"When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun."
- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Amelia felt nauseous.

It rose up in her as she ran after Gandalf, out from the chamber where she had killed something, on purpose, for the first time in her life. She doubted the others suspected it had been her first real fight, that it had even crossed their minds, despite her continued insistence that Gandalf hadn't brought her for her prowess in battle.
However forced, however necessary, she had killed another sentient being. What was worse was that she had enjoyed it, even reveled in the power it gave her. Alongside her newfound discomfort though, there was a dark sense of certainty, that she could, if it should ever become necessary, defend herself and kill in self-defense if it came down to it.

All that ran through her head in a few seconds. She felt sick to her stomach and the sprinting did little to soothe her nausea. She could hear the orcs and goblins, pouring out from other chambers and even down from the ceiling, like a nightmarish case of termites, and she felt exhaustion flow through her, but her determination kept it at bay and she kept running as the Fellowship emerged into a gigantic hall with neat rows of squared pillars.
Orcs poured out of a large hole in the ceiling, climbing on it as if it was no harder than batting an eyelid and Amelia sped up her pace when she saw that they were ahead of them, cutting them off from their escape. An unkind hand grabbed her and pulled her back, as the Fellowship was forced to form a circle. They were completely surrounded by a sea of orcs, with bulging eyes, drooping mouths, sharp armors and weapons clanging against each other as they leered at their prey. Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas and Gimli made up the outer circle, while Merry, Pippin, Sam, Frodo and Amelia had been pushed into the middle of it. Amelia felt a surge of irritation at this, as she felt that it was implied that she was a weak link, to be protected, unable to protect, but then she realized that they were right about all of that and her aggression died out a bit.

Then, as the distance between their circle and the orcs grew close to being nonexistent, a distant rumble, reminiscent of an earthquake, echoed out through the hall. The orcs stopped their advance and muttered amongst themselves in their harsh language, obviously agitated, but suddenly too nervous to attempt an attack. She realized that whoever had yanked her back were still clutching her arm tightly and she looked down to see Sam, the chubby cook with a frying pan, face bright with determination and terror. She didn't tell him to let go.

The rumble echoed again, louder, and the orcs turned tail, scrambling up the pillars and a distant, fiery glow began to come from the end of the hall that the Fellowship had been running from. The orcs didn't even try to at least give them a warning shove as they rushed straight past them in what seemed like mindless terror. Then, their tight circle began to loosen and Boromir gripped his sword tighter, even as Gimli cheered at the orcs' escape.

"What is this new devilry?" He mumbled wearily and Amelia glanced at Gandalf. He looked exhausted, as if he had suddenly given up all hope and the sight was one Amelia was unlikely to forget. Seeing their unofficial leader looking so old and weathered was unpleasant. Gandalf held his answer back for a long moment as the glow came closer and a deep grumbling, unlike any orc, came again.

"A balrog." He answered darkly, clutching his staff for support. "A demon of the ancient world." Legolas had his eyes pointed stiffly towards the glow. Amelia knew that, out of any of them, he knew best what a balrog was and was capable of. Aragorn looked alarmed, as did Frodo, Gimli looked as lively as ever and Boromir looked uncertain, but firm. "This foe is beyond any of you." Gandalf continued in that old, old voice. He turned his head away from the unnatural light. "Run!" He yelled, but it seemed to have lost an edge, a spark of hope that Amelia had never noticed it held before it disappeared. Still, he rushed forwards, holding his lit staff high for all to see and follow and the distant, rumbling roar grew ever louder as they all slipped in a doorway, Gandalf going in last to ensure that all were safely through before himself. The hallway, essentially just one long stair, went downwards and Amelia flew down the steps, her heart beating so quickly that it was bordering on painful.

She didn't check whether Gandalf was still following them as they emerged out into a large chasm and the stairway continued across it. There was just the slight problem of a good chunk of it simply missing. Boromir hadn't spotted it and was losing his balance, standing on the edge of the remaining stair. Legolas grabbed him by the neck and pulled him back to safety as the Fellowship skidded to a halt.

"We can't just sit on our hands here!" Amelia yelled, her voice an octave lighter than what was normal. She felt herself beginning to panic and tried desperately to slow her breathing.

