Disclaimer: I own the plot, though I apologize if it's been done before. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling; Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.
There and Back Again
Chapter 18: Moria
By Jess S
Inside the West Gate of Moria
Having just saved Frodo from the creature of the lake before the entrance to the caves, they stood watching as door collapsed behind them. As the rumbling from the collapsing doorway died down and the air slowly stilled allowing dust to settle, only the harsh panting of the members of the Fellowship struggling to catch their breath, could be heard.
After a few moments, and shook his head, though none of them could see him in the relentless darkness that surrounded them. He drew his wand and summoned light with a simple, "Lumos."
The Fellowship all looked at him as light emerged from the tip of his wand.
A moment later, Gandalf nodded, summoning light from the crystal atop his staff as well. "We now have but one choice," he told them all in a resigned tone. "We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things then Orcs in the deep places of the world..." the Istari paused while moving onward across the hall, carefully leading them around the long dead Dwarven guards that had once guarded this gate. "Quietly now," he cautioned as he led them up the steps across from the exit, to make their way down into the mines. "It's a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that out presence may go unnoticed."
Lothlórien
Remus shook his head as he looked towards the sinking sun, waiting for the moon to rise in the distance. He should have known that it couldn't be that easy...
The lady shook her head sadly, offering a compassionate smile. "No, there are still two more steps. And they will be painful." She sighed at his cautious expression. "I am afraid you must undergo the transformations one last time, with nothing to dull the pain or aid you in maintaining control."
He'd tried to argue that that was too dangerous, but she'd merely shaken her head.
"You cannot allow yourself to believe that, my young friend." She reached out to gently push his chin up, thereby forcing him to meet her gaze. "You must have faith in the Valar, and most importantly; in yourself. You must believe that you can be free of this curse. You must break free of it by sheer willpower. You now have that power. But do you have the strength of will for it?"
He certainly hoped so...
The werewolf sighed. At least the other members of the Order were positioned around him, to ensure that he didn't harm anyone...One less thing to worry about...
'It is time...' the Lady of Light's voice echoed through his head.
He turned his attention back to the horizon, to see his greatest fear rising. It was what he saw whenever he came face to face with a boggart, one of the clues that fate had offered to Hermione Granger -- what seemed like ages ago -- of his true nature...
Which he could now feel taking over...
Muscles stretching, straining, tearing, and re-knitting over expanding bones that were snapping into different shapes and positions even as some grew and others shrunk to fit his new form.
It was happening slower than it usually did... his mind -- already numbed by the tremendous pain his body was registering -- could actually follow and note the various steps in the procedure!
He felt his face extend outward, his nose and jaw stretching to take on their new form while his eyes and ears repositioned themselves and their angles of perspective.
He felt a tremendous pain in his backside, as his tailbone was forced to grow outward and actually become the bones for a tail, some flesh growing along with it.
Then he felt a strange -- almost itching, but not quite -- sensation, as fur exploded out of his flesh to cover his entire body.
Then the ancient power brought forth by the full moon settled and he collapsed to the ground in his wolf form, utterly exhausted...but in complete control!
"The procedure is half complete now," the Lady of Lothlórien told him, smiling as she and threw a large blanket over his trembling form. "This will be the last time this occurs. After the moonset, you should have complete control over your transformation."
'What if I don't?!' the werewolf couldn't help but wonder, a touch of hysteria touching his tired mind.
Then the Lady's gentle mental touch washed over his mind again, soothing away the pain, shock and doubt, leaving only a renewed sense of strength and hope in its wake. 'There is always hope, my young friend. Never forget that, for it is our most powerful weapons against the forces of Evil.'
After a moment's thought, the canine offered a tired nod, before curling up under the blanket she'd offered him to wait out the night.
Even his enhanced hearing didn't give his tired brain awareness when the elleth left the grove with the graceful, skilled feet of her people.
Somewhere in the Mines of Moria
"It's awful dark down here..." Pippin commented as he and his comrades continued on their way through the mines.
"Of course it is," Merry replied tiredly, only sparing half of his attention for his cousin, and keeping the rest of it for the rocky, uneven, awkward path beneath his hairy feet. "We're under ground."
"It's never this dark back home..."
"Of course it isn't. We don't live under a mountain."
"But we live underground!"
"There's a bit of a difference between a hobbit hole and the Mines of Moria, Master Took," Harry offered with a gentle smile, while negotiating his way through the underground passage with grace similar to the three Elves in their party, but he was obviously much more at ease. He didn't like it here, but he could remain relatively indifferent to it while they were traveling; Legolas Thranduilion and Rúmil and Camthalion Míriel obviously did not like the mines at all. "Just like there's a difference between the Misty Mountains and the Shire. I'm rather certain the cold we experience on Caradhras never touches Hobbiton, and the snow is never quite so deep."
"Of course it is not!" Pippin agreed, nodding empathetically, "T'would be unnatural!"
"This is unnatural..." The Prince of Mirkwood offered quietly, while continuing to eye their surrounding suspiciously and keep the same pace as his companions at the same time. "Varda has so little influence here...I should not like to live in a place that both the King and Queen of the Valar so readily abandon."
"I agree that there is no natural light here," Boromir offered curiously, following the line of conversation, and fortunately cutting in before the irritated dwarf behind him could begin his rant. "But how has Manwë forsaken this place?"
"Manwë Sulímo is the Lord of the Air, the Wind Lord." Gandalf offered pleasantly, apparently pleased at the conversation that had sprung up from the previously all-too-quiet party. "His domain is air itself; clean air, the sky, the wind, and that which dwells therein; storms, birds, song..."
