Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings. If I did, I would be dead - and where's the fun in that?
A/N - The rating has been increased from G to PG, just to remain on the safe side. Also, this chapter is darker than the other, and less funny. (At least in my opinion.) The next one should be better, as the Fellowship *finally* reaches the Golden Wood.
Chapter III
Many a cold and bitter night had passed before Alakardiel began to grow used to the idea that they would not be reaching Moria - or even any time soon. In the beginning, soon after leaving Imladris, she had felt confident that they would arrive at the gates within a week, just like in the film, but now, two weeks later, she was not so sure. Walking all day and part of the night had begun to wear her down, and she was beginning to wish that she had never seen "The Fellowship of the Ring", or written fan fiction based in Tolkien's books. Hopeless, and desperately wishing to be sent back home, the only thing that kept her sane was the gift given to her by Elladan, a journal with the words; "Legolas perhaps achieved the least of the Nine Walkers" inscribed upon the first page.
So far, she had not written anything in her notebook other than ways to convince Tolkien that she had repented, and would never write tenth member stories ever again, a few new fan fiction ideas (involving a girl joining the Fellowship and being horribly treated by Legolas before he realizes that he really likes her, and wants to marry her), and different schemes for making Legolas fall in love with her, for, since the note she had given him, he had avoided her as much as possible, volunteering to act as guard while she was asleep, and never talking to her unless asked a direct question. In fact, it was not until they arrived at the Gates of Moria that he even began to acknowledge her presence once more.
Morning dawned, bright and clear, on the "icky land", as Alakardiel called it, of Hollin.
Feeling merry after having reached Hollin so soon, Aragorn and Gimli, after consulting the other members of the Fellowship, were quick to light a fire, in hopes of having a good meal. Watching their progress from the sides, Alakardiel gulped. She knew now that her doom was upon her - she would be expected to cook their morning meal. For many days now, they had been eating only what they could prepare in a hurry, usually after the fall of night when it was too dark to really do any cooking. For many days, the Fellowship had been safe from the horror that was her cooking.
Alakardiel winced as she remembered the last time she had tried to cook breakfast and failed miserably. "How was I supposed to know that pancakes were explosive? It's not my fault the kitchen curtains caught on fire!" She muttered to herself.
She frowned as Aragorn approached her. "What do you want?" She snapped bitterly.
Aragorn looked slightly taken aback at her harsh words. "Alakardiel, lady. We - the other members of the Company - thought that perhaps you might fix us a warm meal, for after all you did join with us volunteering to do the cooking," he reminded her gently, wary of her dark tone of voice.
She threw a shoe at him and missed. "Go away. I'm not cooking." The words came out, not in Westron, as she had expected, but in English. She grimaced, almost certain of what would happen next.
He gave her a blank look. "What was that you said, lady? I am not familiar with the words you spoke."
"I said, 'I would be happy to prepare the meal, lord, if only you would give me the means to do so.'" Alakardiel replied, standing up and walking after her missing shoe.
Aragorn nodded curtly. "I will see that you are given whatever you may need."
Alakardiel groaned inwardly. "Hey - you! Whoever you are controlling my language skills, stop!" She hissed, trying to pull on her shoe as she walked toward the fire, only to trip as she did so and nearly fall headlong into the flames.
She studied the camp fire warily. "Er - okay. What do you want me to fix?" She asked, looking at the hobbits.
"Ahem," said a voice behind her. "If I may be of some assistance . . ."
Alakardiel whirled around, thinking of who might be behind her. "Legsy!" She thought happily, her frustration vanishing. "He's talking to me! Now's my chance!"
However, it was not Legolas Thranduillion that was addressing her. Rather, it was Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor.
"Oh. It's you," she said in a bored tone, less than pleased to see him.
"Yes, it is I. I was instructed to give this to you," said the man, handing her a large cloth sack.
"Er - thanks, I think." Alakardiel replied, startled.
"You are welcome," said Boromir cordially, turning and ambling away.
She opened the sack and peered inside. Various cooking supplies were what greeted her gaze. "Great. They really do want me to cook," she muttered. A grin crossed her face. "This could be interesting."
It was not more than an hour later that the Company was sitting down to a hot meal of stew, courtesy of Alakardiel. To their surprise, and immense delight, the stew she had prepared was quite delicious, and very filling. Even the hobbits, who had complained about the fare they had been receiving complimented her, and asked what she had put in to make it so tasty.
"This is some of the best stew I've had in a long time, if you catch my meaning," said Sam, admiring her cooking skills. "What did you put in it to make it so good, Lady?"
