Sup friendos! Bit of a delay with this chapter, I know - I was doing that socializing thing again - but there's hella more content with this one than the last! It will perhaps be two more chapters before we move right into Two Towers. I want to thank each and every one of you - everyone who's followed and watched and reviewed and even those who just read through it once - for being with me every one of these 27 freaking chapters. I hope y'all know that's more chapters than I've bothered with in my own original works. I clearly have my priorities in order.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

The merriest of your companions are, unsurprisingly, the hobbits. They indulge your cheerful, playful side, and are just about alone in that aspect. Everyone else is so grim in comparison. You wish you could sober up to show that you're taking the job seriously, but you have enough to worry about without worrying about it so openly.

You're also very glad for Gimli and Legolas' presence. They keep you from feeling too terribly homesick. You converse with Gimli in Khuzdul and Legolas in Elvish. Both of them pointedly ignore the other. You wonder if you can royally order them to just be friends already.

Boromir comments on your versatility one evening when you bring him and Aragorn dinner. "You are truly a lady of many faces," he says, inclining his head in thanks.

"Sorry?"

"You get along well with everyone. It's rather impressive, especially looking at our other Elf and Dwarf friends."

"I like getting along with everyone!" you respond brightly. "May as well, considering we're stuck together for a while."

Boromir chuckles. "That's one way to look at it. I do appreciate your cheer, my lady."

"You don't need to be so formal," you say, plopping down with them. "One good thing about being on the road again is leaving formalities behind. No more dresses and bowing and all that, at least for a little while."

"I'm afraid I haven't gotten to know you as well as I should. Where are you from?"

"I'm from Erebor, like Gimli."

"And the Dwarf always in your company in Imladris, was that your...?"

"Husband, yes." You smile at the very mention of Thorin.

"That is fascinating. I was under the impression that Dwarves and Elves do not get along well enough to be friends, let alone to be married."

"Thorin and I have a long history. Wasn't easy to make him stop being so stubborn. It's a Dwarf thing, I've noticed."

"Thorin..." Boromir repeats the name and stares hard at you. "The King Under the Mountain is your husband?"

"Yes."

"Then that makes you - "

"Unimportant," you cut him off. "I'd rather not go spreading that around. People treat me different when they find out I'm... y'know. Sometimes I like being just Aniel."

"I understand. I will treat you no differently than a lady warrior, save this once - Your Majesty."

You squint at him. "Oh, you're hilarious."

"My apologies. I could not help just one."

"Well, by royal decree, it had better be just one!"

Even Aragorn laughs along. You're thrilled to have a lighthearted conversation with Boromir. You'd hoped he'd be friendly, and if he's already teasing you, perhaps the two of you will become friends.

It's a bit hard for you to sleep that evening after being spoiled by the feathery beds of Rivendell. You rise to sit by the fire for a minute and find Gandalf already there. He is deep in thought amid thick clouds of pipe smoke. You do not disturb him.

"I would have taken us through Rohan," Gandalf says suddenly.

"Would have?"

"Recall that we must make a detour."

"Oh..." You lower your head. "We don't have to go through Moria, Gandalf. Rohan won't be open to us, but we could go over Caradhras..."

"I will not deviate from what is seen. I have learned my lesson from doing so in the past."

"What! Don't put that on me, Gandalf! I don't want to be the reason that you die! We can do it another way!"

"I would put nothing of the sort on you," he says with kind amusement. "I do this in full knowledge of the consequences. It seems it would be the best path in the long run."

"I mean, I have no clue what would happen if you didn't come back as Gandalf the White, but - "

"Some things simply must be," Gandalf says wisely. "Dear Aniel, I have lived longer than most who walk this earth. Even if I were going to meet my end, it would certainly not be premature."

"I still don't like it," you mutter. "I use my foreknowledge to keep people alive, not kill them."

"You needn't worry about it. However, I would like to know what we are facing there. I know the mines were previously taken over by orcs..."

"I actually have no idea what we'll find down there. Balin was meant to reclaim Moria, but I wouldn't let him go because it would have led to his death. I'm sure there are still orcs and goblins in Moria, but the numbers are certainly less than before. Dunno how much that's saying, though, because it's still a lot."

"Well, put it out of your mind for the present. We are still many days from Moria. You should get some sleep."

