Uh…wow. I didn't realize until I started typing this just how long it's been since I updated. I mean, I knew it had been a long time, but four months? How did that happen? If it's any consolation, I feel horrible that I've made you wait this long. Allow me to go hit myself over the head repeatedly with a hardbound copy of something.
Oh, before you read! I've switched point of view to Aragorn for this chapter.
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Chapter Seven: Stories and Stragglers
"So then I pushed him into Morn Nen, and now he insists that none of it ever happened."
"But Legolas, what about Strider? Didn't you push him in, too?"
"Well, you see, Sam, I decided it would be in my own best interest to take my revenge in a different manner, as the last time I'd pushed him in, he was rather angry with me."
"You must have done something really splendid, if it made him so angry."
Pippin's eyes lit up when Merry said that, and it was obvious that he was doing everything in his power to keep from bursting with curiousity, wondering just what the Elf had done.
"Be patient, Pippin, I'm getting to it," Legolas chided, and went on, "Alright, so here's what we did…"
He kept his word, proceeding to tell his four eager listeners about the time he, Elladan, and Elrohir had pushed Aragorn into the black stream on Mirkwood on his twenty-fifth birthday. The expression on his face was positively gleeful as he recounted the story in every last detail, from actually getting his friend to the stream in the first place to the struggle that had ensued once their intentions became clear.
The Ranger in question, in the midst of taking a drink, choked and spat out the water. That story? He's telling that story? Panicked, he fished for something –anything! – to keep him from going any farther with that story. By this point it wasn't just the Hobbits who were listening, but Gimli and Boromir, too. Finally, he latched onto the one thing he could think of that would stop the Elf.
"Hey, Legolas, doesn't the whole 'black stream' prank get old after a while? One would think that after a few millennia, you could come up with something different!"
"Ah, but Estel, how could you expect me to forget that wonderful fit you threw when you woke up? Why, you were the picture of –"
"I suggest you stop now, my friend."
"As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, friend, you were the picture of feminine beauty."
All of a sudden, Aragorn once again became aware of the pressing silence of Moria, previously lightened by stories and hushed laughter. Now, however, he was also aware of the eight pairs of eyes looking to him in want of an explanation. Boromir coughed. Gimli looked perplexed. The Hobbits just sat there waiting for clarification. And Gandalf…well, Gandalf was just smoking his pipe and pretending he hadn't heard a thing. Legolas was looking at him with a smug, triumphant smile. Quite frankly, it was infuriating.
"Uh, Merry? D'you know if he's supposed to be that color?"
"No, Pip, I don't think he's supposed to be that color. It's delightful, though, isn't it? I've never seen anyone that color before!"
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In the deep dark of Moria, laughter was fleeting. Indeed, life itself seemed fleeting in such a place. They had found Balin's tomb. Even now, Gandalf read aloud the fate of the Dwarf. What now had become of their hope? Where now was the end of this thing? It was so hard to see, in a place where darkness covers more than one's eyes.
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"There are Orcs, very many of them, and some are large and evil: black Uruks of Mordor. For the moment they are hanging back, but there is something else there. A great cave-troll, I think, or more than one. There is no hope of escape that way."
Standing beside the eastern door of the chamber, Aragorn shut his eyes, suppressing the beginnings of the fear he felt forming. Here he was, warrior, Ranger, descendant of kings, but still he was afraid. This place was evil and full of evil things (already they clamored outside, in the hall), and he knew not if he would ever be free of Moria. Yet there was hope, for this eastern way seemed safe, and he said as much, drawing Andúril as he spoke.
"There is no sound outside here yet. The passage on this side plunges straight down a stair: it plainly does not lead back towards the hall. But it is no good flying blindly this way with pursuit just behind. We must first delay the enemy. They will fear the Chamber of Mazarbul before we are quit of them!"
No sooner had he said this than a great, green arm burst through the western door, then a monstrous foot. Boromir, closest to the door, yelled mightily and hacked at the arm of the troll, but the sword, even with the strength of the Man behind it, could not penetrate the troll's hide. In amazement, Aragorn watched as Frodo sprang forward and plunged the blue glow of Sting straight through the hideous, toeless foot. With a roar of pain the troll jerked back into the hallway, nearly taking Bilbo's old sword with it.