Alakardiel grinned wickedly. "Oh, nothing important. Just the normal ingredient, you know."
"What sort of meat did you use," asked Sam, fishing a piece out of his nearly empty bowl. "Coney?"
A blank look crossed her face. "Oh - no, I didn't think about making dessert, and I'm very sure we don't have any ice cream cones . . . " she bluffed.
Sam rephrased his question patiently. "Did you use coney meat?"
"No. What's that?"
"I believe what Master Samwise means is did you use rabbit meat in the stew," said Boromir, clearly amused.
A look of horror crossed her face. "Ew! No! Gross! That's disgusting! I can't eat rabbit!" Alakardiel shrieked.
"Then what did you use in the stew?" Aragorn inquired, somewhat shocked by her response.
"I didn't use meat at all! I found a pile of sticks and used those instead!" She snapped, sulky.
There was a long pause as the Company considered what this piece of information meant.
"Well," said Aragorn haltingly, "Those were the best twigs I have ever tasted."
Noticing the shocked looks on everyone's faces, it was all Alakardiel could do not to grin.
Fortunately for Alakardiel, the chance for the Fellowship to be exposed yet again to the horror of her culinary skills did not come until much later. Late that night, while Sam, accompanied by Aragorn, was on guard duty, a regiment of black crows flew overhead, spying on them, Aragorn was sure, and watching over Hollin.
" Regiments of black crows are flying over all the land between the Mountains and the Greyflood," he said, "and they have passed over Hollin. They are not natives here; they are crebain out of Fangorn and Dunland. I do not know what they are about; possibly there is some trouble away south from which they are fleeing; but I think they are spying out the land. I have also glimpsed many hawks flying high up in the sky. I think we ought to move again this evening. Hollin is no longer wholesome for us: it is being watched."
"And in that case so is the Redhorn Gate," said Gandalf; "and how we can get over that without being seen, I cannot imagine. But we will think of that when we must. As for moving as soon as it is dark, I am afraid you are right."
"Luckily our fire made little smoke, and burned low before the crebain came," said Aragorn. "It must be put out, and not lit again."
Alakardiel could not help but smile. She was saved from cooking once again! "Yes! Thank you weirdo birds!" She thought joyously.
Perhaps if she had known what next obstacle she would have to face she would not have been so happy.
Miserable, wet, and feeling as if she would never see her lower legs again, Alakardiel trudged through the snow on Caradhras, following close behind Gandalf, and trying not to look behind at Legolas, who was walking on the snow as if it were no major feat.
"Stupid elf," she muttered, "walking on the snow just as happy as can be."
She looked down mournfully at her own feet, which were currently buried under six inches of snow, and had the sudden urge to push her darling Legsy down the side of the mountain. It was only for the sake of Boromir and Aragorn, whom she had come to respect, that she did not.
A thought crossed her mind. "Hey - I'm an elf! Why can't I walk on the snow?"
Cautiously, she lifted first one foot, then the other, and took a few small steps. The thin crust of snow held, and suddenly she found herself walking on top as calm as could be, wondering why she had not thought of trying to before.
They tramped further on through the snow, until Alakardiel thought she would fall over from sheer exhaustion. "So what if I'm an elf, " she thought. "It doesn't mean that I'm used to climbing up mountains during a blizzard!"
Finally, just when she thought that she couldn't take it anymore, and she would stop and sit down even if it meant freezing to death, the Company came to a halt.
"We can go no further tonight," said Boromir. "Let those call it the wind who will; there are fell voices on the air; and these stones are aimed at us."
Alakardiel craned her neck and looked up at the cliff face. She had thought the rocks falling had been a figment of her imagination, hallucinations brought on by exhaustion, but now that Boromir spoke of them, she knew them to be real. She shivered, not from cold, but from the sudden feeling of being watched.
The rest of the Company continued to discuss what was to be done, until, having finally reached a decision, they all collapsed at the bottom of the cliff face, with Aragorn looking grim and the hobbits fighting hard to stay awake.
Alakardiel no longer cared whether she stayed awake or not. Already she could feel herself slipping into sleep, and she welcomed that feeling. Within moments she was dreaming.
"Oh Alakardiel," said the dream Boromir, "How has it been that I have lived so long without you by my side?"
"Nay, Alakardiel, lady," interrupted dream Aragorn. "I am the one for you! I would willingly give up the love of Arwen Undomiel if only to stay by your side forever more."
