A/N: Yay, another chapter FINALLY done and dusted. It took ages to type this up because I handwrite everything first. I guess it's so I can write it anywhere, seeing as I haven't yet figured out how to fit my computer, set with keyboard, into my billabong side bag. And I'm not a fan of laptops; it's like getting an abacus when you have a calculator at home. Unless its of apple make, then it'd be an abacus decorated with pictures we don't know the meaning of. So anyway, thanks for the awesome feedback, I'm trying to work on making my sentences flow into one another, but even so, I think I'm a bit abrupt with it in this chapter. I doubt the next chapter will be as long, because my fingers ache from typing so fast, and I had a row with my mum because I was reluctant to get off the computer. I almost didn't post today actually. Haha. Read on...

Disclaimer: Nope, Nada, still not mine.

Starcrossed
Mithrandir's orders

Aragorn spun around, taking off a nearby orc's head as he did. At first there hadn't been as many orcs, but now they were in his way- obstructing his view and making it hard for him to swing and thrust.

To his left Boromir fought protectively in front of Sam, the gardener using his saucepan whenever it was needed, and the ranger could make out the four figures of Gandalf, Gimli, Merry and Pippin, having managed to keep together in a strong group, but he saw neither Frodo nor Legolas.

" Aragorn! Boromir!"

Aragorn's head whipped up at the desperate yell, instantly recognising the higher voice of Frodo. He'd called for Legolas to protect Frodo barely a moment after the young hobbit had disappeared, but it seemed now that things had taken a turn for the worst. He parried a rogue scimitar, dodging another as he swiftly slid into a crouch and thrust his sword into the orc. Feeling Boromir brush past, he wrenched his sword free, glancing back to see Sam now with the others before following after Boromir, slashing and hacking as he went. He ducked as one orc spun; taking off its leg as Boromir decapitated an orc directly behind him. The two men worked like the clogs of a clock as they moved swiftly through the swarm of orc, ducking, dodging, parrying and essentially killing: Orc's lost all sorts of limbs and organs as the two advanced through the crowd. Sliding his sword from an orc's neck Aragorn turned and motioned for Gandalf. The old wizard nodded before ushering Gimli and the three hobbits in front of him, protecting them at the rear while the dwarf fought at the front. Without warning, a cry of pain wrenched the air, and Aragorn finally glanced past the last of the orcs. His dread was confirmed, even if reverse.

The prince of Mirkwood lay on the floor, helpless and in obvious pain as an exceptionally ugly orc knelt atop him, a wicked grin splitting the mess of its face.

"Legolas!" Aragorn roared, swinging his sword and taking the heads of two filthy creatures at once, pushing forward constantly

He could see the raised scimitar, unusually dull even as it was exposed to a single ray of light. He called out again, roughly barrelling into an orc in his fury and panic. No! He could see the blade: swinging down through its path. His friend would die. He was too late.

But as the scimitar descended he heard a thump. A rock struck the orc hard, and full in the face, causing the orc to fall back in a heap.

Aragorn's eyes searched wildly for the source, finding instead that it was Frodo, knelt near Legolas, a slingshot clutched in his hand. Praise to the slingshot, Aragorn thought grimly as he plunged into another orc, and to the uncanny shot if its wielder.

Behind, he heard the battle cries of Merry and Pippin as the two pounced on an orc, simultaneously plunging their blades into flesh, and the clear metal ringing of Sam's pan as he landed blow after blow on another's head. The very last two were taken care of by the dwarf and wizard: Gimli had simply powered his axe into the orc, while Glamdring entered the last's heart with a squelch. For little more than a moment the companions stood breathing hard, before the sobs of Frodo finally became known.

Each immediately turned to the noise, shock riddling their features.

In the middle of a ring of orc bodies, Frodo had barely moved from his position on the floor, but instead of a slingshot he now gripped the limp body of their elven companion. Tears ran steaks through his dirt-blackened face, as he awkwardly held Legolas- the elf's back pressed against him, and his short arms encircled around the prince in a protective embrace, rocking slightly.

