PART ONE: ANACHRONISM
Chapter XIII: One Does Not Smile In Moria
Durin's Bane. You remember Durin's Bane, right? Actually, you weren't there so you probably don't. Well, I remember Durin's Bane. I remember it all too well. Honestly, I would rather just pass over this part of the story. But when I started this, I resolved to tell you everything I remember that is relevant…and probably some things that aren't so relevant.
Durin's Bane is the name of a balrog. I think it was the last balrog. I vaguely recall an elf telling me about the War of Wrath in the First Age where almost all of the balrogs died. But I could be wrong, and there's actually more of these wretched balrogs lying in the dark places of the earth. Just a nice thought to help you sleep at night.
Anyways, in the Third Age, back before Khazad-dûm was even known as Moria, the dwarven king Durin VI and his mithril-miners dug too deep and awoke this balrog from its slumber in Dwarrowdelf. King Durin, his heir Náin, and countless other dwarves were killed by the balrog. Eventually, after a battle long fought, Durin's folk realized they would have to abandon the halls of their beloved Khazad-dûm.
Since their departure, no dwarves have ever reclaimed their ancient dwelling. Orcs and goblins have taken their place; I have heard speculation among dwarves that the dark lord worked out some sort of truce with the balrog. Who knows. But many dwarves have tried to reclaim their lost home. Balin, Óin, and Ori are but one example. King Thráin wanted to try during the War of Dwarves and Orcs as well, but he was dissuaded through much effort on the part of his advisors. Over the years, word of this nameless terror reached the elves, and they began referring to Khazad-dûm as Moria, which is translated to the common tongue as "black pit".
So, there you go, a nice history lesson. If you didn't before, you now know how the elven word "moria" came to refer to a dwarven kingdom. And you're probably rolling your eyes, telling me that I should just carry on with this already too long story. Fine. If you want to be like that.
Where was I?
Oh yeah, the Fellowship and I had met Durin's Bane, servant of Morgoth, demon of the First Age, Flame of Udûn, AKA the balrog.
Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli wanted to stand their ground and fight, but Gandalf told us to run. So, run we did.
Aragorn led the way this time, sprinting back through the massive hall and taking a sharp left turn into a smaller passageway. Boromir followed close behind Aragorn, holding a flaming torch high above his head to light the way.
"Why must we run?" grunted Gimli. "We should stand and fight."
"This foe is beyond any of you," said Gandalf. "Run quickly!"
I tried to keep up with the others as best I could, but as I've said before and will probably say many times again, I am out of shape. You know, it's a sad day when hobbits with the short legs can run faster than you. My breath came in wheezing pants, and I found myself getting further and further behind the rest of the Fellowship. Finally, Legolas paused long enough to pull me onto his back.
"You are heavy," he said, sprinting after the Fellowship and catching up with startling speed.
"And you're a show off," I snapped before reluctantly muttering, "Thanks."
"It would be a terrible fate to die in this place so deep beneath the earth," said Legolas. "If you are to die, then die in the view of trees and sunlight. The dark is no place to be laid to rest."
"Meh." I tightened my grip on Legolas' shoulders so I wouldn't slip off. "It's not so bad down here, you know. If you can get past the goblins and really, really nasty balrog."
Aragorn turned right and came to an abrupt halt. I peered over Legolas's shoulder just in time to see Boromir run past Aragorn—only to reach a dead end where the stairs had been broken med-step. The drop led into an abyss to which the end could not be seen. Boromir wobbled on the edge of the stairs until Aragorn grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him to safety.
"Back! Back!" roared Aragorn.
Legolas turned around and sprinted deeper into the corridor before leading the Fellowship down another corridor. This led into a vast hall that had one stone staircase descending from where the Fellowship stood down several floor. The ceiling of the hall was impossible high and the floor was nothing more than a black pit.