"Alakardiel! Do not let them play you false! I am your one true love - together you and I will rule Mirkwood forever!" Legolas proclaimed, having recently arrived in her imagined world.
Just as she was about to run to Legolas and forsake the affection of Aragorn and Boromir, everything went black. Suddenly she was standing on her own, in the dark.
"Where am I? What am I doing here?" She asked herself. "Where's Legolas?"
There was no answer; instead, a voice began to sing.
"Snow white! Snow white! O Lady clear!
Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O light to us who wander here,
Amid the world of woven trees." The voice sang.
"Oh," thought Alakardiel blankly. "I'm dying. Well, this isn't so bad. Might as well get it over with." Shrugging, when the voice began to sing again, she joined in, surprised that she knew the words.
"Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!
Clear are thy eyes, and bright thy breath!
Snow white! Snow white! We sing to thee,
In a far land beyond the Sea."
To her immense surprise, her voice was high and clear, much different from at home, where she often sounded as if she'd swallowed a frog.
"Yep. I'm dead. Have to be." A thought struck her. "Maybe I'll get to go home!"
The singing stopped abruptly as a bright figure materialized before her. "Hello. I'm Glorfindel. I'll be your tour guide through the Halls of Mandos, seeing as I've . . . oh. It's you." The figure said, clearly disgusted.
"Who are you?" Alakardiel asked, somewhat disappointed that she wasn't back home sitting in front of her computer.
"I'm Glorfindel. Remember - you told me that I was stealing the spotlight from Arwen when I rescued Frodo, and when I explained to you that I had no idea what you were talking about, you told me that I was behind the times, and that the women of Arda were liberated now. " Answered Glorfindel, disgust clear in his voice.
"Oh. Er . . . I didn't mean it?" Alakardiel said weakly, trying to convince Glorfindel she was innocent.
He sighed rather loudly, in an un-elf like manner. "All the maidens that meet with me say such things."
Noticing the blank look on her face, he said in a matter-of-fact voice; "You are not the first - surely you knew that."
She pretended not to hear him. "Anyway - Glorfy. Where am I, and why am I here? Better yet, why are you here?"
"You are on the way to the Halls of Mandos, traveling along the Path of Dreams." Glorfindel answered patiently, ignoring the nickname she had pawned for him.
"You mean I'm not dead?" Alakardiel shrieked. "I went to sleep in the snow for nothing?"
"You are an elf. You cannot die of exposure, only of a mortal wound, or grief." Glorfindel replied.
Alakardiel muttered something of a profane nature under her breath.
"I heard that," remarked Glorfindel.
Alakardiel glared at him and stuck out her tongue.
"Ai Valar - I was killed by a Balrog, spent part of my eternity in the Halls of Mandos and was reborn for this?" Lamented Glorfindel.
Fortunately, Alakardiel was spared from answering, for at just that moment Aragorn shook her gently awake. "Lady Alakardiel- we have decided our path. We are turning back and going down the mountain."
She sat up and yawned. "What an odd dream I had," she remarked, and thought nothing more about it.
That night found the Company at the bottom of the mountain, holding council over which route to try next. Gandalf was against Redhorn Gate, and wished to try the Mines of Moria. Boromir wanted to travel through the gate past Isengard, and Aragorn was against going through the Mines, as were the hobbits, Legolas, and Alakardiel. She remembered well what was in the Mines from the movie - and she did not want to try them.
"There's a Balrock in there," she thought, shivering with fright. "I don't want to be killed by a Balrock!"
If only she had known that it was not a Balrock she was afeared of, but a Balrog, spawn of Morgoth - perhaps then she would not have been afraid.
She would have been terrified.
The small council disbanded with Frodo's words that they would vote again in the morning, and with those not on watch sitting round the fire and dozing.
Alakardiel had just fallen into a deep sleep when the wolves came. Suddenly, she was no longer dreaming about wielding a sword - she was actually doing so, using her blade to try and kill wolves, marveling in the fact that despite her utter lack of knowledge about swordplay, she was managing to do very well at maiming her foes.
She was not the only one killing wolves. Before her, Aragorn used his sword to slit the throat of one while Boromir hewed the head off another. Gimli was using his ax to the best of his skill, and the great bow of Legolas was singing.
Suddenly, all went quiet as Gandalf began to chant in a harsh voice that sounded like thunder. "Naur an edraith ammen! Naur dan I ngaurhoth!" He cried.