"None of which exist here." Legolas agreed with a nod.
After a few moments of thought and silence, Pippin shrugged and smiled. "Well, I don't know about the air, and storms, and sky, but we could bring song in here."
"No," Gandalf stopped suddenly to look back at the hobbit, shaking his head, "We must move through the mines with the utmost caution and diligence. We do not want any who remain here to become aware of our presence..." he sighed as he turned back around to continue leading the way, "As I told you earlier, as foul as Orcs and Goblins are, there are monsters far more fierce and foul in the Middle Earth's depths..."
Thus, that all too silent silence continued to hang over the fellowship of twelve, as they made their way deeper into the nadir of Moria.
The Tower of Orthanc, Isengard
"If you wish to throw several of your followers on a journey that will take at least a week -- perhaps more depending on how much you can enhance their alacrity with magic -- and one that serves no purpose, be my guest. But it is truly a waste of time. The Balrog will destroy the entire group, and then it will surrender the Ring to the King of Agmar. It would never cooperate with you or your followers, so why bother? The Ring could never be yours."
"I don't care about your bloody Ring, I want your lord to win, so that he may keep his word, and assist in the war on my world." The Heir of Slytherin retorted, almost reverting to parseltongue due to his ill-concealed anger. "There is always the possibility that this group will make it through the mines, and your army isn't anywhere near ready to march. If they make it through, a dozen of my Death Eaters will be waiting for them on the other side."
The rouge Istari shook his head, offering the younger dark wizard a sadistically benevolent smile, "You must do what you believe to be right, of course, Lord Voldemort."
The Dark Lord nodded, his demonically red eyes flashing, before turning and leaving the Istari's study, to make his way to the room his Death Eaters would be waiting for him in. That was one reason he needed to leave this place, and soon. He could not stand that old bastard. The white-haired, white-robed Istari reminded him far too much of Dumbledore. Of course, Dumbledore would never join the forces of Darkness; he'd proven that long ago. Yet Saruman had many of the attributes that Voldemort had long hated in the old muggle lover.
He cut his displeased thought process short as he finally reached the assembly hall that Saruman has so graciously allowed them to utilize. It took numerous wards and anti-eavesdropping charms to make the location private, but it was large and comfortably furnished, so it was not quite as bad as it could be, he supposed.
All of his followers bowed deeply as he passed, careful not to actually watch him pass. It was something he always looked for. He would not allow signs of disrespect in any form, even one as small as not bowing deeply enough to their lord and master.
The Heir of Salazar Slytherin smiled coldly as he reached his throne, forcing a blank expression to his face as he turned to sit down before giving his followers leave to rise.
Not all of his Death Eaters had been brought to this world, but most of the best were here. All of the ones here were utterly loyal, to be sure. Therefore, he felt no qualms about trusting them to do what they had pledged themselves, their lives, families, bodies, and souls for, at some point or another. Nevertheless, that didn't mean he didn't keep a close eye on them.
"Lucius, report," he ordered, watching as the tall, regal blonde stepped forward at his bidding.
"My lord," the patriarch of the Malfoy family bowed deeply before continuing. "The rate of production for the Uruk-hai army is rapidly increasing; soon the Orcs may be able to produce several hundred per week. These Uruk-hai will be similar to their assemblers, but stronger, faster and smarter."
"But not too smart?"
"Of course, my lord," the younger wizard confirmed, bowing again. "They will be the perfect soldiers, nothing more."
"Good..." Voldemort remained quiet for a moment, knowing that the eldest Malfoy had finished his report, but enjoying the knowledge that the silence made even the stately man before him uneasy. Then he continued with a nod, waving Malfoy back into his seat before addressing the other Death Eaters. "It had come to my attention that there is a group of do-gooders causing quite a bit of trouble for our allies. They are on a quest to destroy our ally's most powerful weapon, and should they succeed our allies will not be able to win this war. Therefore, they must not succeed. Who will see to this?"
After a few moments of uneasy silence, several Death Eaters rose, bowing their heads and awaiting their lord's recognition.
The Dark Lord scrutinized the group carefully, measuring against one another and his own experience, before coming to a decision. "Very well. All of you will go, under Dolohov's command."
All bowed, Antonin Dolohov most deeply of all, "My lord."
"You are to capture as many members of this group as possible, eliminate only those that may be considered a serious threat to us on their own." Voldemort looked at the man he'd appointed as the group's leader, "Do not disappoint me, Antonin."
"I shall not, my lord."
"Go."
Somewhere in the Mines of Moria
The Mines of Moria were not kind to its trekkers, which was easily demonstrated for what could very well be the hundredth time since the Fellowship had entered the Mine three days before in the stairs that they were climbing. Said stairs were so steep that once could very well mistake them for a cliff, and with all of the loose steps they encountered on the way up, a rather perilous one.
"Pippin!" Merry's annoyance at his cousin when the other Hobbit slipped due to one such step was not at the other's clumsiness really, just at the fact that Peregrin Took had managed to find at least twice the number of perils as every other member of the Fellowship combined.
"Sorry!" the other Hobbit muttered sheepishly as they continued onward.
Merry didn't respond, choosing instead to simply struggle onward, hoping they would soon reach the top of the stairs that had been in sight already for quite some time.
As luck would have it, Gandalf, who had continued leading them this entire way, as Harry was still unsure about directions in this dark maze, had just reached the top. Luck was not with them when it came to the wizard's previously confident recollection.
"I have no memory of this place..." the Istari murmured, glancing back at Harry as the other wizard came up behind him also looking around.