I felt like vomiting, and a shriek welled up in my throat. However, Legolas had me on his back so I couldn't exactly stop him from running fearlessly down the steps. I tried to keep my gaze fixed on Legolas' blond hair, ignoring the endless depths that stretched out beneath us.
We made it about halfway down the until we reached a gap in the crumbling staircase. The gap was only about four feet wide, but the fall was dreadful. Gimli accidentally knocked a piece of debris off the stairs and it fell down, down, down—never hitting anything, just falling—until it disappeared from sight. The bottom of this abyss had yet to be found.
Legolas—even with me on his back—easily jumped over the gap. He placed me on the ground before holding out his arms for the next person. Gandalf hopped the gap and Legolas steadied him to make sure he did not fall.
Another chunk of the staircase fell away, widening the gap by about a foot.
"Here!" Boromir grabbed Pippin and Merry, one with each arm, and leapt over the gap. He barely made it, but with the help of Legolas and Gandalf, all three were pulled to safety. I dragged Merry and Pippin to the back with me, and we watched with bated breath as the rest of the Fellowship faced the gap. Aragorn practically tossed Sam over the gap. Boromir and Legolas safely caught the hobbit.
"Gimli," said Legolas, holding out his arms.
Aragorn moved to help, but Gimli held up his hand. "Nobody tosses a dwarf."
Gimli jumped—he almost missed—but at the last second, Legolas caught hold of Gimli's beard and hauled him onto the staircase, away from the bottomless chasm below.
"You can join Ana in the ranks of the Beard-Defilers," muttered Gimli as he fixed his beard.
Legolas didn't answer as he faced a new problem. After Gimli had jumped, the stairs had crumbled some more. The gap was now around six or seven feet with Frodo and Aragorn still on the other side.
I buried my face in my hands. "They're going to make. They're going to make it. They're going to make it. They're going to make it."
"What are you doing?" asked Merry as he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet nervously.
"I'm trying to hypnotize myself into positive thinking. They're going to make it. They're going to make it. They're going to make it. They're going to make it.'
"Is this another strange ritual from your world?" Pippin never took his eyes off Frodo and Aragorn.
"No, this is my own weird ritual. They're going to make it. They're going to make it. They're going to make it."
Aragorn hurled Frodo across the gap with all his might. For a second, I thought Frodo was going to fall, but Legolas and Boromir reached out their arms and caught Frodo by the sleeves of his coat. With Gimli and Gandalf's help, they hauled Frodo onto the stone staircase. Safe. And. Sound.
I didn't have time to breathe a sigh of relief, because it was Aragorn's turn to jump next. My legs were shaking so much that I was afraid they would give out beneath me. Aragorn got a running start—leapt—he was in the air for a long time—landed. Legolas dragged Aragorn away from the edge as the entire Fellowship staggered with relief. And right about then is when the balrog caught up to us.
Damn it.
On the right side of the vast hall, there was a flash of red light. Flames crackled and danced about the ancient stone walls. I shielded my eyes against the blinding light. From amongst the fire, a shadow appeared. That was the first time I saw a balrog, and let me tell you, once was more than enough to last a lifetime. The balrog was the stuff of nightmares. Its face was a blackened skull with two thick horns curling out of his head, while the body was a massive black-burned skeleton given substance only by the scarlet flames that danced between its ribs. The balrog's feet and hands were claws, clinging to the stone walls of Moria. From across the abyss, it spotted us, standing huddled together on the broken stairs. Its eyes glowed red as it spread its black wings. A deep howled rose in its throat., and it released a high-pitched, piercing scream.
"Run!" cried Gandalf, hands plastered over his ears. "The bridge is near!"
I led the sprint down the stairs. I skipped steps, sometimes taking four of five at a time. At one point, I thought I was going to trip and fall over the edge of the staircase (apparently dwarves never thought of railings), but Aragorn caught my wrist and kept me stable. There wasn't even time to thank him as we continued running down the stairs.
