Separate Ways
By Katharine
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all related properties are copyrights of J.R.R. Tolkien, et al. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No infringement is intended.
Warnings: Rated PG for action and Gandalf's über-sweetness. Beware of movieverse—cave troll ahoy!
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The air hung heavy and scorching about the smudged, bleak faces of the Fellowship. Copper and scarlet light, cast by flames unseen, flickered on the soaring walls of the immense carven fissure in the earth. The great Halls of Khazad-dûm, once majestic testimonials to Dwarven skill and grandeur, had become sweltering kilns. The distant howls of rallying goblins echoed in the ears of their prey, even as the nine fugitives sought to escape the more perilous foe at their heels. The long black arrows pelting the stone at their feet seemed trifling in comparison to the primeval malevolence pursuing them.
Frodo blenched as the rock wall behind him and Aragorn gave yet another terrific shudder, as though something was pounding against it with frightful strength. His heart leaped against his ribs, slamming up into his throat with his terror. The stone staircase had fragmented even as the Fellowship attempted to cross over the previously small breach in it; and now, the gap was far too wide for a hobbit to clear, even if Aragorn were to throw him across. Frodo was glad for the Ranger's steadying grip on his shoulder; otherwise, he was sure he would not be able to keep his footing on the dizzyingly high stairway.
The hammering at the rock face was becoming more insistent. Large slabs of the cavern's ceiling and wall fell, torn from their moorings. One nearly collided with the elevated path just behind Aragorn and Frodo, but it missed, leaving the narrow pathway intact. Frodo saw the stone wall beginning to bow inwards under the massive blows from the other side. He looked down and across the gap, into the anxious faces of his friends and companions, then back up at Aragorn standing tall behind him. Horror shimmered in the Halfling's eyes. "Aragorn?" he asked tremblingly. "Shall I…shall I throw the Ring across, at least?"
Aragorn's weathered gaze swung down to lock with Frodo's. "No, Frodo," he replied severely, but his eyes were not angry. Rather, he seemed amazed by the Ringbearer's suggestion. "We are not dead yet."
"Then what will we—?" Frodo began, but his question ended in a shrill yelp as the rock face began to buckle behind Aragorn.
The Ranger wasted no time to look at whatever had caused Frodo's outburst. He caught the hobbit up in his arms and came to the very edge of the gap between them and the rest of the Fellowship. "I must throw you across to them," Aragorn told him.
"What about you?" Frodo asked, his words muffled.
"That is not so important now, Frodo," the Ranger answered firmly. He looked down at the others assembled on the continued staircase below. "In the name of Elbereth, catch this hobbit!" he called to them.
Both Boromir and Legolas stretched out their arms in readiness, their faces grim but determined. Sam and his fellow hobbits watched in fascinated horror, unsure whether to watch Aragorn and Frodo, Legolas and Boromir, or the swiftly collapsing rock face beyond them all. Gimli's expression was creased with anger and frustration. Only Gandalf was still, as though frozen in place, and though none could discern it, his countenance was slowly settling into resolved lines.
Frodo heard the rock wall fracturing, and he suddenly bucked against Aragorn's hold. "No!" he cried. "I'll not leave you here alone!"
"Be still!" Aragorn commanded, preparing to throw the struggling hobbit into the waiting hands of Boromir and Legolas. "I will clout you senseless if I must, Frodo! You have to go on without me!"
"No," Frodo sobbed, wilting, unable to force the Ranger to reconsider what he was on the verge of doing.
At that precise moment, the great wall gave way. Amid a horrendous tearing, cracking, smashing din, there came a low growl that shook the sundered rocks. The narrow staircase shuddered as well, and Aragorn reeled, desperate to keep his hold on Frodo and retain his own balance. Frodo shut his eyes against the dizziness scrambling his senses to a nauseating muddle. He clenched his jaw so hard that a pain shot from his molars down his neck and back, but he hardly noticed, so great was the fear gushing through his mind.
