There is quite a bit of Elvish in this story. It is a mixture of Sindarin and Grey Company. All of it should be italicized and the translations are in parenthesis just after the Elvish words. Phrases used frequently will only be translated once or twice.
Morithawen stared in disbelief as the entrance to the mines was covered over by a hail of stone and dust. The rumble of sound and the shower of dust was familiar to her, for an elf's memory was a reliable thing, never failing. She fought back a bubble of hysterical laughter as she and her companions were trapped within the dark, just as she had been so long ago, as a child. Around her were the bodies of long dead dwarves, killed by the orcs that lurked somewhere in the vast darkness of Moria. It was too much and she would have fallen to her knees and wept in despair if a pair of strong arms did not steal around her waist, pulling her back against a familiar form.
"Amin si, A'maelamin (I am here, beloved). Be at peace, melamin," Legolas whispered in her ear. Trust her lover to know she was distressed, even when the world was tumbling down around them. His words and his strength gave her the ability to calm her trembling. Her heart still cringed, but she was able to tilt her head and kiss him tenderly while there was still darkness to cover the movement. The warmth of their gentle passion spread through her like a healing balm and she pulled away as Gandalf's staff suddenly lit up, casting a small bit of light on the dark stone walls of Moria.
"Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places," the old wizard said sternly. Morithawen silently agreed with him. Indeed the darkness itself held more sway over her heart than a hundred orcs.
Over the next three days, it was fairly quiet in the realm of Moria. Morithawen's ears were strained against the eerie silence, picking up faint noises occasionally. In any other situation, she would have dropped back to scout out what she thought to be some creature that was following them. In Moria, however, with its deep crevasses and dark corridors, she stayed close to the Fellowship. She had no wish to become lost or even lose sight of the hobbits in front of her. She did address her concerns with Aragorn however.
"It is Gollum," the man stated quietly. She gave him a look of disbelief.
"That wretched creature? How is it that he tracked us here? Did not the walls tumble in behind us?" she asked softly, careful not to speak where their conversation could be heard. Aragorn shrugged.
"Either he is quicker than we give him credit or he was here already. Moria is the kind of place where he would be most comfortable. It is dark and damp. When we entered here, he would have sensed the presence of the Ring."
"Do you think he will attack?" she asked thoughtfully. Aragorn shook his head.
"Not while we guard the Ringbearer. He would not be so foolish as to risk his own death at our hand. He wants the Ring but he has learned a semblance of patience. We must never leave Frodo alone, muinthel, or he will be in great peril," the man said. Morithawen was glad of something to distract her from the closeness of the mines as they traveled. Between her concern for her hobbit friends and Legolas' constant presence either at her side or in her mind, she managed not to tremble. At least not when they were moving. At night, during her watch, however, was the worst time. The vast, echoing caverns ate the dim light of their torches. Her eyes were wide as she tried to concentrate on listening and watching for anything that might threaten the people she was protecting.
"A'maelamin, lle naa girien. Tula sinome. Lle tyava quel? (Beloved, you are trembling. Come here. Are you alright?)"
Morithawen looked up when Legolas' voice spoke in her head. He was standing at her side, his hand hovering over her arm. She made no sound, merely fell into his arms and clung to him. He wrapped her up in his arms and whispered soft comfort right in her ear. Slowly, her trembles calmed and she relaxed against her betrothed. She breathed deeply of his scent, a faint mixture of the woods and the sun that allowed her to close her eyes and find a vision of her beloved trees. She shuddered when she opened her eyes again. She looked up at Legolas and he cupped her face in his hands, feeling the warm dampness of tears.
"Cormamin niuve tenna' ta elea yrn au' (My heart shall weep until it sees trees again)," she whispered softly. He leaned in and tenderly kissed her eyes. Her sigh was like a warm breeze on his neck, followed by her lips as she placed a gentle kiss on his jaw.
"Diola lle, melamin," she said, meeting his eyes. As her distress lessened somewhat, the dark brown of her eyes melted to warm caramel, gleaming wetly in the dim light afforded them by the two torches and Gandalf's staff. He stroked his fingers over her face and smiled.
"I did little, melamin, but if my presence is enough to soothe you, I would that I never had to leave your side. But it is my watch. Try to get some rest," he said. She nodded and leaned in for one sweet meeting of lips. She could never get enough of the taste and feel of him, but she left him and settled between two lightly snoring hobbits, calmed enough that she could indeed slip into her dreams. A smile adorned her face as she wandered the green meadows, surrounded by the blossoming trees.
