Disclaimer: Why don't I own Lord of the Rings? *sigh* Well, until maybe the
Tolkien family takes pity on me, I do not own any of the characters or
places mentioned in this story. Please don't sue me! I know I am cruel to
them but I swear I will try to save them. Hope you enjoy!
Elf of Rivendell: Yay! You are a lovely person with lovely comments. Thank you!
Lil*bee: *pants* I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying! Thank you for reading Lost in Moria!
Jay of Lasgalen: I don't know- I find short chapters easier to take in. In proper novels, they are much longer but on a computer screen, lots of text makes my eyes go funny. And I know, I'm terribly predictable. But YOU gave me ideas, my friend! Thank you- Legolas's arrow is now officially yours cos you inspired it. Ye-hes, Legolas is a convenient person. You hate cliffhangers, oh, c'mon! They rock!
Shirebound: Wow- I'm honoured- the author of AVALANCHE reviewed a piece of my work! I'm sorry- I live to torture Frodo. More soon coming! Talking of which, when is Chapter 13 of AVALANCHE arriving?
Barmy-the-elf: Heehee- I like writing. It makes me feel all yummy inside. Sorry, yeah, I noticed the way too many 'so fars'. Ah, oui, I am twelve years old but as a dog I would be eighty-four, so it's ok. (
~ Chapter Four ~
Legolas braced his arms against the side of the opening and threw himself up. He hit his head on the roof of the rock but, in the end, managed to reach the ledge. It was a junction between two tunnels, his slightly larger than the other. He found the remains of his bow stuck in the side of the wall, snapped in half. He sighed. But then he heard a voice. It shouted out names before collapsing into a half-hearted silence. It was coming from the second tunnel. The elf glanced down it but saw only fathomless darkness.
"Frodo?" he called out. There was no answer. Legolas grabbed a long sliver of the broken bow and wedged it into some cracks over the hole. Then, making sure it was secure, he swung himself out into the void. There he stayed, moving his feet to an outcrop of granite. He then removed the piece of wood and put it lower down, swinging himself to the next level. He looked down and saw only emptiness.
"I knew I'd want rope if I didn't have it," said Sam frustratedly. He was pacing up and down while Gandalf and Aragorn talked, wringing his hands. "I knew I'd want it if I didn't get it," he repeated, angry at himself. He kicked at a stone and sent it skittering across the floor. It tumbled down the shaft and Sam immediately regretted it. What if he had just dropped a stone on Frodo? "I'm sorry!" he yelled down the hole. Boromir and Aragorn came quickly over.
"What is it?" asked Aragorn.
"Did you speak to one of them?" Boromir ventured. Sam shook his head.
"No, sorry. See, I kicked a stone down the hole and I thought that when it reached the bottom or something it would hit Mister Frodo or Master Legolas. Sorry."
He blushed. But Boromir was looking thoughtful. His head snapped up.
"Aragorn," he said excitedly, "Sam's right! That stone could get to them eventually- if it didn't land on any projections on the way- but even so .. We could do that ourselves! But with a message. We could get them to reply."
"If they're in any fit state to reply at all," said Aragorn, "And how would they get it back to us? They could be injured- it's dark so how would they read it?"
"But at least they'd know we haven't forgotten 'em!" Sam protested. Aragorn looked at his friends. They nodded in mutual agreement.
"Alright. I will ask Gandalf," the Ranger complied.
Frodo felt cold and afraid. He rubbed his hands together to get warmer but it wasn't helping. He was still damp from the lake water and it was beginning to freeze his skin. He stood up, wincing, and began stamping his feet.
"Oh, it's no good," he declared and crouched down again. The wound in his neck had sealed up. His hands looked hideous in the halflight- like something an orc might have. The thought of orcs made Frodo shiver. He began tossing stones into a large groove in the rock. They pricked his hands but it passed the time. Until what? he wondered. When the pile had grown rather big, Frodo guessed he saw a spark among them. He put it down to his fear- making him see the light he wanted so badly. He continued the game until he saw it again. If he could make a spark, he could make fire. He grabbed the corner of his cloak and managed to rip a good chunk off. He laid it on the ground then picked up two rocks and began striking them off one another. He did it over and over again. There came three sparks, none of which were strong enough to light the fabric. Frodo could smell smoke in the air. He crashed the stones together again and again and again. Old wounds began to bleed and his skin went hard as leather. His wrists ached and pulsed but he was convinced that the light would make all things well. At long last, he struck the stones so hard that it sent vibrations up his arm and made a shower of sparks emerge. The tattered green material admitted defeat and let one corner catch fire. Frodo smiled and let it spread a little way before holding it up to light the world around him. He let out an awe-struck gasp.
Legolas could faintly smell smoke. It drifted past him from below. He did not know how long he had been working his way down. He was bruised all over and wished his eyes would grow more accustomed to the darkness. But all he could make out was faint shadowed faces in the rock. There were dwarven carvings of kings, banquets, hunters and of mines. He paused a moment to run his fingers over the intricate design of the Moria door engraved into the side.
"I will never accuse Gimli of not caring for beauty," the elf breathed, "For these carvings have clearly proved me wrong."
He moved the bow once again but it did not reach any ledge like before but instead could only find hard slippery wall. It stayed firm a moment and Legolas let it go. The bow sliver held its place for three seconds before slipping away and falling down into the abyss. Legolas pressed himself against the wall in fear, groping at the rocky face. He listened for the sound of the wood hitting the bottom. But it never came. He was trapped half way up, half way down. No way back, no way forward. Legolas felt a feeling he had never had before. Fear.