"Aragorn!" Boromir cried. "Do it now!"
Frodo opened his eyes once more, in time enough to glimpse the creature emerging from beyond the rubble of the wall it had destroyed. Dust puffed up to conceal most of its form for but a moment, and then it stepped forth, snarling low in its throat. Frodo gave a strangled gasp. It was huge, with immense wings of smoke, and flames licked from within its eye hollows and between its gaping jaws. It was swathed in fire and smoke, and a blaze leapt up beneath its every step. A massive burning sword was clutched in its black claws.
"Frodo!" Sam screamed, scarcely able to make himself heard over the creature's roar.
Heat blasted from the Balrog's throat as it trumpeted its rage. Frodo cringed at the sound and searing warmth. He clung to Aragorn, wholly forgetting that the Ranger intended to throw him and the Ring across so that he could flee with the others. He squeezed his eyes closed, tears of horror and failure sliding down his smudged cheeks. The Ring would either fall into the abyss with its bearer, or it would be claimed by the flaming creature and delivered to Sauron. One small hobbit could do nothing to foil the intentions of such a hideous, massive creature, and Frodo knew it.
"Let go, Frodo!" Aragorn cried, struggling to pry the hobbit's fingers from his coat. "You must let go!"
Suddenly, there was a tremendous shout, followed by a flare of light so white and pure that it pierced through Frodo's clenched eyelids and made him wince. A gust of raw power knocked Aragorn off his feet, and he half-cushioned Frodo's body with his own so that the hobbit would not strike the stone so brutally. The two remained huddled on the stone for a moment—an eternity, it seemed to them—blinking furiously against the dazzling radiance filling the cavern. They could not fathom its source.
Then, a voice thundered through the glare. It was so authoritative, so imbued with force, that sheer volume was not a concern. "Stand down, thou cursed flame of Udûn!"
The Balrog had shrieked in dismay as the light first assailed its blackened form, but now it gave a defiant howl. The light abated somewhat, as though a veil had been cast over its fount, and Frodo looked up through eyes streaming with pained tears. He saw the Balrog, flaming and smoldering as it had before, now grasping its sword in one hand and a blazing whip in the other. Yet it was not so bold as it had been; for opposite its darkly shrouded form stood a soaring pillar of sheer white radiance, rooted upon the stairs across the gap, near the other members of the Fellowship, all of whom were scrambling to flee from the newly appeared figure.
The Balrog hissed in fury, raising its fiery sword in challenge. The ivory presence lifted its arm, draped in shimmering white, and a massive blade of gleaming silvery glow shone hotly. The second figure easily stepped across the gap in the staircase to meet the enemy, and though the hem of its glistening robes should have swept Aragorn and Frodo off the stairs entirely, they remained untouched. They were left, then, to merely observe in astonishment.
"Where's Gandalf?" Pippin gasped out, his voice faintly carrying to Frodo's ears.
Frodo risked a glance down and away from the two giant figures, to his friends on the stairs below. Boromir, Legolas and Gimli remained at the fore, staring, shocked and bewildered; the three hobbits pushing their way forward so that they could better see. But Gandalf was nowhere to be seen. A cold dread seized Frodo. Had the old wizard been knocked over the edge, into the black chasm?
A hideous voice filled his ears then, and his gaze was drawn back to the bright opponents above where he and Aragorn still crouched. The Balrog was speaking. Most of its smoke-shrouded form was concealed by the blazing white presence standing between it and the Fellowship, but its voice was clearly heard. Its timbre resembled a stone being ground into dust. "Fool!" it grated out. "Sauron hath triumphed over thee and thine! Thou art the instrument of thine own defeat!"
The white figure replied with no less force than before, its tone ringing with deadly purpose. "I said, stand down."
The Balrog snarled and brought its weapon to bear. "Never!" it howled. The red blade carved a swath through the air then, as the dark creature sprang forward to attack.