But the respite was short-lived, as Orcs leaped through the opening made by the troll, flooding into the chamber. At last given a foe he could contend with, Aragorn fell into the heated rhythm of battle with which he was so familiar, thrusting and slashing and feinting, letting the fight take hold of him. He was aware of nothing save the sound of weapon on weapon and flesh impacting on flesh as the Company fought, right down to the little ones.
When at last the enemy fled, he did not know how many he had killed, nor did it concern him. They had bought the time they needed, and now they needed to get out. He turned, making for the only way out they had, when the unthinkable happened. A single Orc, larger than all the others, caught the party off-guard, and Aragorn could do naught but stare in disbelief as he hurled a spear straight at Frodo, the force of the blow sending him flying against the wall. Howling in anger, Aragorn brought his sword up and then down again, right on the Orc, splitting it's head down the middle. He wasted no time, going to Frodo where he lay by the wall and scooping up the little Halfling, then fled through the eastern door after the others.
Boromir hauled the door closed after him, and at last Aragorn was free to think, if only for a moment. Just as he started to realize that there was no possible way Frodo could have survived, the Ringbearer proved him wrong.
"I'm all right," Frodo gasped, "Put me down!"
Abruptly, Aragorn did, nearly dropping him in astonishment.
"You're alive! But how?" he cried.
Gandalf laid a hand on his shoulder, pushing him none too gently in the direction of the stairs.
"There is no time now for explanation. Go, I will hold them a while longer! Do as I say, your swords are of no more use here!"
And so they went as the wizard commanded, though they were reluctant to leave him, groping their way down the dark stair.
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"Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass."
"You cannot pass!"
"Fly, you fools!
Over and over again, Aragorn saw him, standing at the edge of the bridge he had broken, as the Balrog's whip cracked and lashed around him, pulling him over the edge and into the abyss, despite his vain attempts to cling to the edge. That final warning rang still in his ears, even now that they stood in the sunlight, in Dimrill Dale. Hadn't he warned the wizard? Hadn't he told he him to beware if he passed through the door to Moria? Hadn't he? But it didn't matter anymore. The old wizard was dead; Gandalf the Grey had fallen.
Knowing they could not linger any longer, Aragorn shook himself free of his reverie, yet his grief remained, an inexplicable emptiness in some corner of his soul, come to reside there upon the death of his old friend. Once more, he told himself there could be no more delay, and this time he succeeded in pushing the grief back to where he could deal with it later. Raising his head, he looked around at his companions. The Hobbits huddled together, weeping. Boromir, his hand on the Dwarf's shoulder, spoke in quiet sadness with Gimli.
Legolas was nowhere to be seen.
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Okay, so I shouldn't have just cut off the whole Moria sequence, and I didn't originally intend to, but I just couldn't take it anymore. This chapter is a big part of the reason I didn't update for so long; I absolutely did not want to write about Moria. I'm not entirely sure why, but ever since I started I was dreading this chapter, and it didn't get any better once I actually started it. So I compromised with myself and decided to cut off everything after the Chamber of Mazarbul.
You're probably going to laugh and think to yourself "Yeah, right" when I say this, but I give you my word that I'll have the next chapter up within two weeks. I promise. I can't stand to break my word, so now that I've given it I won't be able to justify my procrastinating to myself, and it'll get done.
Loopy Lu: *hands back your Undead Legion* I may have to borrow them again at some point…they're a little on the ugly side (alright, a LOT on the ugly side), and they smell horrible, but they work quite well! Know some pretty good drinking songs, too.
Rabbit of Iron: Ooh, I like that ("properly evil" indeed!). I think you'll find him even more endearing by the time this is over with. If Alatariel doesn't kill me first for the things I'm going to do, that is.
Starlit Hope: A very good question. Looks like he'll have a time of it just getting there, much less dealing with Galadriel. If he gets there at all. Does he get there? Does he get there not? *plucks flower petals*
Aislynn Crowdaughter: *gives you a cookie with a little heart on it* I've been found out! I looked into it before I decided that what it would be, but since Tolkien's really vague about them, it gives me enough room to do what I want, for the most part. I might end up twisting it a little by the end, but it shouldn't be too bad.
Alynna Lis Eachann: At the moment, that's still up in the air. I think he's finished with spying, but he's definitely not finished. *blushes* Thank you so much for the compliment, it means a lot!
Alatariel: There, there! It's done! Happy now?
fire fearie: Thanks! Don't worry, I'd never abandon a fic. I can't in good conscience not finish something I've started, no matter how long it takes me to do it.