Aragorn recovered first, and darted to the two, sliding his sword back into its scabbard without bothering to clean it. He crouched in front of Frodo, gently reaching out a hand and lifting the hobbit's chin. Frodo's eyes fearfully met his, but his arms were reluctant to relinquish their fallen elven protector, and only after heavy persuasion did they slowly unfurl from the elf's chest. Aragorn gently laid Legolas on his back, feeling the presence of the others behind him as he pressed his fingers against the cold flesh of his friend's neck.

"His pulse is slow," He finally announced lowly, before bending down and pressing the side of his face against the green clad chest. For a few intense seconds the fellowship watched with held breaths, before Aragorn finally straightened with a relieved sigh, "but he breathes."

"Come. We must find elsewhere to rest." Gandalf commanded swiftly, barely after the ranger had finished his sentence, already sweeping up to lead them away.

Aragorn picked up the fallen knives and tucked them into his belt, before sliding one arm under the elf's shoulders, and the other under his legs as he lifted the elf into his arms.

"Wait!" Frodo called, scurrying back. The fellowship watched as the hobbit moved quickly from orc to orc, pulling out Legolas' green fletched arrows from their bodies before putting them all in the quiver in his arms, and picking up the elven bow. Aragorn smiled: the hobbit must have seen Legolas doing the same thing whenever they'd hunted food, or came across an unwanted warg. Frodo ran back to Gandalf's side and the Fellowship set off again.

Boromir trailed next to Aragorn as they followed the others, a curious look on his face as he wondered how light the elf must be for the ranger to bear him with such ease.

"Despite their appearance and height," Aragorn began, as if sensing Boromir's unspoken question. "Elves are extraordinarily light to carry."

"In fact, their weight is little more than that of a child." Gandalf called from the front, his voice weary despite the informative tone.

It didn't take long for them to set up camp. Legolas was limp in Aragorn's arms, his head lolling and one arm escaped from the ranger's hold to hang limply at his side: Gandalf considered him for merely a minute before he finally called for them to stop, seemingly satisfied with the distance from the small battle zone.

However the wizard forbid a fire, and they spread their sleeping mats instead around his staff, the ember of which now shone brighter than before, watching apprehensively as Aragorn set the unconscious elf down, and crouched over him with Boromir.

For a short moment he contemplated cutting open the elf's clothes in order to reach his chest, but dispelled it just as quickly: Legolas would need the clothes afterwards, cold or not. Instead he asked Boromir to support the elf's upper body while he eased off the elf's green jerkin, revealing a tunic of pale blue, now stained with a dark red substance. As Boromir laid the elf back down he carefully unbuttoned the tunic, pushing it aside.

"Sweet Eru..." Aragorn breathed, his reaction echoed on the faces of the company; Legolas' pale chest was now marred with large and colourful bruises, leaving barely any of the pale flesh visible underneath,

But the worst by far was a large gash, snaking its way from Legolas' stomach to his side.

"I'm afraid there is more than blood that meets the eye, Aragorn." Gandalf murmured quietly, mindful of the hobbits as he heaved a deep sigh.

Wearing a frown, Aragorn examined the wound closely. Gandalf was right. He knew the blood of elves to be an almost silvery red in colour, whereas here the blood was much darker, purple rather than red or crimson.

"Poison?" He enquired, his voice equally as quiet, and was rewarded with a listless nod.

Aragorn cursed under his breath as he retrieved the herbs from his bag: they certainly couldn't risk a fire, and Boromir voiced this as the ranger crushed the herbs, before taking a cloth and using it to try and clean the wound. Only now was he was glad of Legolas' limp state, certain that the pain would be almost unbearable as he scraped debris from the edges of the wound, before using the herbs as a paste and coating the wound and binding it tightly. His finger gently probed the elf's chest, deducing that the elf had cracked, if not broken, a rib or two. Boromir again supported the elf as Aragorn used even more bandages to wind tightly around the elf's chest, glad that the ugly purple blotches were no longer visible. Finally he lay Legolas back down, draping a blanket over him and pulling it up to his chest before sitting down vigil next to him.

"Is he going to be all right, Aragorn?" Frodo asked, peering worriedly at the motionless elf over his food.