The gleaming rival sword swung round, held firmly in the luminous hands of the white-robed figure standing as a barrier between the fiery demon and the Fellowship. With a mighty clang, the two blades collided in a shower of sparks. Tongues of red flame lapped at the chill silver sheen, but the white figure's weapon prevailed, and the Balrog screeched in rage as its own sword crumbled into molten fragments. It stepped back, wings furling slightly.
"Stand down, or meet thy doom!" the white figure thundered.
The darkened form blazed with sudden renewed flame, and its only reply was a roar that caused the stone staircase to once more tremble beneath Aragorn and Frodo. Neither of them could even think of moving; awe rooted them to the spot, for good or for ill. The Balrog's massive blackened wings extended to touch the rock walls to either side, and it raised its crackling whip high.
Frodo's cry died on his lips, for as the whip snapped out the white figure was already moving. It thrust out its blade once more, catching the flaming lash on the cool length of the silver sword, and wrenched backwards on the entangled weapons. The Balrog stumbled forward, and let loose an earsplitting howl of fury and pain as its opponent's chill blade speared through its fiery breast. The sword drove all the way through to emerge at the back, glistening and sparking, flames yet coiling about its vicious point. The beast writhed, thus impaled, unable to free itself or its weapon, which had been buried within its shuddering form with the length of the sword.
In a flash of glaring brilliance, the white figure jerked its adversary about so that the Balrog's wings extended out over the gaping abyss. Aragorn and Frodo lay flat against the stairs, keeping as low as possible, though the two enormous opponents' engagement was occurring far above the heads of the comparatively miniature man and hobbit.
"Go back to the Shadow!" the shimmering figure cried, and with a mighty shove, hurled the Balrog over the edge of the fissure. The flaming creature shrieked as it fell, clutching at the blood-red flames and roiling smoke spilling from the wound in its chest, and then it was gone, swallowed by the blackness of the abyss. Its death howl echoed but twice, then was silenced.
The white figure stood still and silent, glistening robes settling about its enormous frame, silver sword resting at its side. Frodo was afraid to move, or even breathe. He was frozen in place, unsure of what the great shining being might do next. Tears of relief welled in his stinging eyes, followed soon after by rivulets of sorrow; Gandalf was gone, likely fallen into the same gorge as the Balrog. "Aragorn?" Frodo whispered, barely able to make any sound at all.
The Ranger glanced at his shivering charge, but had no chance to make reply, for at that moment a black-feathered shaft splintered upon the stair beside Frodo. The goblins, seeing the Balrog was defeated, had taken up the assault with renewed vigor. Aragorn reached out and dragged Frodo to his feet, calling, "Legolas, Boromir, be ready!"
Frodo caught a flicker of bright movement from the corner of one eye, and he craned his neck to see the glimmering white figure turning about and tilting its head down, as if to regard the tiny shapes before it. Frodo's mouth dropped open, and he tugged at Aragorn's coat. The Ranger did not respond, but instead lifted Frodo up and made as if to heave the hobbit across the expanse.
"Do not throw that hobbit, Aragorn!" the voice rumbled above. There was no anger in its tone, however; rather, it seemed almost amused. "I shall make the way possible for the both of you, if you will but wait a moment."
"A moment could find one or both of us speared by a goblin arrow, good sir," Aragorn replied, and in his voice there hung no small amount of uncertainty as to their colossal benefactor's purpose—or identity.
"Ah, yes, the goblins," the great figure sighed, as though mildly exasperated with the creatures' ill behavior. It—he, Frodo realized—extended one radiant hand and flicked his long fingers in the general direction of the goblin archers. There was no sound, but of a sudden, the arrows ceased to fly. The last shaft struck the stone stairs just behind Boromir and Legolas with a loud crack, and the whistling of black darts was ended as swiftly as it had begun.