"Here lies Balin, son of Fudin, Lord of Moria. He is dead, then. I feared it was so," Gandalf said as they all looked on the tomb of Balin. Gimli was bowed down before the stone coffin, grieving after a dwarven fashion. The rest of the Fellowship looked a little lost as Gandalf began to look around him. Legolas and Morithawen both flanked Aragorn and exchanged worried looks behind his head before Legolas spoke in hushed tones.
"We should move on. We cannot linger," he said. Aragorn gave him a distracted nod but continued to watch Gandalf. Morithawen clutched her bow tightly and fought back a tremor. She easily recognized the setting from her foretelling vision. There would be a battle here unless Legolas' words were heeded quickly. She did not think it was avoidable, however. Gimli was distraught and Gandalf wanted more information about the demise of the dwarves.
Morithawen spared a sweeping glance for the chamber and that sweeping glance made her pause.
"Gandalf. Is this the Chamber of Records?" she asked in hushed tones, leaving Aragorn's side to go study the runes on the walls. Gandalf did not hear her, or at least he paid her no heed, because he was leaning down to pick up a book. As he read from the record of Balin's occupation of Moria, her suspicions were confirmed. Any other time, she would have rejoiced at the chance to study closely the history of the Moria Dwarves. But there was no joy in her. Not when she knew they had no time. Her head jerked around at a loud clatter from the well at the back of the chamber. She looked over to see Pippin whip around with a guilty expression on his face as the skeleton that was perched atop the well slowly fell backwards into the deep yawning abyss. The entire fellowship tensed as the sound of the bones hitting the walls of the well on the way down echoed throughout the chamber. It wasn't until the sounds quieted and they had all strained for several silent moments to hear if the noise had roused anything in the depths of the mine that anyone moved.
"Fool of a Took," Gandalf hissed when it seemed that they had escaped unnoticed. "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!"
Morithawen couldn't help but think Gandalf was being a little harsh, but she knew the hobbit needed to realize how serious his carelessness could be. She stepped back towards Aragorn and Legolas, about to voice her concern about staying any longer in the tomb. She was hoping beyond hope that they could escape the battle to come. Her hope was dashed soon enough when a deep, rythymic rumble thudded through the stone around them. Soon, the sound of scurrying and scratching overlaid with screeches and screams could be heard echoing through the dusty air. Legolas, looking at Frodo at that moment, noticed an electric blue glow coming from the gap between the hilt and sheath of Sting, the young hobbit's sword.
"Orcs!"
Boromir ran to the doors leading back out into main halls of the Dwarf city. He looked out momentarily but when a pair of poorly aimed goblin arrows hit the door in front of his face, he quickly closed said doors. Aragorn was suddenly at his side to help. Legolas began tossing the two men various axes and spears that were scattered around the room. They did their best to fortify the door as Gandalf swept all the hobbits farther back into the chamber. Morithawen, Legolas and Aragorn exchanged glances as the doors began to shudder against an assault from the other side and they all noched arrows and stood poised to fire at whatever came through the door first. Boromir drew his sword and Gimli leapt up on Balin's coffin with a roar.
"Let them come. There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath," he growled. And then the first cracks appeared in the doors and all thought was given to trying to protect the Fellowship from the horrors on the other side of those doors. Legolas was the first to fire an arrow into the growing cracks, causing a shriek of pain. Morithawen followed suit and then Aragorn. That was all that they were allowed before the doors shattered inward. Orcs in black, oily armor flooded into the room. The first ranks were quickly taken out by Legolas and Morithawen with arrows as Boromir and Aragorn waded into the fray with their swords drawn. From the hobbits rose a merry cry.
"For the Shire!"
Morithawen did her best to keep her wits about her. Her bow was soon useless as the orcs swarmed in close. So she began using her white knife and small knives as she and Legolas fought their way towards the back of the chamber where there were some high places. If they could reach those, they might be able to use their arrows again. Morithawen was able to break away, but once she sprinted up the stairs and posted herself above the action, she realized that Legolas hadn't been so lucky. He was surrounded by a half dozen orcs, his white knives flashing. She saw the concentration on his face and knew that it was taking all his concentration to keep himself from being skewered or slashed. Mori was suddenly in the middle of her foretelling vision come true.