You rise to do so, but the conversation rolls in your head like angry clouds. You pause and half-turn. "Gandalf?"

"Hm?"

There are many things you want to say - you still feel a bit bad for yelling at him in Bag End - but it only comes out, "I'm sorry."

Gandalf chuckles. "Dear lady, you have nothing to be sorry for. Do remember that you are no longer the only power at work."

The notion makes you feel slightly better, like the weight of the world isn't only on your shoulders. You manage to sleep after that.

Gandalf had said that there was still a length to go before Moria, but in only a blink it is night and the fellowship is edging along a stony beach between dark water and a sheer stone face.

"I'm so excited to see Moria," you murmur to Gimli. "I wonder if it's much like Erebor, architecturally speaking..."

"Don't have terribly high expectations, my lady," Gimli replies. "Moria has been abandoned for many a year, only blighted by orc filth."

"That's okay. Erebor wasn't much when we first got there, and now every inch of it is stunning!"

The plain grey walls are not very impressive, and neither is the small strip framed by two ancient trees until the light of the moon illuminates silver veins set into the rock. The intricate door shines through the dark. You're fascinated by how such a delicate outline can open feet of solid stone.

Gandalf translates the runes above the door. "It reads, 'The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter'."

"What d'you suppose that means?"

"It's quite simple: if you are a friend, speak the password, and the doors will open." Gandalf looks expectantly at you.

"I got it. You know, it's funny..." you say in a sing-song voice, looking at Legolas and Gimli as you twirl over to the door. "It's funny that a Dwarf door has an Elvish password - mellon!"

The two make faces as several others snicker at the insinuation. The rock parts into two thick doors. You urge everyone in; anything to avoid the confrontation with the Watcher in the Water. The dark of the mines is impenetrable once the doors seal behind you.

Gandalf lights his staff just enough to provide light to walk by. The entrance hall is bare of all the corpses that would have carpeted the floor had you allowed Balin to try to reclaim the city. The utter emptiness is somehow more eerie than the bodies would have been. Each footstep and clank echoes in the vastness of the chamber. The silence is so heavy that you can't bring yourself to comment on what would have been a grand city.

Indeed, Moria is crumbling. Years and years of neglect, desecration by orcs, and the natural movements of the earth have chipped away at the incredible structures in much less skillful ways than the Dwarves had. You regard the abandoned realm ruefully, wondering what it was like in the days of Durin. Could it have been splendid enough to surpass Erebor? Could it even be salvaged if it were one day safe enough to reclaim?

A hand on your shoulder stops you. "Watch your step," Legolas murmurs pleasantly.

You come out of your reverie to see the abyss you would have fallen into with your next footfall. You jump back into him in terror. "Glad somebody's paying attention!" you gasp.

"I'm sure you didn't not see the drop..."

"I was just thinking about it. About Moria, I mean. It's pretty, isn't it? At least it was, and would have been. The architectural details almost remind me of Mirkwood, except I've noticed Elvish design is more fluid compared to Dwarvish, which is very geometrical. It sort of fits, when I think of it - er, I'm rambling, sorry."

Legolas smiles slightly. "You are different than the Elf I met. Or perhaps you are the same, and you were just putting on a formal veneer?"

"Oh, definitely. I'm terrible at behaving, well, like a normal Elf. You're all so and graceful and fluid and floaty, and I almost walked off the side of a bridge."

"Perhaps those are learned traits."

You do not miss the insinuation. You near-whisper, "I remember what you said about Gimli the day you caught us in Mirkwood. It might interest you to know that you and him become best friends."

"Is that what your foresight tells you?"

"Yes. And it would be childish to an artful degree to remain enemies just because I mentioned otherwise."

Legolas' quiet chuckle is musical. "Your wit is neither of the Elves nor the Dwarves."

"It's a custom feature so I can use it to deal with both of them, because let me tell you..."

The fellowship stops at the threeway fork. "I have no memory of this place," Gandalf murmurs. You consider pointing out the right direction, but Frodo needs to get some words of wisdom, and you could use a rest. You make yourself as comfortable as possible on the stone stairs and close your eyes.

"Are you well, my lady?" Gimli asks almost instantly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just fancied a nap. Why?"

"I was only checking."