"Yes, he should be all right, Frodo." Aragorn kept his voice firm and steady, but his mind was anything but. He'd never seen such a poison, and it plagued his mind to not know of it, but the last thing he wanted to do was worry the ringbearer any further. He glanced back at the elf and suppressed a sigh. Only time would tell…

Frodo's eyes flickered towards the elf yet again: acting the same as the rest of the company. The hobbits couldn't seem to tear their gaze away from the motionless elf; Boromir shifted restlessly, his expression unreadable; Aragorn sat next to Legolas, and although he did not look at him, it was wordlessly noted the ranger's hand rested lightly on the elf's heavily bandaged chest, as if needing reassurance his friend was alive; Gandalf gazed between his food, Frodo, and Legolas, splitting his concentration while Gimli simply didn't seem himself. There was no other way to describe the dwarf: Gimli's brow was furrowed in what was either frustration or worry, and his troubled eyes rarely looked away from the elf. It seemed that the dwarf cared for Legolas after all despite their differences -understatement- and countless arguments.

Frodo frowned into his lap: what a peculiar group they were. Four halflings no bigger than children, while one of them held the fate of the world. Two men, one a Dûnedan, who evaded his rightful throne, and the other a man of Gondor, estranged from those not of his kin and in search of a way to save his kingdom. Then an elf and a dwarf, enemies by race, who did nothing but insult, degrade, tricks, belittle and fight each other in hatred, yet somehow managed to be worried when one or the other was injured,

And then of course the grumpy, old Wizard, who scolded more often than not.

"Is something wrong, Mr Frodo?" Sam's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"No, Sam." Frodo replied, offering Sam a small smile when the gardener continued to look concerned. Sam smiled back, but continued to glance nervously towards him as they ate.

Eventually their bodies began protesting from the lack of sleep, and the two younger hobbits lay down, spending a few minutes shuffling and bustling to get comfortable on the rock, a sight that set Frodo grinning. Sam, Gandalf and Boromir already lay on their mats, though it was clear they didn't plan on sleeping yet. Frodo suppressed a sigh as Pippin began fidgeting once again, before giving up in a huff.

"What plagues you, little one?" Boromir's muffled voice asked, obviously weary of the hobbit's constant shuffling.

"I'll never get to sleep here." He replied with a wistful sigh. "It's a shame Legolas isn't awake. I mean… that what happened today didn't happen… because then he'd be fine, right?" Pippin sighed again, his innocent eyes thoughtful. "And then he'd be awake, and then I'd ask for a song… and then I'd have no problem getting to sleep!" Pippin finished as an afterthought, apparently satisfied with his revelation, before shuffling again. Frodo heard Boromir's heavy sigh, the Gondorian having already given up his attempt to still Pippin.

"Aye, and I wouldn't object." Gimli grumbled in his rough voice. The fellow froze and stared at the dwarf, wide-eyed.

"I shall hold you to that, Master Dwarf." A soft voice broke through the silence, originating from beside the ranger.

Those that lay down shot up as all eight heads turned in the direction of the elf, even Aragorn, who still had his hand on Legolas' chest, finally peered curiously at his friend. For a moment they stared at the motionless elf, but realizing his eyes remained closed, they began to believe they'd imagined the voice when suddenly the elf's lips quirked into a smile and Legolas cracked open an eye.

The fellowship breathed a sigh of relief while Gimli muttered something such as "sneaky", and "damn elf", embarrassed for having being caught off guard by the elf.

"Must you try and frighten us, Mellon nîn?" Aragorn said sternly, but a smile played on his lips, threatening to break free.

Legolas opened his other eye, and his own smile widened at the sight of the flustered dwarf. The elf's gaze slid over to Frodo, and something past over his face as his eyes met Frodo's. Relief? But the look was gone almost as soon as it had came, and Legolas attempted to sit up, only to be restrained by Aragorn.

"Rest a while, Legolas." Aragorn silenced the elf's oncoming protests, softly pushing him back down. "Even an elf's healing does not work so swiftly."