After a moment the foster-son of the Lady of the Golden Wood also shook his head, "Nor do I..." he offered an apologetic smile after glancing back at the others, then he moved forward, "We should set up camp," he suggested quietly, "everyone is weary. Perhaps a little rest will do us all some good."
The Grey Wizard nodded, "Yes, it might. Moreover, there is no good in wandering onward if we do not know the way. We could be lost in here for years."
"Years that we do not have."
"Yes," the Istari nodded again, before turning around to look over the rest of the Fellowship, which had just managed to finish assembling not far behind them. "We shall rest here for a time."
"Are we lost?" Pippin asked.
Gandalf sighed, moving on towards a boulder where he could study all three tunnels, choosing not to answer as he saw a small amount of but all too apparent fear in the others eyes. He nodded his approval as Harry called up his strange blue flames, quickly dispelling the coolness that was common so far under ground, before transfiguring a rock into a teakettle, filling it with water from his wand, and setting it to levitate over the fire, to warm said water. Then he transfigured a few more rocks into small, clean teacups and accepted the pack of tea leaves that Camthalion had just taken out of his pack, to sprinkle some into each cup.
The other members of the Fellowship sighed, shaking their heads as they gathered around the magical fire, sitting back against hard stone to rest their weary bones.
After a few minutes of silence, Pippin sighed, turning to his cousin to repeat his earlier question, "Are we lost?"
Harry shook his head, as Merry whispered back, "No."
"I think we are."
The other Hobbit shushed loudly at his cousin before replying, "Gandalf's thinking!"
There was another long moment's silence before Pippin spoke up again. "Merry?"
"What?"
"I'm hungry."
"Well so am I, but there's not much I can do about that..."
"Do you think Harry could?"
"What?"
"Make food? With magic?"
The wizard suppressed a groan as both Hobbits made their way towards him after a moment's silence. "May I help you?"
"Could you make food like that?" Pippin asked, pointing to the kettle that was floating above the fire, still not hot enough to whistle.
Harry sighed, shaking his head tiredly. "What kind of food?" He shook his head again when the Hobbit's seemed to need to really think about this and continued before they could reply. "Never mind..." he brought his wand out again, levitating quite a few more rocks and pebbles over to him. Taking a metal plate out of his gear, he the pebbles drop down onto it, and then closed his eyes and turning his power inward, willing a strong memory involving food to appear.
Flashback
"Elerossë, iapsa!" Elerossë, the food is ready! Ránëwén called down to her husband, from the window of their talon.
Harry looked up with a smile, before nodding to the Galadhrim he'd been talking to and then making his way up the stairs to his home, where his wife was setting their midday meal out on the table. "It looks wonderful, melda nin..." He murmured, coming up behind her to pull her back against him, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek before releasing her.
She turned around, favoring him with a bright, loving smile. "Dan ilau ná, verno nin," But of course it does, my husband, the violet-eyed elf replied, "Would you expect any less? After all..." a slight smirk graced her lips, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, "I'm quite a bit different from the other heri...or so you keep telling me..."
"Uma..." he agreed with a nod, leaning down slightly to catch her lips with his.
They had been married for a little over a year now, having celebrated their first anniversary and the numerous congratulations it stipulated only a few days past. The last few months seemed so much fuller, more vivid, more genuine, more alive, more everything then the millennia he'd spent without his soul mate here on Middle Earth. He found it hard to believe that he'd actually forced himself to remain apart from her for so long. He could hardly believe he had actually managed it.
He loved everything about her; the way she could mold her body so perfectly into his, the way her eyes seemed to contain only the finest shades of the twilight hours, the sound of her voice, the way she could approach just about anything with reason, and so much more...
When he had been a child, he'd never thought he would be able to feel something like this. He never thought that one day he might actually feel complete. The Dursley's had hated him so, and the 'love' that they showed one another had so often seemed to be overshadowed by greed, or disgust (when he was near), or hate, or something, that he'd often believed love to be just another fictional part of those fairly tales that his Aunt had bought his cousin a long time ago, only to have them thrown out in a fit of temper. He had rescued the storybook, and had kept it, simply studying the pictures until he learned to read in school, then reading one or two of the stories every night, embracing the fantasy world that they'd created. Discovering his own Wizarding heritage and the world of magic had helped to partially cure him of that cynicism, but Violet deserved most of the credit for truly curing him, any additional credit could be divvied up among the people of the Golden Wood and perhaps the Weasley's as well.
He loved her though, in the same way all of those heroes and heroines he'd read about so long ago loved their partners; utterly and completely; body, mind, heart, spirit and soul...
"Umm..." Ránëwén laughed quietly, her eyes sparkling as she slipped gracefully out of his embrace and moved around the table to claim her seat on the other side. "It's a bit early for that, melda nin."
Harry raised an eyebrow, taking the seat across from her. "You think so?" he smiled, the merriment in her eyes also shining in his as he picked up one of the soft, flaky biscuits, still warm from the oven that she'd set on the table, not bothering to break it open or add butter to alter its already superb flavor. "I don't know...you certainly didn't think so a few months ago."
"Well, I'm a lady," his wife returned, smirking slightly before taking a bite out of the biscuit she'd just picked up. After she finished chewing and swallowing the sample of her own baking the smirk had returned, "Doesn't that mean I'm entitled to capriciousness, frivolity, and vacillation?"
Harry laughed, wisely choosing to take a bite of his own biscuit and savor its unique taste rather then answer and risk his wife's wrath at accepting the generalization... She had always detested generalizations...
End of Flashback
"Master Harry?"