Yet the howling and clanging of an approaching horde grew ever louder, and Frodo swallowed hard. He stared up at the white figure, who wordlessly reached down to grasp a large slab of rock: some part of the wall or ceiling, loosened and felled by the Balrog's vicious buffeting of the rock wall. The action brought his large face closer to the Ranger and his small charge, and Frodo caught a glimpse of the features previously hidden by the glimmering light streaming from the figure's entire being. His long hair fell in shining waves over his massive shoulders, and his face was young; he had the general appearance of a youthful man or Elf, but was far fairer than any child of those kindreds. His eyes were as roiling blue flames set into the ivory gleam all about them.
The white figure knelt by the edge of the abyss and firmly wedged the slab of rock he held into the crevice separating the members of the Fellowship. "That will do," he murmured. "Go now, all of you, and be quick! The multitude comes!"
Aragorn did not waste any time in questioning the mysterious figure. He set Frodo on his own feet once more, and with one hand clamped at the hobbit's shoulder began to hurry them both across the improvised bridge. They quickly reached their companions, who took but a little time to give voice to their relief, and then they flew, descending the great staircase as swiftly as their legs would carry them.
"Did you see Gandalf? Did he fall in?" Frodo cried to Sam, dropping down the steps alongside him.
"I didn't see him, Mr. Frodo," Sam answered. The hobbit was gasping, with fear or exhaustion, or perhaps both. "Mr. Gandalf gave a yell just before that giant white whatever-it-is turned up, but I haven't seen him since."
Frodo glanced behind, and saw the great shining figure standing like a sentinel before the ruins of the shattered wall. Who or what he was, the Fellowship would probably never know, Frodo thought. He desperately wanted to know what had become of the old grey wizard who had thus far led the company; and why had Gandalf, as Sam had said, given such a cry? Was it a shout of gladness, or of warning?
There was little time to dwell upon such things, for they had come to the long, narrow bridge that spanned the abyss of the Second Hall of Khazad-dûm. It was a defense against invasion, built by Durin, so that any attacking foe would be forced to file over the bridge in a single line and thenceforth easily held at bay. It was over this bridge that the Fellowship dashed, as quickly as they were able. Gimli led the way, with Boromir, Merry and Pippin close at his heels, and then came Legolas, Frodo and Sam, with Aragorn at the very last. They looked neither to the right nor to the left, for to do so would surely have meant a perilous loss of footing. Instead, they trained their gazes on the way ahead, for Gimli encouraged them, saying, "See! We have almost reached the doorway to the outside!"
The Fellowship darted across the bridge with all speed, then up several flights of stone stairs; and as Gimli had said, they swiftly came to the great doors that opened onto the sunlit slopes of the mountain. They found those doors collapsed, however, and so were able to make good their escape, hastening out onto the jagged surface of the mountain's base. The sky shone brilliantly blue, with but a few drifting clouds. The sun shone brightly, causing all in the company to blink with some pain, as the mines had been mostly dark and their eyes were unused to the sun's glare.
Frodo stood alone on a small crag, looking back at the sheer wall of the exit they had just come through. Beyond it, he hoped, Gandalf still lived, perhaps in league with the Fellowship's unfathomable rescuer. Sam sat nearby, breath heaving in huge gasps, and Merry and Pippin were in much the same way. Gimli was quiet; Legolas cast his keen gaze across all the lands as though to assure himself that no immediate pursuit was upon them, from any direction. Aragorn and Boromir stood together, talking quietly but intensely.
A sudden rumbling voice gave them all a start. Frodo whirled; there, having somehow appeared from blank air, knelt the immense figure of white. His silver sword was at his side, girt to his waist once more, and his hands rested on the rocks. Again, Frodo could just perceive his impossibly fair features. "Ah, good," he said approvingly, "you have escaped."
"Good sir, who are you, and whence have you come so suddenly, at our time of need?" Aragorn called up.
"And do you know Gandalf?" Frodo added.