With a roar and a crackling sound, as of a great fire, the tree above him burst into flame. The swords and knives of the defenders gleamed eerily in the flickering light as the last of the wolves were defeated. The final arrow of Legolas burned as flew through the air to pierce the heart of the wolf chieftain.
Dawn came, bringing no signs of more wolves, and bearing no signs of the fight that had taken place on the hilltop the night before, save for the arrows of Legolas, which were all whole, save one, of which only the point was left.
"It is as I feared," said Gandalf. "These were no ordinary wolves, hunting for food in the wilderness. Let us eat quickly and go!"
Alakardiel sighed, and shoved the rest of her breakfast into her mouth. "This is definitely not how I thought it would be," she thought wistfully. "By my schedule, we should be in that pretty elf wood by now with that hot march warden, not stuck here, tramping through the snow and Eru knows what else."
Realizing what she had just thought, she shrieked, and tried not to think for the rest of the day.
It was late, and the stars had already come out that night when the Company reached the Gates of Moria.
"Well, here we are, and all ready," said Merry, "But where are the Doors? I can't see any sign of them."
"Dwarf-doors are not made to be seen when shut," said Gimli. "They are made to be invisible, and their own masters cannot find or open them, if their secret is forgotten."
"But this door was not made to be a secret known only to dwarves," said Gandalf, coming suddenly to life and turning round. "Unless things are altogether changed, the eye that knows what to look for may discover the signs."
He walked forward to the wall. Right between the shadow of the trees there was a smooth space and over this he passed his hands to and fro, muttering words under his breath. Then he stepped back.
"Look!" he said. "Can you see anything?"
Alakardiel felt her mouth drop open as slowly but surely bright silver lines began to appear on the face of the rock, outlining a door, decorated with two trees, and a string of elvish words, which she could not read.
"What does the writing say?" asked Frodo, who was trying to decipher the inscription on the arch. "I thought I knew the elf-letters, but I cannot read these."
"The words are in the elven tongue of the West of Middle Earth in the elder days," answered Gandalf. "But they do not say anything of importance to us. They say only: The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. And underneath small and faint is written: I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs."
"What does it mean by 'Speak, friend, and enter'?" asked Merry.
"That is plain enough," said Gimli. "If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open, and you can enter."
Alakardiel could not take it any longer. She knew the truth of the matter - she knew what must be said to open the doors. "It's a riddle! The answer is the elvish word for friend." She cried. She cleared her throat, and tried to sound impressive. "Melon."
Nothing happened.
"Melon." She said again, feeling puzzled as to why the doors would not open.
Behind her a voice piped up, sounding faintly amused, "In Sindarin, the word you are looking for is Mellon, Alakardiel." Legolas informed her, a smug look on his face.
Just as she was about to speak, a splash could be heard in the waters of the lake behind them. Boromir had thrown in a rock.
Alakardiel gulped. She had been hoping to avoid this part of the story. "Mellon!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping that the doors would open quickly, that they might be spared the horror of what was about to happen.
At that moment, several things happened. The doors opened, and the Company dashed inside, up the steps, just as the Watcher in the Water awoke, and seized Frodo's ankle. Bill the pony let out a neigh of terror and bolted away. Sam ran after him, but hearing Frodo's cry stopped and ran to save his Master, slashing at the tentacle with his knife, and pulling Frodo back as the arm let him go. The water boiled and rippled, and a foul stench filled the air as twenty more arms rose out of the water.
"Into the Gateway! Up the stairs! Quick!" Shouted Gandalf, leaping back.
Alakardiel needed no prompting. She had already retreated up the stairs, and back into a corner, where she did not have to watch what happened next. Remembering this part of the motion picture, she squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried hard not to scream. "It doesn't kill anyone, it doesn't kill anyone, it doesn't kill anyone." She chanted, trying to stop up her ears from the sounds below.
There was a shattering echo as the doors slammed shut and all light was lost. Alakardiel shrieked, then sighed, relieved. She knew what had happened. The doors had been broken. They were trapped in the Mines.
Remembering what the Fellowship had found in the motion picture, she shuddered.
She was trapped in a tomb.
Chapter Four: Galadriel's other daughter? Alakardiel meets the Keeper of Nenya and looks into the Mirror of Galadriel with somewhat . . . interesting results.
Pages used out of FotR: 320, 324, 336, 341, 342
A/N - Writer From Rivendell (from here on WfR) would like to take this opportunity to say that Alakardiel's cooking experiences are not akin to her own. She has never, nor will ever, make explosive pancakes. Waffles, yes, pancakes, no. *Grin*. Also, she would like to do something she's never done before: Beg for reviews.
