down after him.
"Come on!" Mariel roused them. Aragorn and Boromir felt the will lift. They forced themselves to move. Each took a hobbit under either arm, wriggling in agonised protest; they were all crying. Gimli stumbled away up the steps, Legolas checked the Company.
"Mariel!" he called, and a steely tone was in his voice. "Away! He is gone!"
They ran up the stairway, weeping with bitter tears they couldn't restrain; only the steadfast faces of Legolas and Mariel were clear. Even Aragorn suffered tears. They stumbled on, orcs screaming at their heels, arrows hissing behind them. They stumbled out of the dark, and came at last to the cold white light of the anticipated day.