The balrog took flight. It didn't stay in the air for long, since its wings were tattered and torn, so with its claws splayed, it landed on the far end of staircase. The already fractured stone crumbled under the balrog's great weight. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the balrog falling into the abyss. Then, it spread its wings and leapt out of the abyss, grabbing on to the walls with its clawed hands.
"Is it just me or did the balrog just have a clumsy moment?" I asked.
"I do not care right now!" snapped Aragorn, dragging me by the wrist after him.
At the time, I didn't say anything more, but now I want to point out just how embarrassing that clumsy moment was. I mean, I'm just saying, the balrog is like, "Oh, I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill you—oops, I tripped." That's not nearly as frightening.
Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah. In Moria. Filled with terror and running for my life.
We reached the end of the staircase and passed through a dark hallway. On the other side, the walls opened up to reveal the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. It was a simple bridge (didn't even have handrails), an arching structure of stone that spanned across a fifty foot wide abyss. The bridge was so thin that we could only cross one at a time. Boromir went first, then Frodo, Pippin, Gimli, Merry, Sam, and Legolas. Aragorn followed after, pulling a hesitant me by the wrist. Gandalf brought up the rear.
My heart was hammering in my chest, and I avoided looking down, knowing that if I did, the fear might just consume me and my whole body would give out. I focused on Boromir's back. If he could make it across, so could I. At least, I hoped so. It was probably a long way down to the bottom of the abyss.
I was barely halfway across the bridge when the balrog arrived. I shrieked as I felt the heat on my back. Aragorn sent a hard look over his shoulder and then sped up, dragging me after him. As soon as we reached solid ground, I retreated until my back hit a wall of stone, and I could only watch as the balrog stood on the other side of the abyss, cracking its flaming whip and letting out an ear-shattering roar.
My heart froze, and I clutched Aragorn's sleeve. "This is not good."
"No," he said. "It is not."
Gandalf had stopped halfway across the bridge.
The rest of the Fellowship stood the other side of the chasm. Their flight from the dark halls of Moria put on hold as they watched Gandalf face the balrog. Frodo turned pale and tried to run back across the bridge, but Aragorn hurried to stop him.
"Gandalf!" cried Frodo. "Gandalf!"
Gandalf paid us no attention. He faced the monstrous balrog, sword and staff raised. "You shall not pass."
It was amazing how strong and confident Gandalf could sound even when facing a balrog at least ten times his size.
I backed away, sliding along the wall until my shoulder bumped into Boromir's. Boromir barely spared me a glance as I muttered over and over again, "He's going to live. He's going to live. He's going to live. He's going to live. He's going to live."
"Not this again," groaned Merry. He spoke with confidence, but his hands shaking as he clutched Pippin's left arm for support.
"It worked last time!" My voice broke on the last word.
Merry's eyes met mine, and I could see the same panic and terror reflected in him that I felt. No amount of joking could relieve even a little of our fears.
Gandalf muttered something in an ancient tongue. The balrog brought its sword of flames crashing down on Gandalf's head, but Gandalf repelled the sword with magic. I don't know how wizard magic works, but a blue light filled the chasm and then disappeared. Gandalf remained untouched by the fire, and the balrog let out a terrible roar of frustration before stepping out onto the bridge. Its claws curled around the stone. The bridge trembled beneath the creature's weight.
"Gandalf!" screamed Frodo.
"No!" cried Sam.
The Fellowship's pleas were useless. Gandalf lifted his staff into the air. "You shall not pass!" And then he brought his staff crashing down on the bridge.
Silence.
Nothing happened.
"Is something supposed to happen?" I whispered.
And then, the bridge cracked in two. The balrog's half of the bridge crumbled beneath its feet, casting the balrog into the pit below, its claws stretching upwards, trying to find a handhold to save itself. The demon released a piercing cry that cut through me like metal on flesh. But my fear seemed unwarranted. Gandalf stood alone on the remains of the bridge, still holding his sword and staff. Slowly, with a wariness in his eyes, Gandalf turned to face the Fellowship.