Please review.
A/N - The rating has been increased from G to PG, just to remain on the safe side. Also, this chapter is darker than the other, and less funny. (At least in my opinion.) The next one should be better, as the Fellowship *finally* reaches the Golden Wood.
Chapter III
Many a cold and bitter night had passed before Alakardiel began to grow used to the idea that they would not be reaching Moria - or even any time soon. In the beginning, soon after leaving Imladris, she had felt confident that they would arrive at the gates within a week, just like in the film, but now, two weeks later, she was not so sure. Walking all day and part of the night had begun to wear her down, and she was beginning to wish that she had never seen "The Fellowship of the Ring", or written fan fiction based in Tolkien's books. Hopeless, and desperately wishing to be sent back home, the only thing that kept her sane was the gift given to her by Elladan, a journal with the words; "Legolas perhaps achieved the least of the Nine Walkers" inscribed upon the first page.
So far, she had not written anything in her notebook other than ways to convince Tolkien that she had repented, and would never write tenth member stories ever again, a few new fan fiction ideas (involving a girl joining the Fellowship and being horribly treated by Legolas before he realizes that he really likes her, and wants to marry her), and different schemes for making Legolas fall in love with her, for, since the note she had given him, he had avoided her as much as possible, volunteering to act as guard while she was asleep, and never talking to her unless asked a direct question. In fact, it was not until they arrived at the Gates of Moria that he even began to acknowledge her presence once more.
Morning dawned, bright and clear, on the "icky land", as Alakardiel called it, of Hollin.
Feeling merry after having reached Hollin so soon, Aragorn and Gimli, after consulting the other members of the Fellowship, were quick to light a fire, in hopes of having a good meal. Watching their progress from the sides, Alakardiel gulped. She knew now that her doom was upon her - she would be expected to cook their morning meal. For many days now, they had been eating only what they could prepare in a hurry, usually after the fall of night when it was too dark to really do any cooking. For many days, the Fellowship had been safe from the horror that was her cooking.
Alakardiel winced as she remembered the last time she had tried to cook breakfast and failed miserably. "How was I supposed to know that pancakes were explosive? It's not my fault the kitchen curtains caught on fire!" She muttered to herself.
She frowned as Aragorn approached her. "What do you want?" She snapped bitterly.
Aragorn looked slightly taken aback at her harsh words. "Alakardiel, lady. We - the other members of the Company - thought that perhaps you might fix us a warm meal, for after all you did join with us volunteering to do the cooking," he reminded her gently, wary of her dark tone of voice.
She threw a shoe at him and missed. "Go away. I'm not cooking." The words came out, not in Westron, as she had expected, but in English. She grimaced, almost certain of what would happen next.
He gave her a blank look. "What was that you said, lady? I am not familiar with the words you spoke."
"I said, 'I would be happy to prepare the meal, lord, if only you would give me the means to do so.'" Alakardiel replied, standing up and walking after her missing shoe.
Aragorn nodded curtly. "I will see that you are given whatever you may need."
Alakardiel groaned inwardly. "Hey - you! Whoever you are controlling my language skills, stop!" She hissed, trying to pull on her shoe as she walked toward the fire, only to trip as she did so and nearly fall headlong into the flames.
She studied the camp fire warily. "Er - okay. What do you want me to fix?" She asked, looking at the hobbits.
"Ahem," said a voice behind her. "If I may be of some assistance . . ."
Alakardiel whirled around, thinking of who might be behind her. "Legsy!" She thought happily, her frustration vanishing. "He's talking to me! Now's my chance!"
However, it was not Legolas Thranduillion that was addressing her. Rather, it was Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor.
"Oh. It's you," she said in a bored tone, less than pleased to see him.
"Yes, it is I. I was instructed to give this to you," said the man, handing her a large cloth sack.
"Er - thanks, I think." Alakardiel replied, startled.
"You are welcome," said Boromir cordially, turning and ambling away.
She opened the sack and peered inside. Various cooking supplies were what greeted her gaze. "Great. They really do want me to cook," she muttered. A grin crossed her face. "This could be interesting."
It was not more than an hour later that the Company was sitting down to a hot meal of stew, courtesy of Alakardiel. To their surprise, and immense delight, the stew she had prepared was quite delicious, and very filling. Even the hobbits, who had complained about the fare they had been receiving complimented her, and asked what she had put in to make it so tasty.
"This is some of the best stew I've had in a long time, if you catch my meaning," said Sam, admiring her cooking skills. "What did you put in it to make it so good, Lady?"