Harry looked up, blinking back tears as the memory dissipated, to look at the two Hobbits, who were now watching him with concern, as were several other members of their party. "Sorry," he muttered, shaking his head before waving his wand over the pebble covered plate and muttering the charms to transfigure said pebbles into the softy, flaky, honey-flavored biscuits that had been one of his wife's favorite foods for as long as he could remember. He then noticed the faint whistling noise coming from the fire, and turned slightly to see that Samwise had already taken the pot off the fire and was halfway through filling all of the teapots with the liquid. "Thank you," he nodded to the Hobbit, before offering the plate to the other two, "Would you mind passing this around?"
Merry shook his head, taking the plate and quickly making a round of the campfire, to offer said food to those present. All accepted, and there were five biscuits on the plate still when he came back.
Harry took the plate, nodding over towards Frodo and Gandalf, and waving his wand at three of the teacups, making them levitate over to him. "I'll take theirs over to them," he rose once both Hobbits had managed to choose their biscuit, and quickly made his way over to the other wizard and the Ring bearer, carefully avoiding meeting either of the Míriel twins' concerned eyes.
"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us," Gandalf was telling Frodo as Harry reached them, watching the younger being carefully even as he noted the other wizard's approach, accepting a biscuit and one of the floating teacups immediately.
Frodo smiled, nodding his thanks as he also accepted a biscuit and a cup of tea, taking a slow sip of the soothing liquid before tasting the small treat that had come with it.
"There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil." The Istari continued after he'd finished his biscuit and had drained half of his teacup. "Bilbo was meant to find the Ring. In which case, you were also meant to have it. And that is a happy thought."
The Hobbit frowned, shaking his head. "How?"
"If the Ring was meant to come to you, Frodo, someone that could resist its evil," Harry offered with a smile, "Then there's a chance that its end and Sauron's destruction are also fated."
Frodo look down thoughtfully, while finishing the last of his snack and the tea that had come with it.
"Ah!" Gandalf drew the attention of everyone in their group over to them after a few moments of comfortable, companionable silence. When they looked at him, he nodded towards one of the passages with a smile. "It's that way."
"He's remembered!" Merry smiled as he rose, going over towards the wizards.
Harry also smiled, waiving his wand to turn all of the empty teacups and the kettle back into rocks and to douse the bluebell flames he'd set only a little over an hour before.
"No," Gandalf shook his head while setting the rock that he had been drinking an Elven tea from only moments before down on the ground, and proceeding down the passage he'd selected a moment before, once again using his staff for light, while the others used torches, and Harry his wand. "But the air doesn't smell quite so foul down here. When in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose!"
Lothlórien
The air smelled strange here. It was clearer, cleaner, fresher then anything he had ever experience on his world of birth, where Muggle industry had long polluted the cities, and poverty governed the countryside. It was the first thing he had noticed about this place when he'd come here. As a werewolf, his sense of smell was greatly enhanced; the magical possession that linked his human soul with a wolf's soul was very old, and therefore very powerful. In the millennia since it had come into being -- however that had happened -- it had become stronger, powerful, bordering on demonic...and that was how most people thought of it.
Remus Lupin's heart sank. He had clearly passed out after returning to his human form, as he was liable to do from time to time; now he was awakening as he always did, with the wolf-demon's stupefying senses.
Birds were singing. His mind knew exactly where dozens of them were, just from the sound of their distantly chirped song, and the whistle of the wind in the leaves.
The ground was wet, and oddly rough. That was because of the transformation; his skin, bones and muscles were still incredibly sensitive, which made his mind very aware of the incredible amount of pain his body still felt, even though when compared to the terrible pain it echoed it was nothing, not even a shadow of what he it felt like to transform from man to wolf and back again.
He could taste some of his own blood on his exceedingly discerning tongue; that too was common after a transformation.
The sense of smell...
The sense of sound...
The sense of taste...
The sense of touch...
And...
He opened his eyes, hurriedly closing them as iris's still set for nocturnal hunting allowed far too much of the morning sun's light to stab into his brain like the teeth of the werewolf that had curse him so long ago.
He was still a monster. A demon. A werewolf.
'No...' the heavenly, gentle voice of Harry's foster-mother echoed through his aching brain, dousing the waves of fiery pain, uncertainty and misery with healing waves of assurance, wisdom and support. 'You were never a demon. And the demon that was a part of you since childhood is gone.'
The wizard sat up quickly, ignoring how much the move pained him in order to open his eyes and turn to stare at the golden haired elf that was kneeling down beside him to wrap a thick, warm robe around his hurting form. "What?"
"The curse has been lifted," Galadriel told him with an eminent smile. "You are free of it, and of any pain it was previously able to send with the light of the moon."
He stared at her for a long moment, eyes wide with disbelief. Then he shook his head, "But I'm still... smell... hear...I can still--"
The elleth also shook her head, smiling gently. "Over the years your body has adapted to be better able to handle the transformation you endured every time the moon was high and full. Those changes cannot be undone. They will remain so long as your body and magic can endure them."
"So...that's it?" He asked, his hazel eyes finally taking on some small shade of hope.
"Not quite."
'Of course not...' he thought, suppressing the urge to scream in pain in frustration, then suppressing the urge to wince when the telepathic lady wrapped her arms around him, gently enfolding him in a comforting embrace.
"There is nothing wrong," she assured him, while sending more of her power into him, seeking to heal any serious damage that remained.
"What is it then?"
"You have not lost the ability to transform."
Remus frowned, "I haven't?" Wasn't that the whole point of this?
"No. Instead, you have gained the ability to do so at will, and remain yourself during the transformation."
The wizard was silent for several long moments, frowning. Then he nodded, "Like an Animagus?"
