A/N: This is another short chapter. On average,
they will be somewhat longer after this. I will double up very short
chapters so the updates won't be quite as short (after this chapter).
I edited chapter 5 with a small grammatical correction (no change in content),
but I'm having trouble with fanfiction.net and will upload this change as
soon as I am able. Thanks to everyone who is reading this and for the
reviews!
Ch. 7: Many battles
After a moment, a great boom sounded.
They were soon under siege by Orcs. There were both the smaller Moria
orcs and the large, black Uruks from Mordor. To top it all off, there
was a gigantic cave troll. They wedged the door shut, but could have
been straw for all it did to stop the troll. Boromir took a swing at
it and succeeded only in notching his sword. Worf, too, took a swing
at it, but the bat'leth bounced off. Frodo stabbed at it with his Elven
sword, Sting, and injured its foot. Soon Orcs poured into the chamber.
Worf at once understood why he was mistaken for one and offended that he
was ever compared to these evil things. He decapitated two with one
swing of his bat'leth. Legolas started with his bow and arrows, but
soon had to use the knives he carried. Sam soon lost his sword, and
took to fighting with a frying pan. Worf had to smile, even as brought
his bat'leth down on the head of an Orc, splitting the thing's head in two,
then took a swing another that was trying to sneak up behind Gimli.
The swing removed its sword arm and the blade stuck in the thing's side.
Worf punched the thing in the temple with his free hand, then put his foot
against the thing and pulled the weapon out, before turning to find another
opponent.
The troll went after Frodo, and struck
him with a huge spear. The hobbit screamed, then went still. Time
seemed to stop for a moment. Worf found himself beside Legolas, and
he fought off the Orcs approaching them. Freed from defending himself,
the Elf shot an arrow directly into the Troll's mouth and the thing was finally
felled. Worf picked up Frodo's still form, only to be told to "put
me down!" He had only been stunned, not dead as they had assumed. They
fled the chamber, and the Orcs did not pursue. Something had frightened
them off. Gandalf sent them ahead with the cry that swords would be
of no more use, then rejoined them a few minutes later, falling to the floor,
shaken and exhausted; he had met his match and just barely survived.
Worf knew he was out of his league, and respected the wizard more yet; he
was a warrior, too, in his own way.
As the Fellowship approached the Bridge,
arrows flew over their heads. Worf was glad of the armored clothing
he wore, even though it was heavy. Even so, an arrow grazed his arm.
Soon, they came to the bridge, and all their worst fears seemed to come true
as they were attacked by a Balrog. Gandalf yelled at them to cross
the bridge. He stood against it, but was dragged into the abyss with
the evil thing. His last cry was, "Fly, you fools!" ¹
Frodo screamed, "NO!" and Worf joined him
in a howl that was part frustration and anger, and part death howl.
The sound echoed through the mine. Still stunned, they could do nothing
but leave, and Aragorn led them out of the Mine, and then on toward Lothlórien.
They paused just outside the mine, stunned. Merry and Pippin had collapsed
together, and Sam dropped to the groud, tears streaming from his face.
Frodo walked slowly away. Boromir had to hold Gimli back from re-entering
the mine, and Legolas' expression was one of stunned disbelief.
Worf looked around for something to hit; failing this, he pushed the grief
down as fully as he could. Aragorn insisted they continue, and Worf
pulled Sam to his feet, as Aragorn went after Frodo. Not even Aragorn
was exempt from the grief. He showed none of it to the others, but
when they continued he ran ahead, as if needing space.
After a while, both Frodo and Sam fell
behind, and Boromir and Aragorn ended up carrying them. When they reached
a place of rest, Aragorn saw to Frodo and Sam's wounds, then insisted he
see to Worf's as well, despite Worf's protestations. Worf removed his
shirt, and Aragorn had to cover his surprise at the pink blood. Aragorn
washed the wound with water infused with the athelas herb, which was
surprisingly effective for the primitive nature of the treatment; the wound
remained, but healing had already begun.
As Aragorn worked, Worf reflected on the
last few hours, and the past several months. His life had been turned
upside down. He had left an empty life on DS9, presumably to go back
to the Klingon Empire. The Empire had fallen so far into dishonor,
he didn't think there was any hope for it, but he had intended to try, anyway.
It had been his duty, and the only thing he'd had left. Suddenly he
had found himself in a strange world where nothing worked as it was supposed
to: magic was real, there were immortal beings and races with histories deeper
than any species he had studied. Good and evil were very real, and
distinct. There was no grey area or blurring of the distinctions.
Worf's connection to the world he left
was growing ever weaker, and to his surprise, he felt little regret.
He was coming to accept this world, and his link to the one he had left grew
ever weaker. Surprisingly, he felt little regret. Even as he
had begun to grow comfortable with this strange world, though, it seemed
to fall apart. Gandalf's fall was more than the loss of the leader
of the Fellowship; it was also the loss of a friend and guide. Gandalf
was the only one of the Fellowship who had really understood Worf and his
story, and moreover, accepted it. The old wizard had a wisdom passing
even that of the Elves, and Worf knew the others wouldn't begin to comprehend
the world of technology he had known. He wouldn't even try to explain
it to them; they wouldn't understand; they didn't need to know, either.
Now he felt more isolated than ever—an alien among primitives. He had
friends, but no one who could really understand.
Worf's dark musings were interrupted by
a welcome diversion. Merry asked him about the ridges down his back,
and Worf had to laugh at the young Hobbit's wonder, and outspokenness.
"Because that's how Klingons look, little Hobbit."
Pippin was quiet and withdrawn, and took no part in the
joking. Guilt over the incident in Moria threatened to overwhelm him.
Worf tried to explain to him the idea of an honorable death.
"Pippin, do your people have the idea of an honorable death?" When
the Hobbit shook his head no, Worf continued, "Gandalf died honorably.
Where he is now, I do not know, but I am certain that he will be greeted
with honor, wherever he is."
The hobbit was skeptical, but the words seemed to
comfort him a bit. Worf found that he was beginning to share the hobbit's
skepticism. Everything else he had known had disappeared like dust
in the wind, and Worf questioned the beliefs he had held all his life.
In this world, magic was real, and evil assailed them from every side.
This was not the same universe he had left. If he died here, would
he really pass into Sto-vo-kor, or would he pass into oblivion, or something
even worse? With nothing else to cling to, Worf pushed the dark thoughts
away and salvaged what faith he had left in Sto-vo-kor and the Klingon concepts
of life and death. Whatever would happen to him when he died, right
now he had to live and fight.
¹ p. 393, Fellowship of the Ring