Alakardiel grinned wickedly. "Oh, nothing important. Just the normal ingredient, you know."
"What sort of meat did you use," asked Sam, fishing a piece out of his nearly empty bowl. "Coney?"
A blank look crossed her face. "Oh - no, I didn't think about making dessert, and I'm very sure we don't have any ice cream cones . . . " she bluffed.
Sam rephrased his question patiently. "Did you use coney meat?"
"No. What's that?"
"I believe what Master Samwise means is did you use rabbit meat in the stew," said Boromir, clearly amused.
A look of horror crossed her face. "Ew! No! Gross! That's disgusting! I can't eat rabbit!" Alakardiel shrieked.
"Then what did you use in the stew?" Aragorn inquired, somewhat shocked by her response.
"I didn't use meat at all! I found a pile of sticks and used those instead!" She snapped, sulky.
There was a long pause as the Company considered what this piece of information meant.
"Well," said Aragorn haltingly, "Those were the best twigs I have ever tasted."
Noticing the shocked looks on everyone's faces, it was all Alakardiel could do not to grin.
Fortunately for Alakardiel, the chance for the Fellowship to be exposed yet again to the horror of her culinary skills did not come until much later. Late that night, while Sam, accompanied by Aragorn, was on guard duty, a regiment of black crows flew overhead, spying on them, Aragorn was sure, and watching over Hollin.
" Regiments of black crows are flying over all the land between the Mountains and the Greyflood," he said, "and they have passed over Hollin. They are not natives here; they are crebain out of Fangorn and Dunland. I do not know what they are about; possibly there is some trouble away south from which they are fleeing; but I think they are spying out the land. I have also glimpsed many hawks flying high up in the sky. I think we ought to move again this evening. Hollin is no longer wholesome for us: it is being watched."
"And in that case so is the Redhorn Gate," said Gandalf; "and how we can get over that without being seen, I cannot imagine. But we will think of that when we must. As for moving as soon as it is dark, I am afraid you are right."
"Luckily our fire made little smoke, and burned low before the crebain came," said Aragorn. "It must be put out, and not lit again."
Alakardiel could not help but smile. She was saved from cooking once again! "Yes! Thank you weirdo birds!" She thought joyously.
Perhaps if she had known what next obstacle she would have to face she would not have been so happy.
Miserable, wet, and feeling as if she would never see her lower legs again, Alakardiel trudged through the snow on Caradhras, following close behind Gandalf, and trying not to look behind at Legolas, who was walking on the snow as if it were no major feat.
"Stupid elf," she muttered, "walking on the snow just as happy as can be."
She looked down mournfully at her own feet, which were currently buried under six inches of snow, and had the sudden urge to push her darling Legsy down the side of the mountain. It was only for the sake of Boromir and Aragorn, whom she had come to respect, that she did not.
A thought crossed her mind. "Hey - I'm an elf! Why can't I walk on the snow?"
Cautiously, she lifted first one foot, then the other, and took a few small steps. The thin crust of snow held, and suddenly she found herself walking on top as calm as could be, wondering why she had not thought of trying to before.
They tramped further on through the snow, until Alakardiel thought she would fall over from sheer exhaustion. "So what if I'm an elf, " she thought. "It doesn't mean that I'm used to climbing up mountains during a blizzard!"
Finally, just when she thought that she couldn't take it anymore, and she would stop and sit down even if it meant freezing to death, the Company came to a halt.
"We can go no further tonight," said Boromir. "Let those call it the wind who will; there are fell voices on the air; and these stones are aimed at us."
Alakardiel craned her neck and looked up at the cliff face. She had thought the rocks falling had been a figment of her imagination, hallucinations brought on by exhaustion, but now that Boromir spoke of them, she knew them to be real. She shivered, not from cold, but from the sudden feeling of being watched.
The rest of the Company continued to discuss what was to be done, until, having finally reached a decision, they all collapsed at the bottom of the cliff face, with Aragorn looking grim and the hobbits fighting hard to stay awake.
Alakardiel no longer cared whether she stayed awake or not. Already she could feel herself slipping into sleep, and she welcomed that feeling. Within moments she was dreaming.
"Oh Alakardiel," said the dream Boromir, "How has it been that I have lived so long without you by my side?"
"Nay, Alakardiel, lady," interrupted dream Aragorn. "I am the one for you! I would willingly give up the love of Arwen Undomiel if only to stay by your side forever more."