Mori smiled grimly and drew back her bow, noched with two arrows. She released them quickly, not even waiting to watch the two orcs fall away from Legolas before she had another arrow on her bow. That arrow, originally meant for another of the orcs hounding Legolas, was redirected when the cave troll burst through the entrance to the chamber. The arrow that landed in his shoulder didn't seem to phase him much. As he rampaged into the tomb, his large club swinging, orcs began to scatter. Seeing that arrows, except perhaps one directed into the large creature's small brain, had little effect on the troll, she concentrated her efforts on the orcs. Legolas leapt up on the ledge several meters away from her and faced two orcs with his knives. Two other orcs rushed at him from behind, just as the cave troll suddenly took an interest in the fair Mirkwood elf. Morithawen went to one knee and pulled the daggers from her boots, picking off the two orcs rushing at Legolas from behind. He quickly took care of the others and then faced the cave troll. The creature wielded his now broken chain like a whip. Mori knew Legolas was too clever and quick to be hit by the swinging chain and she looked around for more orcs to kill.
"I think I'm getting the hang of this," said Sam. She took a moment to spare the hobbit her attention and watched as he took out orcs with his heavy iron pans. She couldn't help but smile at his ingenuity. He had never been fond of the short sword Aragorn had given him. But he wielded a mean frying pan.
"Sam, to me," she said sharply, motioning him to her side. The hobbit didn't waste any time, coming to hover behind her as she flicked daggers at the orcs that tried approaching them. As it became obvious that the cave troll had escaped from the orcs holding his chains, the orcs in the chamber had thinned considerably, however. She knew there were more outside chamber, surely, but they were letting their pet troll rage, probably hoping that he would smash them all, thus saving them the effort. She grimaced a bit and glanced back down at Sam.
"Where's Frodo?" she asked. Sam immediately looked panicked and Mori threw a quick glance around the chamber. Her sharp ears picked up the sound of the Ringbearer's cry for Aragorn. She leapt down from her perch and looked for her foster brother. He had his hands full with a few of the remaining orcs in the tomb. She cursed and ran towards the Ringbearer. She saw him struggling to get away from the troll, who had him by the foot. She cried out in distress and took three bounding steps, her white knife held high. She brought it down on the troll's arm just as Frodo lashed out with Sting. The troll screamed and stumbled a bit, releasing the hobbit. Morithawen misjudged how quickly the troll would recover from his annoyance over the pain and she turned her head for a moment to check on Frodo. She screamed when she was grasped around her slender waist with by a crushing hand and she was flung across the chamber. Her head connected with the stone and her mind swirled into darkness as her body slid down into the dust and rubble.
Morithawen found herself jolted back to consciousness a few moments later. She was flopping around with a shoulder digging uncomfortably into her stomach, her head dangling against someone's back. Whoever that someone was, they were running at a very fast pace. Each stride caused an explosion of pain in her head and her torso. She gasped and brought her dangling arms up to wrap around the waist of her carrier. She was almost certain it was Aragorn. When one of her hands was encircled by a strong, calloused hand, she was certain. His harsh, breathless words barely reached even her sharp ears as he ran hard.
"Mori, you are awake. Hold tight, muinthel."
Morithawen was tempted to tell him to put her down. She was fairly certain she could run on her own. But the sounds that assailed her ears told of a massive army of orcs following them, surrounding them, coming from both behind, above and around. She was almost glad, then, that she could see nothing but the back of Aragorn's tunic. All too soon, her brother slowed and she found herself quickly lowered to the ground and shoved inside a circle of protectors along with the hobbits. She fought dizziness and stumbled a bit but managed to keep her feet. When she raised her eyes, she almost lost them again.
The army of orcs surrounding the Fellowship was vast, spreading across the floor of Dwarrowdelf all about them. Their weapons rattled and their cries grated on Morithawen's already shattered nerves. She reached for her white knife, only to find that it was missing from its sheath. She growled unhappily and reached back, glad to find that her bow was still behind her quiver. Her quiver was empty, however. Any arrows she had would have fallen out on her upside down trip from the Chamber of Records. Ah well, she still had, if her calculations were correct, eight knives. She quickly located two and along with the sword wielding hobbits, shoved outward and formed a rough circle with the others. If they were going to die, they would all die fighting.
A rumble and a deep, thudding roar echoed around the vast space. The screeching orcs all went silent for a split second. The roar echoed again and at the far end of the seemingly endless row of huge columns came an eerie fiery glow. The orcs, just moments ago hissing and screeching at them threateningly, began to screech again, but this time it was a frightened sound. As quickly as they had surrounded the Fellowship, they dispersed, disappearing down cracks in the floor and up the columns into the dark vaulted ceilings. Needless to say, the Fellowship was shocked, turning to face the approaching ripples of fiery light.
"What is this new devilry?" asked Boromir in a hushed tone. Morithawen, standing just behind Gandalf, wondered the same thing. Beside her, Legolas lowered his bow, a look of caution on his face. Morithawen reached out to touch his arm. He flicked a single glance at her, some of the caution on his face replaced with relief to see her standing and alert, but his attention was then drawn back to the hall before them.