Elf of Rivendell: Yay! You are a lovely person with lovely comments. Thank you!
Lil*bee: *pants* I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying! Thank you for reading Lost in Moria!
Jay of Lasgalen: I don't know- I find short chapters easier to take in. In proper novels, they are much longer but on a computer screen, lots of text makes my eyes go funny. And I know, I'm terribly predictable. But YOU gave me ideas, my friend! Thank you- Legolas's arrow is now officially yours cos you inspired it. Ye-hes, Legolas is a convenient person. You hate cliffhangers, oh, c'mon! They rock!
Shirebound: Wow- I'm honoured- the author of AVALANCHE reviewed a piece of my work! I'm sorry- I live to torture Frodo. More soon coming! Talking of which, when is Chapter 13 of AVALANCHE arriving?
Barmy-the-elf: Heehee- I like writing. It makes me feel all yummy inside. Sorry, yeah, I noticed the way too many 'so fars'. Ah, oui, I am twelve years old but as a dog I would be eighty-four, so it's ok. (
~ Chapter Four ~
Legolas braced his arms against the side of the opening and threw himself up. He hit his head on the roof of the rock but, in the end, managed to reach the ledge. It was a junction between two tunnels, his slightly larger than the other. He found the remains of his bow stuck in the side of the wall, snapped in half. He sighed. But then he heard a voice. It shouted out names before collapsing into a half-hearted silence. It was coming from the second tunnel. The elf glanced down it but saw only fathomless darkness.
"Frodo?" he called out. There was no answer. Legolas grabbed a long sliver of the broken bow and wedged it into some cracks over the hole. Then, making sure it was secure, he swung himself out into the void. There he stayed, moving his feet to an outcrop of granite. He then removed the piece of wood and put it lower down, swinging himself to the next level. He looked down and saw only emptiness.
"I knew I'd want rope if I didn't have it," said Sam frustratedly. He was pacing up and down while Gandalf and Aragorn talked, wringing his hands. "I knew I'd want it if I didn't get it," he repeated, angry at himself. He kicked at a stone and sent it skittering across the floor. It tumbled down the shaft and Sam immediately regretted it. What if he had just dropped a stone on Frodo? "I'm sorry!" he yelled down the hole. Boromir and Aragorn came quickly over.
"What is it?" asked Aragorn.
"Did you speak to one of them?" Boromir ventured. Sam shook his head.
"No, sorry. See, I kicked a stone down the hole and I thought that when it reached the bottom or something it would hit Mister Frodo or Master Legolas. Sorry."
He blushed. But Boromir was looking thoughtful. His head snapped up.
"Aragorn," he said excitedly, "Sam's right! That stone could get to them eventually- if it didn't land on any projections on the way- but even so .. We could do that ourselves! But with a message. We could get them to reply."
"If they're in any fit state to reply at all," said Aragorn, "And how would they get it back to us? They could be injured- it's dark so how would they read it?"
"But at least they'd know we haven't forgotten 'em!" Sam protested. Aragorn looked at his friends. They nodded in mutual agreement.
"Alright. I will ask Gandalf," the Ranger complied.
Frodo felt cold and afraid. He rubbed his hands together to get warmer but it wasn't helping. He was still damp from the lake water and it was beginning to freeze his skin. He stood up, wincing, and began stamping his feet.
"Oh, it's no good," he declared and crouched down again. The wound in his neck had sealed up. His hands looked hideous in the halflight- like something an orc might have. The thought of orcs made Frodo shiver. He began tossing stones into a large groove in the rock. They pricked his hands but it passed the time. Until what? he wondered. When the pile had grown rather big, Frodo guessed he saw a spark among them. He put it down to his fear- making him see the light he wanted so badly. He continued the game until he saw it again. If he could make a spark, he could make fire. He grabbed the corner of his cloak and managed to rip a good chunk off. He laid it on the ground then picked up two rocks and began striking them off one another. He did it over and over again. There came three sparks, none of which were strong enough to light the fabric. Frodo could smell smoke in the air. He crashed the stones together again and again and again. Old wounds began to bleed and his skin went hard as leather. His wrists ached and pulsed but he was convinced that the light would make all things well. At long last, he struck the stones so hard that it sent vibrations up his arm and made a shower of sparks emerge. The tattered green material admitted defeat and let one corner catch fire. Frodo smiled and let it spread a little way before holding it up to light the world around him. He let out an awe-struck gasp.
Legolas could faintly smell smoke. It drifted past him from below. He did not know how long he had been working his way down. He was bruised all over and wished his eyes would grow more accustomed to the darkness. But all he could make out was faint shadowed faces in the rock. There were dwarven carvings of kings, banquets, hunters and of mines. He paused a moment to run his fingers over the intricate design of the Moria door engraved into the side.
"I will never accuse Gimli of not caring for beauty," the elf breathed, "For these carvings have clearly proved me wrong."
He moved the bow once again but it did not reach any ledge like before but instead could only find hard slippery wall. It stayed firm a moment and Legolas let it go. The bow sliver held its place for three seconds before slipping away and falling down into the abyss. Legolas pressed himself against the wall in fear, groping at the rocky face. He listened for the sound of the wood hitting the bottom. But it never came. He was trapped half way up, half way down. No way back, no way forward. Legolas felt a feeling he had never had before. Fear.