Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.

Author's Notes: A rather short chapter, but a lot happens. The next one will be longer. And here we see things becoming even more familiar…

Chapter Five

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            And then the East was reached. The only thing that stood between the pack and Mordor was the long, dark strip of land known as Moria. The place was desolate and empty, and worked better than any icy river at keeping intruders out.

            There was no other option.

            With Gandalf flying low over their heads, the pack entered the dark land.

            The very sky seemed to cloud over and absorb any and all sunlight, so it was impossible to tell whether it was day or night. They guessed it had been about three days when they came across the body of a wolf.

            Though long decayed and nothing more but a skeleton, the build suggested that he had once been a great warrior, an alpha. He was lying at the bottom of a ravine, the walls yawning up around him on every side.

            Coming forward, Legolas sniffed the bones carefully.

            With a cry of alarm, he jerked away, his body twisting in the air as his bark yelped a warning.

            But it was too late. Raising their heads, the wolves looked up and around and saw their fate. The walls of the canyon were lined with Orcs.

            Orcs were fell creatures, animals that looked like they might have once been wolves but are most clearly not. Their fur was thick and scraggly at the same time, a horrible bristly coat that is rough and stained with blood. And their color was black, not the rich shining black of Elrond and Arwen, but a loathsome blackness that seemed to draw in any light like a vacuum, leaving the color of fear and hate.

            With hoarse, vicious barks, the Orcs plunged into the ravine and into the Pack.

            When in battle, Aragorn was a terrible sight to see. His lips pulled back to show razor sharp fangs, his mouth gaping open and tearing into anything foul and evil. Boromir also fought like a mad thing, using his body to crush the smaller animals. Pippin and Frodo yowled in terror, cowering behind their elders Merry and Sam. Enraged, Sam lunged forward and sank his teeth into an Orc, killing it, and so becoming the first Hobbit wolf to ever kill an enemy.

            Gandalf swooped upon the Orcs, gouging out their eyes with his talons like knives, ripping into their ears with his powerful grip. And Legolas used his whole body to fight, arching and bucking, and then launching a mighty kick from his hind legs.

            But the Orcs were many, and continued to pour from an unknown source until all seemed to be one writhing mass of black fur.

            And then they were gone.

            Yelping in terror, the Orcs fled with such speed it was as if they had never been. Only the corpses littered at their feet reassured the Pack that it had not been some queer vision.

            Suddenly, they heard it.

            Legolas was the first, his head tipping back and ears swiveling madly. And then all the rest became aware of the terrible sound; a high-pitched whine unlike anything they had ever heard before. Gradually, the whine built into a screaming roar, and the enemy swooped low overhead.

            It was a plane, a low-flying plane with machine guns mounted on its' wings and the name 'BALROG' painted on its' massive steel belly. It circled around and strafed them again, its' engines roaring at a deafening volume.

            The pack fled, up out of the valley and back towards the Northwest, towards safety. They could not cross Moria now; there was far more danger here than anticipated. Flattening to the ground, the wolves raced across the barren land like shooting stars, their legs pumping with speed. Boromir seized the lagging Pippin in his teeth and carried the pup by his scruff, while Aragorn carried Frodo.

            And still the 'BALROG' drew nearer, its' guns firing and kicking up the snow at the wolves' feet.

            They would never make it.

            And suddenly, with the screaming war cry of an eagle, Gandalf turned in midair to face the foe. Frodo's little voice rose into a wail of terror as the noble eagle flew closer to the plane…

            All the hellish lights of the 'BALROG' came on, giving it a horrifying glow…

            And with the last of his strength, Gandalf hurtled himself into its' windshield.

            Instantly the plane went out of control, crashing towards the ground and plowing up the earth behind them even as the wolves lifted their feet. Faster and faster, almost right on top of them…

            A ravine yawned ahead…

            With power thought impossible the pack flew over the gap, their legs gifted with adrenaline enough to make the jump.

            The 'BALROG', however, slid into the ravine and fell silent. And then all was chaos as the monster erupted into flames, spewing death and destruction everywhere and causing debris to rain from the sky in a fiery Armageddon.

            ~

            Once outside of Moria, the pack wept, their heart-broken voices ringing hollowly on the night air.

            Gandalf the Great had fallen.

            The Quest was alone.

~ To Be Continued