"We must jump!" Legolas exclaimed and Amelia's ankle thumped, as a painful reminder of everything that could go wrong. Boromir went first, easily making the jump once he was prepared for it and he turned, stretching his arms out on the other side. Amelia sheathed her sword as Legolas jumped after him, as easily as taking a single step and she felt herself moving. She threw herself wildly through the air without thinking and for a moment, she hung between the two halves of the bridge, completely free. Then, she landed heavily on the other side, Boromir's and Legolas' arms keeping her from falling backwards, into the abyss below them and she rushed past him to sprint after Legolas, who had begun a trot across the bridge, but not a run, for that would separate him and anyone following him from the Fellowship and that couldn't be allowed. The others jumped quickly, recognizing that there wasn't time or opportunity for second thoughts, but Frodo nearly fell when the first half of the bridge began to crumble. Aragorn threw Sam, Pippin and Merry across, but Gimli refused, making the jump by himself. His feet landed on the edge and he started to fall, but Boromir caught onto the first thing within his reach. Unfortunately, that proved to be Gimli's beard. Amelia winced in sympathy as she halted beside Legolas at the end of the stair, waiting for the others. Finally, they were all safely on the other side and then, they were running again.

They took a sharp turn to the right and Amelia found herself at the rear end of the group, alongside Gandalf, as they emerged into another hall, much like the one where they had been surrounded in, except that fire was burning in it and Gandalf turned towards the opposite end of the one they should be running towards. Against all sense, Amelia ran back to him, grabbing his shoulder.

"What are you…" She screamed at him, but then, a dark foot the size of a tank stomped on the fire and the words died before they had been born. She stood beside Gandalf as the balrog emerged from the fire and Amelia felt tears of horror pricking her eyes, but the intense heat radiating from the fire and the balrog made them vaporize before they could fall and Amelia began to sweat intensely.

If hell had a face, the balrog wore it.

It could never be put into words how much fear, awe and hopelessness it inspired in those that beheld it. Black skin over a fiery, inner glow, like magma, and jaws that could have been the doors of death itself. A demonic body, its full height comparable to a skyscraper and claws as long as harpoons on enormous feet and hands. Black wings sprouted from its back. Smoke billowed and the air filled with the stench of fire, burnt flesh and undiluted death.

"Oh my god…" Amelia breathed, but felt that her puny words could never express what she felt in that moment. Gandalf grabbed her arm and shoved her backwards as the balrog took a step forwards. Amelia turned her back to it and ran for her life, for all that she held dear and for survival.

Since she had seen the balrog herself, but the rest of the Fellowship hadn't, she only had that much greater reason to quicken her pace and she sprinted forwards in mindless terror, her feet barely touching the ground as she crossed another narrow bridge without railings after passing Frodo, Boromir, Sam, Merry and Pippin in her mad dash for survival.

"You cannot pass!" She heard Gandalf bellow and she spun to see him on the bridge, standing halfway across it. As if someone had flipped a switch, she remembered her decision to keep as much as possible from the Fellowship and she felt as if someone had dropped a boulder into her stomach.

"Gandalf!" Frodo yelled at the wizard as he stopped. Gandalf, his grey silhouette stark against the balrog, which had stopped at the start of the bridge and towered over him, was an inspiring sight, with Glamdring gleaming like a pale torch and his staff an ever present companion.

"I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Arnor!" Gandalf shouted at the balrog, which made him look like an insect in comparison. The movies had done a pathetic job of portraying it correctly. The light from his staff and Glamdring's gleaming gave Gandalf what seemed like a surreal, protective halo, shielding him. "The dark fire shall not avail you, flame of Udûn!"

"Amelia!" She turned to see Aragorn hurrying back towards her. He looked worried. "What will become of him?" Amelia gaped at him.

"You're serious?!" She yelled at him. "Right now, right this moment?!"

"Will he make it through?" Amelia bit her lip and looked away. She couldn't lie to him when he was asking her so desperately, but she couldn't possibly tell him the truth either.

"That depends on how you look at it." She shouted and jumped aside as black arrows began to rain down on them from hidden ledges. It appeared that the goblins of Moria had yet to give up their quarry entirely. "Now get your ass in gear and start moving!" She shoved him roughly and he blinked at her, as if he was dazed. Amelia turned back, unable to tear herself away. Only Boromir, Frodo and herself remained to watch what became of Gandalf the Grey. The balrog wielded a whip of flames in one fists and a pure inferno in the other as it roared at its challenger.