The white figure's brilliance did not seem so overpowering beneath the sun's light; still, he shone with almost painful intensity. His shimmering robes pooled about his kneeling frame. "Gandalf?" he repeated, then laughed. The sound rolled across the mountain faces like thunder, echoing again and again as though the crags could not contain the mirth evinced in the sound, and so were forced to fling it back and forth amongst themselves. "My friends, do you not know who I am? I have changed much, that is true, but am I so unfamiliar to your eyes?"
Frodo heard a note in the figure's kind voice, then; it was a tone of weary amusement very much akin to the one employed by Gandalf himself when he sorted out the antics of young hobbits. A spark of hope flared to life in the Ringbearer's heart, and he spoke even before his thought had fully taken form. "Gandalf?" he piped.
Another chuckle rumbled across the rocks. "Yes, Frodo, it is I," the white figure answered warmly. "At last you see that which I have concealed for all the long ages of my dwelling upon these shores! For this is my true form, my friends, and not the old man leaning on a staff that you have always known. Legolas, I believe, may have a guess as to what manner of being I am; and perhaps Aragorn does as well."
"You are a Maia of the West, are you not?" Legolas asked, his voice hushed with awe, bright eyes wide.
"Many ages past, the Valar perceived that the Shadow had not been fully driven from the shores of Middle-earth," the white figure—Gandalf!—explained. "Hence, they sent five spirits—five Maiar, as you say—in the forms of wizards. We were charged with the care and keeping of Middle-earth and its denizens, and instructed to give what aid we might in the staving of evil. We were not to reveal our true nature, for our purposes would then be foiled by the fear, or adulation, of those we had come to serve."
"Not unjustly have I trusted you without reservation, my friend," Aragorn said, shaking his head in wonderment. "Indeed, had I but known, I should never once have warned you to tread carefully! For what mortal weapon can do harm to a spirit of the West?"
"The human form I took was vulnerable, Aragorn," Gandalf replied. His smoldering blue eyes glanced back at the entrance to the mines. "We were forbidden to exert our power in any way but that which could be conducted through our staffs. Had an Orc's arrow pierced me, or any other mortal harm befallen me, I—or rather, my body—would have been rendered as lifeless as any other." He turned his gaze once more to the remaining Fellowship on the rocks below him. "Now, don't look at me so, Frodo my lad! See, I am not dead, am I?" he chided gently. Though the voice was deeper, and sang out across the peaks, the tone was exactly that of Gandalf the Grey. He continued, "You must continue on, all of you, for the enemy horde is stirring even now. Aragorn will lead you to Lothlórien."
"Will you not come with us?" Aragorn asked. "The Fellowship has followed your lead, and will gladly do so again despite the knowledge you have shared."
"I must return to my home in the West," Gandalf told them gravely. "I have shed my appointed form in order that you might be saved, and that I do not regret! But I may not remain in this land without that guise, and it is not within my power to summon another such form. So I must bid you farewell, and thenceforth depart these shores. The Fellowship must follow Aragorn's lead."
"You're leaving?" Frodo stammered. "But, but you've only just come back to us! I thought you were lost to the abyss with the Balrog!"
The white figure canted his head to regard the hobbit, and his smile exactly matched the old Gandalf's. "My dear Frodo," he sighed. "I would continue with you to the very end, if such was fated. But I can no longer tarry here, for even now the winds carry word of what I have done to the seat of Manwë, and he expects my return. To do otherwise would be to defy the Valar, and then I would be no better than Sauron himself." He turned his gaze to Aragorn. "You must lead them in my stead, Aragorn son of Arathorn. Go now! For the horde will soon cover these hills in search of their prey."
"Alas, that we should bid farewell to such an excellent friend and leader!" Aragorn said. He bowed slightly to the white figure kneeling above them all. "But I will do as you have said, my friend, for even at the last your words bear wisdom. Farewell, and may you find peace in your home in the West."