Something about his tone made you look hard at him. He could not hold your questioning gaze and lowered his head almost in admittance.

"Thorin told you to keep an eye on me, didn't he," you accuse.

"Aye, it's true that King Thorin asked me to watch after you. He also told me not to let you catch on, but you're clearly sharper than he gave you credit for."

"Over sixty years and he still thinks I'm oblivious!" you mutter to yourself. "I do appreciate the concern, Gimli, but I don't need looking after. At least, not in battle. I did almost walk right off a ledge earlier. But don't tell Thorin that. He gets smug when he's right."

"I believe that's what he meant. I never did think you needed help in a fight. Your deeds on Ravenhill are legend."

You blush furiously as several ears perk towards the conversation at the mention of legendary deeds. "They are not," you mumble. "I just did what I had to. It's not that big a deal."

"Not a big deal? By my beard! You saved the line of Durin! That is a very big deal indeed!"

Merry interjects curiously, "Are you telling a story?"

You say no just as Gimli says yes, and unfortunately his voice is more booming. You grow increasingly more embarrassed as he regales the entire company (save Frodo and Gandalf, who are having their own conversation) with the story of the Battle for Erebor. He makes it sound so much more heroic than it actually was. You relive the incident through your own eyes: trying to keep up with the more experienced fighters, accidentally riding a troll, almost falling down a frozen waterfall, and managing to keep your loved ones alive through sheer will power and quite a bit of luck.

"It was not that amazing," you insist once Gimli finishes the tale. "I never realized how much that story's been embellished over the years."

"Then you didn't ride a troll?" Pippin demands.

"Well, yeah, I did, but - "

"And you fell over the waterfall and climbed back up?"

"Yes, but - "

"And you almost died?"

"That is exaggerated," you say firmly. "Alright, let me tell you how it really went. I spent a good part of the battle just trying to stay with Thorin and not die. Then I accidentally got carried away by a troll, so I used it to go on a rampage...so maybe that part is as neat as it sounds. Then we went up to Ravenhill to kill Azog and I found out it's really hard to fight on ice."

Boromir asks, "But why did you go with them in the first place? Forgive me, but from what I know of history, it is not often heard of for Elves and Dwarves to align."

"I did it for Thorin," you answer immediately, peacefully. "To ensure he survived, and to ensure he became king."

"Hold on," Sam cuts in, "This Thorin fellow, your husband, he's a king?"

"Yeah. That's what the quest was for, to get back Erebor and the throne."

"Then that makes you a queen!"

The elders of the group chuckle at your aggravation. "No it doesn't, Sam," you grumble.

"But it does!"

"Fine, alright, if I'm a queen, then I very politely order you to pretend I'm not."

"As you wish, m'lady. Or, er, not m'lady."

You squint at Gimli. "Are you pleased with yourself?"

"To have relayed such a tale, aye, I'm afraid I am.

""I'm gonna tell Thorin on you!" you whine.

"With the highest respect, my lady, I have a feeling he would have done the same. He is the one who told the tale first, after all."

You rub your temples. Of course Thorin started the story, especially at the beginning of his quest to gain you acceptance by the people.

"Do not tease her," Aragorn finally says in his ever gentle yet commanding voice.

"No, I would not tease." Gimli bows his head to you. "My deepest apologies. I did not know you wanted your status to remain a secret."

"Yes, alright, fine, you're forgiven."

Gandalf suddenly stands and announces brightly, "It's that way!"

Merry jumps up. "He's remembered!"

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down there. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

You rise and dust off your pants. The rest had certainly not gone as planned - you had planned to take a nap - but you can't quite regret the path it took. Though your identity was blown and you have a feeling you'd endure a few well-meaning honorifics and favors from the hobbits, it was rather nice to just sit and talk with your new friends, especially with the dark turn the journey is about to take.

The corridor leads to an expansive chamber devoid of light. Gandalf's staff blazes, illuminating a mind-bendingly huge hall set with perfectly aligned pillars.

"Behold! The great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf!"

It's an incredible sight that reminds you strongly of Erebor. It's no wonder Dwarves through the ages have been so eager to reclaim it! You can imagine the hall lit with torches and filled with bustling Dwarves. Carts of gold and silver and jewels rush back and forth to be transformed into works of art. Perhaps after the war dies down and the orcs are defeated...