"Alakardiel! Do not let them play you false! I am your one true love - together you and I will rule Mirkwood forever!" Legolas proclaimed, having recently arrived in her imagined world.
Just as she was about to run to Legolas and forsake the affection of Aragorn and Boromir, everything went black. Suddenly she was standing on her own, in the dark.
"Where am I? What am I doing here?" She asked herself. "Where's Legolas?"
There was no answer; instead, a voice began to sing.
"Snow white! Snow white! O Lady clear!
Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O light to us who wander here,
Amid the world of woven trees." The voice sang.
"Oh," thought Alakardiel blankly. "I'm dying. Well, this isn't so bad. Might as well get it over with." Shrugging, when the voice began to sing again, she joined in, surprised that she knew the words.
"Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!
Clear are thy eyes, and bright thy breath!
Snow white! Snow white! We sing to thee,
In a far land beyond the Sea."
To her immense surprise, her voice was high and clear, much different from at home, where she often sounded as if she'd swallowed a frog.
"Yep. I'm dead. Have to be." A thought struck her. "Maybe I'll get to go home!"
The singing stopped abruptly as a bright figure materialized before her. "Hello. I'm Glorfindel. I'll be your tour guide through the Halls of Mandos, seeing as I've . . . oh. It's you." The figure said, clearly disgusted.
"Who are you?" Alakardiel asked, somewhat disappointed that she wasn't back home sitting in front of her computer.
"I'm Glorfindel. Remember - you told me that I was stealing the spotlight from Arwen when I rescued Frodo, and when I explained to you that I had no idea what you were talking about, you told me that I was behind the times, and that the women of Arda were liberated now. " Answered Glorfindel, disgust clear in his voice.
"Oh. Er . . . I didn't mean it?" Alakardiel said weakly, trying to convince Glorfindel she was innocent.
He sighed rather loudly, in an un-elf like manner. "All the maidens that meet with me say such things."
Noticing the blank look on her face, he said in a matter-of-fact voice; "You are not the first - surely you knew that."
She pretended not to hear him. "Anyway - Glorfy. Where am I, and why am I here? Better yet, why are you here?"
"You are on the way to the Halls of Mandos, traveling along the Path of Dreams." Glorfindel answered patiently, ignoring the nickname she had pawned for him.
"You mean I'm not dead?" Alakardiel shrieked. "I went to sleep in the snow for nothing?"
"You are an elf. You cannot die of exposure, only of a mortal wound, or grief." Glorfindel replied.
Alakardiel muttered something of a profane nature under her breath.
"I heard that," remarked Glorfindel.
Alakardiel glared at him and stuck out her tongue.
"Ai Valar - I was killed by a Balrog, spent part of my eternity in the Halls of Mandos and was reborn for this?" Lamented Glorfindel.
Fortunately, Alakardiel was spared from answering, for at just that moment Aragorn shook her gently awake. "Lady Alakardiel- we have decided our path. We are turning back and going down the mountain."
She sat up and yawned. "What an odd dream I had," she remarked, and thought nothing more about it.
That night found the Company at the bottom of the mountain, holding council over which route to try next. Gandalf was against Redhorn Gate, and wished to try the Mines of Moria. Boromir wanted to travel through the gate past Isengard, and Aragorn was against going through the Mines, as were the hobbits, Legolas, and Alakardiel. She remembered well what was in the Mines from the movie - and she did not want to try them.
"There's a Balrock in there," she thought, shivering with fright. "I don't want to be killed by a Balrock!"
If only she had known that it was not a Balrock she was afeared of, but a Balrog, spawn of Morgoth - perhaps then she would not have been afraid.
She would have been terrified.
The small council disbanded with Frodo's words that they would vote again in the morning, and with those not on watch sitting round the fire and dozing.
Alakardiel had just fallen into a deep sleep when the wolves came. Suddenly, she was no longer dreaming about wielding a sword - she was actually doing so, using her blade to try and kill wolves, marveling in the fact that despite her utter lack of knowledge about swordplay, she was managing to do very well at maiming her foes.
She was not the only one killing wolves. Before her, Aragorn used his sword to slit the throat of one while Boromir hewed the head off another. Gimli was using his ax to the best of his skill, and the great bow of Legolas was singing.
Suddenly, all went quiet as Gandalf began to chant in a harsh voice that sounded like thunder. "Naur an edraith ammen! Naur dan I ngaurhoth!" He cried.
With a roar and a crackling sound, as of a great fire, the tree above him burst into flame. The swords and knives of the defenders gleamed eerily in the flickering light as the last of the wolves were defeated. The final arrow of Legolas burned as flew through the air to pierce the heart of the wolf chieftain.