But the balrog was not done yet.
Even as he fell, the balrog snapped its flaming whip. The string of fire wrapped around Gandalf's ankle. For a moment, surprise flashed across the wizard's face and then acceptance. The Fellowship could only watch as Gandalf was dragged down into the abyss along with the balrog.
We could not speak. We could only stare at the spot where Gandalf had last stood.
I kept waiting for Gandalf to pull himself back up from the ledge and reveal that he had caught himself at the last second. But it didn't happen. And slowly, painfully, it dawned on me. He was gone. He was really gone.
Frodo was still trying to save Gandalf. He wanted to run out to the bridge, but Aragorn kept a firm grasp on Frodo's arm. Goblins had appeared on the other side of the chasm. Aragorn dragged Frodo away from the bridge, towards the ascending staircase. Tears were falling from Gimli's eyes, and Legolas, stone-faced, patted the dwarf on the shoulder before they hurried up the stairs. Merry and Pippin were holding onto on another as they wept, trying to keep themselves moving forward. Sam walked on his own, but his head was bent and his eyes were red.
I was not crying.
I sprinted ahead of everyone else, up the stairs and through the exit. I passed through the doorway, carved with Khuzdul runes, and stepped out onto the white-stone mountain slopes. It was midday, and pale gold sunlight filled my vision.
"Freedom. Freedom and sunlight." I stretched my arms up over my hand, soaking up the sunlight and trying so desperately to ignore the jarring pain in my chest.
"Ana," said Boromir, stepping out onto the mountainside after me. "Ana, stop."
"Stop what?" I was smiling so hard that it hurt.
A single tear trickled down Boromir's face. His legs gave out beneath him, and he sat down on the side of the mountain. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a hoarse croak. "Stop."
"He won't stay dead," I said, dropping my hands to my sides. "I will save him. I can change it. You'll see. I can change it."
"What can you change?" asked Pippin.
"I will save him," I continued,. "I will Skip, and I will save him. I'll tell him not to fight the balrog and, and, and—and then he won't die."
I didn't even think about what effect my words would have on the Fellowship. I was too absorbed with the idea of saving Gandalf that I didn't notice the hope entering the hobbits' eyes.
"Ana," said Boromir again. "Stop."
Aragorn placed a hand on my shoulder. "Not even you can put an end to death."
"I have to try!" I cried, stepping out of his reach. "I have to try. I've done it before, and I have to try. We could have taken a different route or we could have run faster. There must be some way…"
"What could you change?" asked Aragorn. "You have already told us that through Moria was the only way. The balrog must have struck some bargain with Sauron. It knew of the path we would take. Gandalf fought the balrog to protect us. If he had not, we all would have perished. Gandalf has fallen. It was a choice he made so that the rest of us could live. Some things are meant to happen."
"And some things aren't mean to happen!" My voice broke on the last word. "Am I supposed to just let him stay dead? I can do something! I can do something!"
I stopped, my breath coming in heavy gasps, because I couldn't really think of anything to change. There must be something, maybe I could stop Pippin from knocking that skeleton into the well. The Fellowship could pass through Moria undetected. But the balrog had been waiting on the path to Khazad-dûm. It had been waiting.
My head started to spin, and I couldn't think straight. All could see was Gandalf falling into the abyss. "This is my fault. Maybe you should have taken the Gap of Rohan. But that ends even worse. Moria was supposed to be safe. Why wasn't it safe? Why?"
And then, suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore. Aragorn was right. Somewhere, deep in my heart, I knew he was right. Some things are meant to happen. But, God, it hurt so much. I sunk to the ground beside Boromir, letting the violent sobs take over my body.