You notice the chamber to the right that would have held Balin's tomb. You nudge Gandalf and nod towards it with a serious look. He does not question you, but merely says, "We will rest there."

You're a bit smug when you walk right into the place where in another life would have been a fine marble tomb. Even if you can't stop Gandalf from plummeting to his temporary death, you still managed to save the lives of some of your friends from a bitter end. The thought is heartening, especially since the beginning of this quest had not gone according to your plan. You don't quite give up hope on preserving a few more lives before the end.

You don't bother unpacking. You know you're only here as long as it takes for Pippin to knock that bucket (sans skeleton) into the well. You casually pace the room until Pippin, who is chasing Merry for the last sausage, elbows the bucket. The resulting crash is less catastrophic than if it would have been accompanied by the corpse, but the crashes still echo through the entire mine. Everyone freezes in horror, except you: you just draw your axe and spin it a few times.

Returning drums rumble in the deep followed by the shrieks of goblins. Boromir and Arargorn rush to barricade the door.

"They have a cave troll!" Boromir mutters.

You move to stand with the hobbits. "Stay close to me," you murmur to them. "Frodo, do not leave my side."

The poor hobbits grip their swords, looking scared.

The door splinters as the orcs and goblins begin to break through. Legolas fires a few arrows through the breach. The rotted doors cannot hold back the onslaught: it finally shatters completely, and in spew the goblins and one very large cave troll. You immediately get to work cutting them down and keeping an eye on the hobbits, especially Frodo. They do the best they can to aid you. You keep them in a far corner to prevent rear attacks.

It occurs to you that your plan to keep Frodo from getting almost-skewered also keep the hobbits from ganging up on the troll, leading to its death. It's an easy fix; you call to Legolas in Elvish, "Legolas, shoot it in the throat! I'll give you an opening!"

After ensuring the hobbits can hold the corner, you dash lightly through the remaining enemies. You ascend to the second level and at just the right moment jump on the troll's back. It roars in displeasure and tries to remove you, but its arms are too thick to reach behind it. You plant your axe neatly in its skull. It rears back, and Legolas delivers the finishing blow. The troll rumbles its death groan and falls face-first to the floor.

"Yeah!" You yank your axe out of the troll's skull and thrust it in the air. "The Troll Rider strikes again! That was awesome!"

The hobbits cheer at your victory, but the celebration is short lived. More drums boom from further away, indicating another oncoming wave. Gandalf leads the way out of the side room and towards the Bridge of Khazad-dum. You feel your chest tighten for reasons other than fear or adrenaline. It is at the bridge where Gandalf falls...

Goblins swarm like insects down the pillars and from every passage. They surround you, and despite knowing what comes next, the sight is terrifying. More terrifying, however, is the eldritch thunder that resonates from the other side of the hall. The goblins screech in realization and retreat.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir demands of Gandalf.

"A Balrog," Gandalf replies heavily. "A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!"

The fleeing continues down the dizzying flights of stairs. After jumping the gap in the stairs, the even more imposing Bridge of Khazad-dum lies in stark contrast with the endless drop all around it. Suddenly you're less worried about the ancient abomination behind you than you are about making one false move. You're the last one to cross before Gandalf stops to make his stand. You can't help but turn and watch the scene unfold.

"You cannot pass!" Gandalf shouts commandingly. "I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Arnor. Dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udun! Go back to the shadow!"

The Balrog slashes at Gandalf with its flaming sword, but it cannot break the bubble of blinding white light shielding Gandalf.

"You shall not pass!"

Gandalf brings his staff down with an echoing crack. The Balrog very foolishly calls his bluff and advances on the bridge. The stone crumbles from beneath the demon's feet. All is almost fine - then, of course, the tip of a whip yanks Gandalf over the edge.

"Gandalf!" Frodo cries in horror.

"Fly, you fools!" Gandalf orders. In the last second before he lets go, his grey eyes meet yours. You could swear there's the fraction of a smile in their depths. Then he disappears into the abyss.

You look away as Frodo yells and fights Boromir's grasp. Known or not, resurrected or no, you hadn't expected it to be this hard. You shepherd the hobbits up the last flight of stairs and into the cold, too-bright light of day.