"That is what Elerossë called it, yes."
For several moments there was silence, and then the sound of Remus Lupin -- once a werewolf and now an animagus -- falling back against the ground in a dead faint echoed around the clearing.
The Chamber of Mazarbul, Mines of Moria
"Here lays Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria..." Gandalf sighed, shaking his head as Gimli continued to mourn his fallen cousin. "He is dead then, it is as I feared..." After a moment of sad silence, the Istari moved over towards one of the skeletons by the crypt, handing his hat and staff to Pippin before gently relieving the long dead Dwarven scribe of his burden.
"We must move on," Legolas murmured to mainly Aragorn, but they all heard his insistence, and agreed. "We cannot linger..."
"They have taken the bridge, and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums... drums in the deep..." Gandalf read from the book, his tone saddened, a deep frown marring his aged face as he turned to the tomb's next old page. He shook his head at what came next, before reading it allowed. "We cannot get out. A Shadow moved in the dark. We cannot get out..." the Istari looked up, his wise eyes cheerless as he finished reading the words that were quickly scrawled down on the last page with writing, which bore a number of spots of dried blood. "They are coming..."
Every member of the Fellowship turned in shock and fear as a loud clang resounded from behind the Istari, who had to spin around completely in order to stare at the guilty form of Peregrin Took, and watch in horror as the Dwarven skeleton that had been resting on the side of the well immediately behind him was dragged down, undoubtedly by the weight of the bucked that had been there only a moment before.
Pippin winced as an even louder clang resounded through the mine from its even deeper depths.
After several moments of tense silence, the Fellowship relaxed slightly, releasing sighs of relief.
Gandalf slammed the old book shut, setting it back down by its owner's remains before storming the short distance over to the Hobbit and snatching his hat and staff away from him. "Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time, and rid us of your stupidity!"
Pippin looked down shamefacedly, prudently choosing to remain silent.
DOOOM!
Everyone froze again, meeting their companions eyes which were like mirrors in that they reflected the same, complete emotion back at them; one of fear, one of dread, one of doom. Some would say that the aftermath of a battle is the worst part of war, others the battle itself, and still others the moments before. All viewpoints are easy enough to understand, to simplify it; those who hate the aftermath hate the carnage, those that hate the battle itself hate the danger, and those that hate the time before the battle hate the fear. That fear is common to all, at least to all that can die, for they know that they will leave this world, and while they may believe they know what will happen afterwards they can never be one hundred percent sure, and even then they may not believe themselves to be ready. Fear of any sort is a powerful weapon, and fear of the unknown is the most powerful of all...
That was the fear that they felt now as they looked around, hearing the unwelcome sound of the drums echo from the depths of Moria up to their ears.
DOOM! DOOM!
That was the fear that was in Sam's voice as his eyes felt upon his friend and master's sword. Having grown up listening to Bilbo Baggins' tell of his adventure beyond the Shire, Samwise Gamgee knew what it meant when Sting's inner light revealed itself, a deep icy blue luminosity in the darkness. "Frodo, your sword!" he gasped, watching as the other Hobbit looked down at the sword, drawing it enough to release the blade's warning glow, before meeting his eyes fearfully.
DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!
As different sounds became clearer, filling the interval between the resonances of the wicked drums, the more experience members of the Fellowship, the warriors, began to overcome that fear. They were warriors, and while the servants of the Dark were dangerous they had all fought Orcs before, and so the Prince of Mirkwood's warning was more welcome then one might think, as the simple verification of "Orcs!" severed to dispel the fear that had gripped them so tightly only moments before.
Boromir turned, running to the doorway they had come in by, quickly looking out in an attempt to find safe passage from the crypt that was quickly becoming a prison. Were it not for the experience that he did have in combat, and a fair amount of luck, he probably would not have been able to dodge the two arrows that buried themselves deeply in the door behind him, having only just missed as they passed him.
"Get back!" Aragorn ordered as Harry ran to help the man of Gondor close the doors, in order to provide them with at least a few short moments more to prepare. "And stay close to Gandalf!" the heir of Isilduir added as he ran to join the two at the doors, helping them move them shut.
"They have a cave-troll." Boromir muttered in a tone of ironic disgust, before moving away from the doors that Harry and Aragorn were holding shut, to catch the axes that Legolas and the twins were throwing to him to seal the door
Harry stopped then after securing the second axe, "It's no use."
The others nodded in agreement and hurried away from the door, back to where their three Elven companions stood, bringing arrows to the strings of their bows. As Aragorn hurried to ready his own bow, Gandalf drew his sword, the mighty Glamdring, and the Hobbit followed his example whilst keeping terrified eyes on the pair of all-too-fragile double doors that were beginning to shake with the strain the small monsters wanted to reek upon them.
Gimli, who had until that point remained kneeling, listless before the grave of his beloved cousin, rose with a roar, holding his axe at ready. "Let them come! There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"
First holes began to appear in the door, where Orcs were cutting through with axes, swords and claws, and the archers in their group managed to get several arrows off and thorough said holes to the target they provided, but not nearly enough to stop the inevitable. This was demonstrated all too quickly, as their last line of pre-battle defense was destroyed.
Violence, destruction, death, fear, chaos, mayhem, madness...are all among the words that can be used to describe a battle, to describe war.
That is the only way to describe the battle in the chamber of Mazarbul. The Fellowship was presently comprised of eight warriors, two of whom were wizards. They fought valiantly, even the four Hobbits, who had not spent many years past learning the ways of war and wielding weapons fought for all they were worth.