It wasn't even really fair for me to cry. Of everyone present, I knew Gandalf the least, and to be honest, he didn't even like me. I wept more for me. For the fact that I hadn't managed to save everyone, that I could only change so much. What was the point of all this Skipping? To travel from world to world, meeting people, making new friends, learning their futures? Balin, Óin, and Ori were going to die. How would I face them when I next saw the Company? How would I manage to smile and keep my secrets when I knew their fates? And what if I met Gandalf in his past, before his death? What would I say? These were the painful, the questions that ran through me. I chased them, searching for answers, but there weren't any. Especially not for the one that kept coming back to me, over and over again. What was the point of all this Skipping?
Beside me, Boromir had stopped crying, and now he sat on the ground beside me, staring out with empty eyes at the forest that spanned eastward from the Misty Mountains. Merry and Pippin held on to one another as they cried, and Sam knelt with his face buried in his hands. Legolas and Gimli both stood a little apart from the others, Legolas murmuring something in elvish, while Gimli stared up at the east-gate of Moria. Frodo had wandered away on his own, his lonely back to the rest of the Fellowship.
I couldn't tell you know how long we stayed on the slopes of the Misty Mountains, fighting with our grief. It felt like an eternity, but likely, it wasn't more than a few minutes. By some miracle Aragorn had managed to hold himself together and he said, "We must leave quickly."
"Give us a moment for pity's sake!" said Boromir as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs," said Aragorn. "On your feet, Sam." He helped the hobbit to a standing position. "Where is Frodo?"
"Over there," murmured Sam.
After a moment, Boromir removed his arm from my shoulders, and he dragged himself to his feet. I watched, fighting to hold back my tears, as Boromir helped Merry and then Pippin up. Finally, he turned to me. "Can you stand, Ana?"
I wiped the tears off my face with the back of my hand. This wasn't me. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about me so much. I mean, I know I suck at running and fighting and doing pretty much anything useful—but I can stand."
"You are terrible at coping with grief," said Boromir. His gaze was pitying.
"Shut up," I said, getting to my feet. "I'll have you know, I cried just like everyone else during the Titanic. I can totally handle grief."
"I have no idea what the Titanic is," said Boromir.
"She has returned to making references unknown to the rest of us," said Legolas. "She must be fine."
I rolled my eyes. "The Titanic was this huge ship , and the people who made it bragged about it being indestructible. So a bunch of people wanted to sail on it. The ship was a huge thing. Then, of course, the boat hit an iceberg and sank. So much for indestructible."
"They should have been watching out for the iceberg," said Legolas. "That was not very clever of them."
"They made a mov—story of it." I didn't feel like explaining a movie to them right then. "With a romance. It was this rich upper class girl and a poor boy. But then the Titanic sank and they landed in the water. She was on top of a piece of driftwood and he was in the water. In the end, she lived but he died and it was so sad."
"Why did they not both get on the driftwood?" asked Legolas.
"Because…" I frowned. "I don't know. Because she kept falling off."
"She seems selfish," said Legolas.
"You people cannot understand a love story."
Legolas smiled, but his smile soon faded and a shadow passed over his face. I didn't have to ask what he was thinking about. He no longer looked like a stupid pretty-boy elf, but someone old and ageless who had seen more things than I cared to imagine. I didn't like this Legolas. I wanted the blond elf I made fun of to come back.
"I want some coffee," I said, searching for a topic, anything that would take my mind off Gandalf and the balrog. "A nice latte maybe. That'd be good. Have you ever had a latte before? Probably not. Lattes are amazing. You should try one sometime."
No one was listening to me. Their heads bent as they stared at the ground with red eyes. The Fellowship stood together, but despite Aragorn's desperate efforts to get everyone moving, no one had the heart for it. Grief had taken the Fellowship.
It had taken me too.
"I'm going to sit down with my coffee and watch a movie. What movie should I watch? Titanic, duh. I need popcorn to go with the Titanic though… Coffee and popcorn sound really gross together. Maybe not… Oh, I know, I'll eat the popcorn at the beginning of the movie and then drink the coffee at the end. How does that sound? Does anyone want to join me?"
"We head for Lórien," said Aragorn.
"I'll take that as a no."