"Go back to the shadow!" Gandalf hissed loudly and Boromir caught Frodo before he could run out to the wizard. "You shall not pass!" Gandalf bellowed in a mighty voice, one that seemed to carry the supernatural power of the maiar that he was. Then, after raising his staff and sword, he brought them down and a flash of light struck out from where it collided with the bridge. A moment of silence reigned before the balrog roared and rushed forwards, but beneath it, the bridge crumbled into nothing and it lost its footing, falling into the chasm below. Amelia could have wept in relief, but kept her eyes trained stiffly on Gandalf, who stood, breathing heavily, on the intact part of the bridge, overlooking the abyss before he turned back.

Then, the flaming whip of the balrog lashed up and wrapped itself around his foot, pulling it out from underneath him and he was pulled backwards. He dropped Glamdring and his staff to hold onto the edge of the bridge and Frodo shouted his name again as he clutched the bridge. He looked at them and, from such a distance, Amelia could barely see his face, but she knew that he was looking right at them.

"Fly, you fools!" His gasping words seemed to echo in the darkness and then, he was gone, along with his staff, Glamdring and Amelia's hopes returning home before she got too far in to stop.

"Gandalf!" Frodo's scream was cast back at them, a scream of grief and despair and Boromir had to pull him back as the air grew thick with arrows. Apparently, with the absence of the balrog, the orcs saw their chance to take up their attack once more and Amelia turned away from the remains of the bridge, feeling a sick feeling taking root in her gut at the thought that she was, no matter her intentions, at least partly responsible for Frodo's anguished wails.

The last time a figure in Amelia's life died was when her sour, but sweet old grandfather had died, but even then, he had had peace when he passed. It hadn't been in a fight he never wanted on his hands, it hadn't been in a desperate attempt to save the fate of a world that already hung by a thread and the effect was obvious to anyone who knew it.

They had made it out of the mine at last, the sunlight of a pale, grey day greeting them. They had stopped their flight immediately Merry and Pippin were huddled together on the ground, Pippin lying on his side, sobbing his grief out onto the rocks. Aragorn seemed exhausted, but filled with a hopeless determination. Boromir was holding back a struggling Gimli, to keep him from rushing back into the mine to take on everything that lay there himself and offering silent, meagre comfort. Legolas stood in the middle, with a lost expression on his fair face and for once, Amelia could read him like an open book. Elves were immortal. Elves didn't have to deal with death, other than those who fell in battle. He looked dazed, as if he was walking through a dreamscape, but Amelia had dumped down on a rock and couldn't bring herself to rise up to comfort anyone, despite how deep their grief was. She hid her face in her hands, more than ever wishing that she was at home, that she didn't have to deal with death and despair. She heard Gimli's intense struggling and turned her face towards him.

"Gimli." She called in a voice more exhausted than she ever thought she would have to have. "Don't. He's gone. You getting yourself killed for him wouldn't change anything." Gimli actually listened to her, struggled for another second and then deflated on himself. Boromir let him go at last.

"Legolas." Aragorn called heavily as he cleaned his sword. "Get them up."

Amelia gaped at him as the elf began to gently urge the hobbits to rise again, to keep on going despite the loss they had just suffered.

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir yelled at him and Amelia found herself agreeing with his sentiment.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs!" Aragorn cried back, tension thick in the air. "We must reach the woods of Lothlórien." He threw his head towards the glimpse of green trees able to be spotted between the trees.

To keep on going, after watching a leader figure fall for them, with no end to it for hours, and to have killed other sentient beings, even orcs, in such a cruel manner and to delight in it…

Amelia stood up, as if she had been sitting on a spring, and sprinted away, with Aragorn calling her name in concern. She staggered into a large boulder, bent forwards and threw up behind it, her stomach turning its insides out in protest and disgust. She spat and spluttered, gasped for air and then straightened her back, refusing to succumb. She wiped her mouth and turned around, wobbling slightly on her feet, as she made her way back to the men.

Boromir, Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn helped the hobbits to their feet, but Frodo was wandering off. Aragorn called for him and he halted to a stop, slowly turning around and Amelia spotted several silent tears rolling down his pale face.

She jumped when she felt a hand hesitantly touching her and she saw that Boromir was offering her a leathery sack of something. She took it hesitantly and then, by feeling its contents sloshing around, knew that it was a waterskin. She was touched by the kind gesture and gave Boromir a sorrowful, but grateful look. He looked gravely into her eyes and, finally, Amelia felt that she could understand him a little better. He wordlessly turned away and the Fellowship began to press forwards, but without Gandalf to lead them, they no longer walked in a straight line. Rather, they were spread out, always within sight of each other, but with no focused point to follow.