Whether it was by skill or by miracle or a combination two, the Fellowship made it for some time into the skirmish with no serious injuries of which to speak. It wasn't until the Orc's pet cave-troll used its club to smash part of the doorway in so that it could enter that they began to worry.
Samwise, who had been standing right in front of the monster managed to escape the swing of its mighty club by dodging under and rolling through the space between its legs. And when the confused and then livid troll turned to squash him, fortunately Boromir and Aragorn managed to pull it away from their friend by the chain the Orcs had been leading it by.
Seeing that this seemed well in hand, and that no one else seemed to be in dire straights, Harry turned to slaughtering as many Orcs he could, as expediently as was possible. He threw a few hexes at the troll whenever he got a chance, but he spent more time in killing any of the Orcs that tried to go near the warriors that were fighting the troll. That was the best he could really do for now, as even a wizard couldn't be everywhere at once. That was why he hated fighting in battles with friends at his side; he couldn't keep an eye on them, and the worry that he might find one of them, dead or dying, after the battle ended nagged at him throughout the entire encounter.
Therefore, he tried not to be too worried about it...until heard the worry in Aragorn's call of "Frodo!" He knew that the Man was a Ranger and before had been a warrior trained by the Elves of Imladris before that. If he was worried, then there was a reason. He almost didn't want to turn in the direction he'd last seen Frodo, hiding along the wall and staying as much out of the fighting as possible, by the far wall. He didn't really want to, but he did, to see...
The cave troll trying to catch the Ring bearer. Wonderful.
"Aragorn! Aragorn!"
The cave troll succeeding in catching the Ring bearer and pulling him out of his hiding place by the leg while Aragorn tried to fight his way over to the Hobbit. Even more wonderful.
"Frodo!"
Seeing that the Ranger wasn't that far from the Hobbit, he sent a quick series of stunners, hexes, and curses at the Orcs between Aragorn and Frodo, making the heir of Gondor's path much easier and faster.
Although, in retrospect, watching the man jump between the troll and the Hobbit wasn't overly reassuring. Stabbing the massive monstrosity with a hunting spear was good, but apparently not good enough, as the monstrous cave dweller was still able to whack the Ranger out of its way and into a wall, thereby knocking him unconscious, before pulling the spear out of its midsection and immediately going after Frodo, who had gone to the fallen man's side in hopes of waking him.
With a quick hex and a few swings of the sword he was wielding in his left hand, Harry managed to dispatch enough of his opponents to close his eyes and Apparate. Almost instantaneously, he appeared between Frodo and the troll with a loud "POP!" and was immediately confronted by, once again, how much more monstrous the monsters of Middle Earth were compared to their counterparts on his Earth. He didn't remember the mountain troll he, Hermione and Ron had confronted when they were in first year being anywhere near as massive.
Shaking the thought away, Harry dragged Frodo out of the way of the troll's new weapon, while firing a potent "Expelliarmus!" at his new opponent, successfully disarming it and blasting it back a few steps. With a short sigh, he watched the troll force itself forward again; he hadn't wanted to use magic like this in front of his new companions. The people of Middle Earth were especially suspicious of magic, they always had been, but using dark magic in front of a group of champions set on destroying one of the darkest works ever created...wasn't the best of ideas. The problem was that trolls were one of those creatures that had natural defenses that couldn't be penetrated by stunners, at least not a single or even a few stunners, so...
Wait! Ron had managed to knock the mountain troll out in first years by droppings its own club on its head, maybe...
He looked up at the balcony above them...it was rather loose from when the troll had smash a large section of it out only a minute or two before...
His mind made up, he waited for the troll's charge. When it did charge, less then a moment later, he grabbed Frodo and Disapparated over to where Aragorn was with another loud "POP!" The troll ended up stumbling into the wall itself, and as the impact managed to shake some of the rocks above it even looser, the wizard raised his wand and shouted; "Conquasso!"
There was no way the troll could escape, the entire section of the balcony that was above it, the walls and columns around it, and the floor under it all shattered at the same time, effectively holding it in place, and then crushing it under tons of rubble.
The Fellowship had little difficulty dispatching the rest of the Orcs after that, as they had already ridded Middle Earth of many of them before the troll had arrived, but they could not pause and rest afterwards, as an equally exhausted Harry pointed out.
"We have to move...now." He nodded towards the Prince of Mirkwood, "As Legolas pointed out earlier, we cannot linger here. It is obviously not safe... And more will come."
"And soon," Gandalf agreed with a nod. "Come," he waived all of them towards the ruined remains of the doorway through which they'd entered the chamber. "We must make for the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. It is not far..."
Near Lothlórien
Traveling by broom when the idea was first introduced to the Wizarding world could not have been overly comfortable. Magical broomsticks did not really become commonly comfortable until the year 1820, when the cushioning charm that allows witches and wizard alike to travel in relative comfort was invented. Many other charms were invented for said brooms, for speed and braking, for excitement and safety, for style and sensibility; broomsticks evolved from models like the Oakshaft 79, invented in the late nineteenth century, to the glorious Firebolt that professionals rode in the Quidditch World Cup in the late twentieth century.
Voldemort had certainly not expected to end up in another world when he attacked Hogsmeade, so neither he nor many of his followers had been carrying broomsticks. A few, like Lucius Malfoy, had had a shrunken Firebolt in his robes, a Slytherin through and through, but most had never even considered the chance of actually needing brooms. Even those that did have brooms only had them because they always did, out of their own habits of self-preservation.
Fortunately, some of the Death Eaters did work in the companies that mass-produced broomsticks for sale in the Wizarding world, and therefore knew, for the most part, how it was done. Some conferring was necessary, but after a few hours they were able to piece together brooms that were suitable for flight. The thirteen wizards that were riding them were given strict instructions to ride carefully, as these brooms weren't models but trial broomsticks, and there was no valid way that they could ensure their safety on them.