Dawn came, bringing no signs of more wolves, and bearing no signs of the fight that had taken place on the hilltop the night before, save for the arrows of Legolas, which were all whole, save one, of which only the point was left.
"It is as I feared," said Gandalf. "These were no ordinary wolves, hunting for food in the wilderness. Let us eat quickly and go!"
Alakardiel sighed, and shoved the rest of her breakfast into her mouth. "This is definitely not how I thought it would be," she thought wistfully. "By my schedule, we should be in that pretty elf wood by now with that hot march warden, not stuck here, tramping through the snow and Eru knows what else."
Realizing what she had just thought, she shrieked, and tried not to think for the rest of the day.
It was late, and the stars had already come out that night when the Company reached the Gates of Moria.
"Well, here we are, and all ready," said Merry, "But where are the Doors? I can't see any sign of them."
"Dwarf-doors are not made to be seen when shut," said Gimli. "They are made to be invisible, and their own masters cannot find or open them, if their secret is forgotten."
"But this door was not made to be a secret known only to dwarves," said Gandalf, coming suddenly to life and turning round. "Unless things are altogether changed, the eye that knows what to look for may discover the signs."
He walked forward to the wall. Right between the shadow of the trees there was a smooth space and over this he passed his hands to and fro, muttering words under his breath. Then he stepped back.
"Look!" he said. "Can you see anything?"
Alakardiel felt her mouth drop open as slowly but surely bright silver lines began to appear on the face of the rock, outlining a door, decorated with two trees, and a string of elvish words, which she could not read.
"What does the writing say?" asked Frodo, who was trying to decipher the inscription on the arch. "I thought I knew the elf-letters, but I cannot read these."
"The words are in the elven tongue of the West of Middle Earth in the elder days," answered Gandalf. "But they do not say anything of importance to us. They say only: The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. And underneath small and faint is written: I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs."
"What does it mean by 'Speak, friend, and enter'?" asked Merry.
"That is plain enough," said Gimli. "If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open, and you can enter."
Alakardiel could not take it any longer. She knew the truth of the matter - she knew what must be said to open the doors. "It's a riddle! The answer is the elvish word for friend." She cried. She cleared her throat, and tried to sound impressive. "Melon."
Nothing happened.
"Melon." She said again, feeling puzzled as to why the doors would not open.
Behind her a voice piped up, sounding faintly amused, "In Sindarin, the word you are looking for is Mellon, Alakardiel." Legolas informed her, a smug look on his face.
Just as she was about to speak, a splash could be heard in the waters of the lake behind them. Boromir had thrown in a rock.
Alakardiel gulped. She had been hoping to avoid this part of the story. "Mellon!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping that the doors would open quickly, that they might be spared the horror of what was about to happen.
At that moment, several things happened. The doors opened, and the Company dashed inside, up the steps, just as the Watcher in the Water awoke, and seized Frodo's ankle. Bill the pony let out a neigh of terror and bolted away. Sam ran after him, but hearing Frodo's cry stopped and ran to save his Master, slashing at the tentacle with his knife, and pulling Frodo back as the arm let him go. The water boiled and rippled, and a foul stench filled the air as twenty more arms rose out of the water.
"Into the Gateway! Up the stairs! Quick!" Shouted Gandalf, leaping back.
Alakardiel needed no prompting. She had already retreated up the stairs, and back into a corner, where she did not have to watch what happened next. Remembering this part of the motion picture, she squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried hard not to scream. "It doesn't kill anyone, it doesn't kill anyone, it doesn't kill anyone." She chanted, trying to stop up her ears from the sounds below.
There was a shattering echo as the doors slammed shut and all light was lost. Alakardiel shrieked, then sighed, relieved. She knew what had happened. The doors had been broken. They were trapped in the Mines.
Remembering what the Fellowship had found in the motion picture, she shuddered.
She was trapped in a tomb.
Chapter Four: Galadriel's other daughter? Alakardiel meets the Keeper of Nenya and looks into the Mirror of Galadriel with somewhat . . . interesting results.
Pages used out of FotR: 320, 324, 336, 341, 342
A/N - Writer From Rivendell (from here on WfR) would like to take this opportunity to say that Alakardiel's cooking experiences are not akin to her own. She has never, nor will ever, make explosive pancakes. Waffles, yes, pancakes, no. *Grin*. Also, she would like to do something she's never done before: Beg for reviews.
Please review.