"Good-bye, Gandalf," Frodo choked out, and the words were echoed by similarly miserable hobbit-voices around him; Merry, Sam and Pippin stood near with tears in their eyes.
"Fare you well, young hobbits," Gandalf told them warmly. "Frodo, dear boy, hold your head up! I do not go to my doom, but instead to my home! And that is not so bad, is it?"
"I shall miss you terribly," Frodo sniffed, holding his head up as the figure had commanded. "But I am glad that at least someone is able to go home now. It makes me feel a little better."
"That's the Baggins I know!" Gandalf said, and his smile shone brighter than the sun. "Good-bye, Samwise, and mind what I told you! I have your promise; don't forget. Meriadoc, keep out of trouble, for I shall be watching from afar! And for goodness' sake, Pippin, do try to curb your Tookish tomfoolery!"
"We will, we will," the two younger cousins chorused tearfully.
"Look after one another," Gandalf told them. He turned his attention to the others in the Fellowship. "Lead them well, Aragorn. To no other would I entrust this, for you were appointed by forces contriving long before your birth. Boromir, son of Gondor, heed the word of Aragorn, and fulfill the duty you have sworn to. And, if it is not too much trouble, look after my little ones here? They are easily overlooked, and I have seen that you in especial are concerned for their protection. Gimli, praised be your axe! Wield it well, in the defense of your comrades; yet know when to lay it to rest. Legolas, take care for your companions; for you are their long sight, both with eyes and with heart, and the time may come when they cannot see the light but for your assurance."
There were answering murmurs all around, and heads nodded in assent. "Then I must now depart," Gandalf said, seeing that his words had taken hold. He stood, towering once more over them all, and his robes flashed in the sun. "Farewell, my dear friends! Be swift yet cautious as you go! Farewell!" And the immense white figure turned to the west, and there was a dazzling flare of sunlight, so terribly bright that the Fellowship shielded their eyes with their hands. When they looked again, Gandalf the Maia was gone.
"He is gone into the West," Legolas whispered, his voice flowing into the stunned silence. "Into the Blessed Realm, the fairest of all lands ever conceived."
"I am glad for him," Aragorn said. "If any deserved such a rest, it was Gandalf. Long has he toiled in this land, on behalf of those for whom he forsook his home."
"Long, indeed," Legolas agreed. "He was known to my folk before even I was sired."
"Then we must celebrate, and not be sad at all!" Merry gulped, swiping his tears away and managing a smile. "If Gandalf is so old and has been away from his home for so long, then we should be happy he gets to go back now!"
Aragorn returned the smile, but the look in his dark eyes was pensive. "Yes, Merry, I find that I must agree." He glanced at the mouth of the mines they had so recently escaped. "But as Gandalf said, we must go now, with haste. We must reach the Wood of Lothlórien before nightfall. Perhaps, as we go, Legolas will consent to tell you all of the land to which Gandalf has gone; for none remember so much lore and song of the Undying Lands as do the Elves!"
"I would be pleased to share such lore as I know, if any wished it of me," Legolas said.
"We do!" Merry and Pippin said in unison, and Frodo added a very quiet, "I do."
"Very well, then, we shall have a tale as we go," Aragorn said, "and go we must! Follow me!"
The Fellowship did as he said, and as they fled the slopes of the mountains, all listened with wonder to Legolas' account of the West, Gandalf's home. Frodo's heart was lifted as he heard of the beauty and peace that lay beyond the Sundering Sea. I am glad you are home, Gandalf, he thought, wondering if the wizard could still hear him. I truly am glad for you.
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Far away, in a land of sweet air and undying light, a great figure stood upon a shore and paused. The tiny voice had reached him, so heartfelt was its intent. And Olórin the Maia smiled to himself, even as he raised his eyes to greet the shining figures of his kin coming to meet him…
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Notes:
Gandalf is just too cool, I tell you… and I like Aragorn in this piece, as well.