So here they were, high in the skies above Middle Earth, lost.
"Would you please explain how one of the most basic spells known to our people, a directional locater; could possibly malfunction?!" Antonin Dolohov, appointed commander of the dozen other wizards that were flying with him, demanded of his subordinates.
"Wards?"
"Wards?!?" the older Death Eater spat, turning on the youth that had spoken instantly, all of the worries that had been accumulated since his lord made him commander coming out in a wave of severe aggression towards the young idiot that had imprudently answered the inquiry. "There are only two wizards not sworn to our lord in this world, one of them is an ally, the other is among the ones we're looking for!"
"Actually, I do believe our lord said that some members of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore included, arrived in this world the same way we did."
Dolohov scoffed, "There is no way that even Dumbledore would be able to erect wards powerful enough to completely block off tracking spells!"
"The wards at Hogwarts do, at his command."
"Many of those wards are as old as the school, over a thousand years old! It's not as though--"
"And the vast majority of the establishments in this world are much older." Eric Mulciber, the only other senior member of the group pointed out, a distinct note of boredom in his tone. When the others turned to state at him, he shook his head, "Think about it. Some of our enemies are immortal - immune to old age and illness. Some of them have seen the sun rise and set on a new year thousands of time over. Muggles built the fortress of our lord's ally, Saruman, over two thousand years ago. The forest on the horizon is far older, as are the people that are native to it and the sorceress that governs it... Did you not bother to study any of this world's history upon our arrival here?" After a moment's silence in answer to his question, he shook his head, "Shame, it really is quite fascinating."
"The forest on the... You know where we are?!" Dolohov demanded, "why didn't you say anything?!"
"No one asked if I knew where we were. You only asked why the 'point me' spell might not work. I've no doubt that those woods could very well be the reason." Mulciber remarked, shrugging. "What's more, we really don't have any way of tracking the group itself anyway. We don't know who's in it, aside from the gray Istari, and he is obviously shielded in some way or another."
"Well where's the mine?!"
"In the mountain."
"Where is the mountain, you--?"
"Words, words, Dolohov. Do grow up some time soon, won't you? And we're only a few miles off course, we need only turn a little more towards the east and continue onward, we wi---" Suddenly his broom started bucking underneath him; as did the broomsticks his companions were riding.
"What the--?"
"What's going on?!"
There brooms had apparently become sentient and all had decided that they did not like their riders, and were therefore trying to buck them off. Most of these brooms were not model broomsticks, so the possibility of one being faulty did exist...but all of them?!
After a few minutes of struggling with their brooms, the Death Eaters Mulciber managed to turn back and bring his broomstick to a stop a few yards away from his companions. When he tried to turn back to watch them, his broom bucked again, so he pulled back further. Realization dawned and he spared the distant forest a glance before calling out to the other Death Eaters, "Get over here! Get away from the forest!"
It took them awhile, as their mutinous brooms' refusal to cooperate was an immensely difficult impediment to overcome, but eventually they managed to reach the haven Mulciber had found.
Once he managed to catch his breath, Dolohov gasped out, "What in Merlin's name was that?!"
"Wards," Mulciber offered, obviously not oblivious to the fact that he was repeating what one of the younger Death Easters had said only a short while before.
"What wards?"
"The wards of Lothlórien, obviously," the older wizard replied, pointing the golden forest just barely within their line of sight.
"But...but the Istari said that the Elves are ardent supporters of the Light! A-And that the sorceress herself is known as the Lady of Light!"
Mulciber shook his head, "Just because magic is not Dark, does not mean that it is not dangerous, Dolohov... Come, we don't need to go near the wood to reach the Mines..."
Bridge of Khazad-dûm, Mines of Moria
Had they been a less experienced group then they were, the Fellowship might have been surprised at how quickly their journey became difficult once again...
Apparently, the group of Orcs that they had fought and vanquished only a few long moments before had been mere scouting party, sent to test them before the masses that really conquered stole Moria and Dwarrodwelf from its Dwarven creators found them. It was only a few short moments after they left the chamber that they could hear them coming. Hundreds upon hundreds maybe even thousands of Orcs, all after their blood.
It wasn't until they were surrounded by the mini-demons, that Harry had decided that more magic was necessary, and Gandalf obviously wasn't used to wielding magic quite as vicariously as the wizards of Earth were, so...
"Everyone, grab onto one another!" He'd ordered, stepping over to Frodo and putting a hand on his shoulder. The twins, realizing what he intended to do, had obeyed without question; Camthalion grabbing Merry and Pippin, while Rúmil grabbed Sam and Legolas.
"What...?"
Harry had cut the Istari off, "There's no time to explain!" he insisted, watching as the Orcs closed in around them, "Just do it!" He'd then looked around, waiting until everyone was holding on to or at least touching someone else, and that they were all linked in some form or another, before closing his eyes and throwing his power out, grasping the image of the inside of Moria's East Gate distinctly in his mind before taking them all to it with a loud "pop!" that echoed around the Dwarf-built city, startling and confusing their would be slaughterers.
He had had plenty of time to master the art of apparition, so they did of course appear on the other side of the Bridge of Khazad-dûm...and still that indomitably Dark force of nature had found them, coming to the bridge to follow them into the world beyond the shadows. Barely able to stand after exerting the amount of will it took to take them through the Balrog's dark world, Harry then leaned back against the wall that led to the exit they'd been struggling to reach for so long.