"A Balrog. A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!" the Istari yelled. Morithawen uttered a cry of despair, dropping her knives. She knew what a Balrog was. Knew of its terrible power. The entire quest suddenly seemed doomed to failure. She seemed rooted to the spot until she felt her arm jerked, by Legolas or Boromir she wasn't sure, and she shook out of her despair. She turned and fled with the rest of her companions.
She ran. As hard as she could run and as fast, she ran. Away from Moria and the pain it caused, she ran. Away from the memory of a dear friend lost into a cold, dark abyss, she ran. With a fire in her side and a blinding pain in her head, she ran. Helping a hobbit along in front of her and with the presence of another elf behind, she ran. To Lothlorien and the safety of within its borders, she ran.
Morithawen ignored the pain and the grief that threatened to overwhelm her mind. In fleeing the mines of Moria, they had lost Gandalf in a battle with the Balrog. In taking out that terrible power, he had been dragged down into the depths of hell. And he had left Aragorn in charge of their safety. Once outside the mines, he had been quick to gather them for an escape to the woods of Lothlorien. A smart move, if not appreciated by all those in the company, that would save them from the orcs that would surely pursue them once darkness fell. Some wanted to stop and grieve, to rest and bandage wounds. Morithawen did not wish that. She wanted to run on forever, into the fading trees. To stop was to face her pain, both physical and mental.
The trees loomed ahead of them almost suddenly, as Morithawen finally focused on something other than the exhausted hobbit in front of her. She felt a soft cushion of grass beneath her feet and they all slowed as they crossed the green and grassy glade that spread beneath the first tree of the Lorien forest. Morithawen had to fight back the urge to wrap herself around one of the small oaks and hug it. It seemed a silly notion, but as the last light of the sun faded in the west, she found herself among the forest again. Though it did not ease her pain or mute her grief, it did soothe her to an almost tranquil walk. So it was with the others as well.
"We are safe, now?" asked Merry cautiously as he watched Aragorn and Legolas slow to a walk. Morithawen looked down at Merry and smiled wryly.
"Depends on what the Guardians think of our presence here. Were it but myself or Legolas, yes, but…" she trailed off as a rustle in the trees caused her to turn her head. She narrowed her eyes but Merry didn't notice.
"Who are the Guardians?" he wanted to know, just as Gimli, a few paces behind them, began rambling on about the Enchantress in the Woods. Morithawen wanted to roll her eyes, but she thought it would hurt too much. She wondered idly what she must look like with blood matted in her hair and one arm of her jerkin torn off. She probably looked good compared to some of the others, but she didn't think she wanted to see a mirror until she had a chance to soak in one of the Lothlorien hot springs. Just the memory of those springs made her eager to reach Caras Galadhon. But she knew it would be a task. Her knowledge was proven when they were suddenly surrounded by a dozen elves with Galadhrim bows, their arrows pointed at the necks of the Fellowship. She sighed softly when she saw that Legolas had drawn one of his few remaining arrows in an instinctive attempt to counter the threat. She often forgot that he was not as well traveled as she, even if he had seen two thousand years more than she.
"The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark," said a somewhat familiar voice. Morithawen turned her head, ignoring the silver point at her neck and was relieved to see Haldir. They had met before.
"Aaye (Hail), Haldir o Lorien," she said, only to have the arrow dig into her throat. She ignored the sharp pain and the warm trickle of blood as Haldir turned his attention to her. To any but another elf, his expression didn't really change, but to Morithawen, she saw the amazement in his hazel eyes and the twitch of his eyebrows that said he was greatly surprised.
"Kiirar? Mankoi naa lle sinome? Mani marte a' lle? (Chronicler? What are you doing here? What happened to you?)" he exclaimed. The arrow was suddenly removed from her throat as Haldir walked towards her in as hurried a manner as any elf could manage. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her deeper into the forest, motioning at the Guardians to follow. They did so, gesturing the rest of the Fellowship forward with their still drawn bows.
By the time Morithawen had convinced Haldir that the rest of the Fellowship wasn't a threat, dark had already fallen and they were all gathered on a flet (tree house/ platform). As one of the Guardian's offered her a bowl of water to wash some of the blood out of her hair and clean her head wound, Haldir spoke with Legolas and Aragorn. She heard Gimli growl something about elvish courtesy and then curse in Dwarvish. She closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. This wasn't going to go as smoothly as they had hoped.
To be continued...