"You cannot pass!"
"We have to help him!" Frodo insisted stepping forward, only to be dragged to a stop by one of the Míriel twins. Only those that knew them well could tell them apart without difficulty, as was the case with all Elven twins, so Harry and Legolas knew that the elf was Rúmil, but Frodo and the others still never called the twins by name because of the uncertainty. They couldn't really be faulted for it, as the twins never went to any pains to make it easier to tell them apart; same clothes, same hairstyle, same voice, same eyes, same face, same body, same weapons, and mentality and drollness that were all too indistinguishable.
"How?" the elf asked, holding the Ringbearer's gaze for a long moment before turning his attention back to the mêlée on the bridge.
"I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor." Gandalf raised his staff, and the light they'd been following for the last four days flooded the area of the Mine they were in blinding them, before receding to form a shield of white light around the Istari that wielded it. "Dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûm!"
"We-We have to try!" Frodo insisted, watching as the petrifying being that Gandalf was facing brought a sword that seemed to be made of both raw darkness and searing flame down upon the shield of white light; shattering it.
"He has to do this, Frodo." Harry told him quietly, his exhaustion all too apparent in his eyes, body and voice as he leaned again the wall, watching. "If he doesn't, one of the nastiest terrors of ancient times will be released upon a world that has next to no means of fighting it."
"But..." Suddenly the Ringbearer's eyes lit up, as an idea obviously made itself known. "Your people fight with magic!"
"Yes..." the wizard replied slowly, not liking the turn in the conversation.
"So can't you help him?!" the Hobbit demanded.
Harry sighed, "The last spell I cast, the apparition, took a lot out of me. I could very easily do more harm then good... And any spell that I might use against that monster is not something I want to cast, nor do I want you to witness and comprehend it."
"Why?! You could save his life!"
"And I could make the problem much greater then it already is..."
The argument lost any drive when the Istari shouted, "You shall not pass!"
Another immense discharge of power, the power of the Light, filled the mine, blinding them so that by the time they were able to see again, it was only to see the bridge under the Balrog crumbling, and the monster itself falling into the abyss below.
Shocked at the extraordinary triumph, all the Fellowship could do, as Gandalf turned towards him, was watch in wonder as the Istari turned to come over to them. That wonder turned to utter horror as a dark whip of flame and shadow came up from the depths to wrap itself around the wizard's ankle and--
"Abscido!" Harry shouted, sending a beam of power born from raw adrenaline at the Balrog's greatest weapon. By some great twist of fortune, the spell was able to cut through the whip, that weapon that was so great that even the evil Ungoliant, the Great Spider that was so powerful that even the Valar could not destroy it was still driven from Melkor's lands by his Balrog guards and the very whip this one brandished against the Grey Wizard now. The dreaded weapon was broken and the monster fell into the chasm below, with no chance at retribution.
For a moment, the Istari wizard stayed where he was, staring at Harry and the wand that was pointed just to the right of his ankle, before looking down at said ankle, to see that which had nearly been his doom withering away, as its creator fell further and further away from it.
A moment of heavy silence hung over the cavern.
The silence was repressive, but still deferential and exultant.
It was broken by the sound of a bowstring being released, and they turned to see that several Orcs had managed to make it to the other side of the bridge and were firing at them. Most were falling incredibly short, but a few were good enough to make Legolas worry.
"We must leave, now!" Legolas insisted, as he drew his bowstring and the arrow notched to it back before releasing it, thereby eliminating one of the opposing archers, but not enough. The wicked horde seemed to have no end as the far edge continued to become more and more full even as Legolas brought another arrow back, released and notched another, all sailing off to bring down their targets; permanently.
"Legolas is right; come." Gandalf agreed, moving hurriedly past his waiting comrades, leading them to the exit as Legolas, Camthalion, Rúmil, and Harry kept up the rear.
By the time they neared reached the exit though, the cold feeling he often associated with the presence of Voldemort's followers telling him of their presence a moment too late.
As "Avada Kedavra!" echoed through the air, Harry Potter could not help Gandalf the Grey any more then he had been able to help Cedric Diggory at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. All he could do was watch in utter horror as the wave of sickening green light reached the Istari wizard; time seemed to slow down as though he could watch the destructive magic enter Gandalf's body, passing through it and eradicating all that was within...
Seeing the oncoming light, filled with palpable malice, Gandalf realized that it wasn't Moria that he truly had to fear; it was leaving the mines that should have filled the wizard with trepidation.
End Chapter 18: Moria
Translations:
Conquasso - to shatter
Abscido - to cut
Response to Reviews: Will be posted on the mailing list...eventually.
AN: Hi everyone!
Sorry this took so long! I had a little case of writer's block and I had some trouble with the ending...It was actually supposed to be more drawn out then it was, but I think I just got tired of rewriting it, so sorry if you don't think it's really up to par. I tried.
Once again, review responses will be on the mailing list. If you read the story on the mailing list, or don't like reviewing on , please post a review on the list. It really isn't that hard. I am having some trouble with the story, so if you really want more you'll have to keep encouraging me. Sorry, but if I start to feel at all depressed, whether it's from too much work, not enough sleep, too much school work, trouble with friends, writers block, whatever; writing fan fiction is almost the last thing that come to my mind. Fan Fiction is, essentially free. Are the following really all that difficult to come up with? :
- Encouragement
- Constructive criticism (NOT flames)
- Suggestions for the story
- Questions
- Fic Recommendations/Links
- Archive Recommendations/Links
- Other?
That's honestly what I started the list for. If there's nothing going on with it, why should I keep it?
Well...that's all for now.
Bye!
Jess S