Defeated, Legolas nodded, resting his head back on the makeshift pillow and staring up above him, as if in thought. If not for the fact that Frodo has been travelling with him for the past few weeks, he would have though to be asleep, for elves needn't close their eyes as they slept- something many of the Fellowship found almost humorous.

Excluding Aragorn, who had first watch, the fellowship lay back down; Pippin apparently content enough to fall asleep straight away, while Frodo lay thoughtful. He could hear the deep breathing of Gandalf and Boromir as the two fell sound asleep, along with the soft snores of the other hobbits and dwarf. Instead of following suit, he watched the elf until finally his chest, still bare but for the bandages, rose and fell steadily and the elf's eyes began to glaze over with elven dreams. Legolas fell into an easy sleep, lying as he always had with one hand resting on his chest and the other by his side. A fond smile settled on Aragorn's lips, only to be replaced with an anxious frown as his hand hovered over the bandage, where a faint, dark stain was already beginning to appear.

Aragorn's frown deepened, and the last thing Frodo saw before succumbing to sleep was the ranger bringing his hand to rake his fingers through his hair, letting out a shaky sigh.

The "morning's" breakfast was the longest they'd had so far. After Gandalf had finally consented, they'd built a small fire from sticks they'd managed to gather and now huddled around it, straining for the warmth.

Frodo glanced over at Legolas and Sam. The two were sharing a conversation of plants, with Sam in the middle of explaining the qualities of an akerthorn of the Shire. Legolas sat cross-legged, nursing a mug of steaming soup in his hands, a blanket draped over his bare shoulders, and Frodo noticed how happily Sam seemed to interact with the elf: they shared a lot in common when in the subject of all things living.

"-But surely the thorns must take a while to get around?" Legolas asked, his voice noticeably quieter than usual, but the clearly interested tone of his voice encouraged Sam to carry on.

Frodo smiled to himself; Sam could talk for hours about plants, and it was good that the gardener could talk to someone who didn't have the need to feign interest.

On the other side of the fire Aragorn, Gandalf and Gimli had their heads together discussing the path, while Boromir polished his sword, smiling in amusement at the animated storytelling of Merry and Pippin, as they half recounted to the Gondorian and half argued with each other.

"And then there was this humongous pig-"

"It wasn't that big, Merry. You're telling the story wrong!"

"I'm telling the story, Pip. Isn't that right, Boromir?" Merry enquired indignantly, but Boromir merely raised his eyebrows and chuckled. Frodo found himself listening between the two conversations for a few minutes, before the three discussing the path finally broke from their discussion and Aragorn stood.

"We must move on." He informed them, buckling his sword around his waist. "The bridge of Khazad-dûm is not much farther, and beyond that: our leave from this place"

The fellowship visibly brightened, even Gimli had enough of this dark hole.

Frodo watched from the corner of his eye as Legolas pulled on his pale blue tunic, a grimace passing quickly over his fair features. Frodo quickly passed the elf his green jerkin, as it had been out of his reach, and it may have pained the elf to stand. Legolas smiled thankfully at him, fastening his jerkin and arm bracers as the others noticed with silent distain that the bandages were obvious, straining against his clothes, making them seem tighter than they used to. Wordlessly, and ignoring their looks, Legolas pulled his knives, bow and quiver towards him, inspecting the arrows before sending another thankful look in the hobbit's direction.

The Fellowship spent another few minutes ridding the small camp of any signs of their habitation, expertly dissembling the fire and nonchalantly scattering the ashes, saving the remainder of the wood for later.

When it came for their time to leave, Frodo watched uneasily as Legolas attempted to stand, but elf swayed badly and almost fell had Aragorn not already been positioned to catch him.

After watching that swift display, Gimli seemed to have decided something and moved forward, picking up Legolas' pack and hoisting it onto his own back before any could speak. For a second everyone, even Gandalf, stared at him in surprise. This was the same dwarf who'd fought violently with the elf only two nights before, and now he was helping the elf of his own accord. Legolas was the first to recover, and for the first time smiled thankfully at the dwarf, albeit weakly for now he'd paled.

"Thank you… Gimli." Legolas thanked the dwarf, slightly hesitant in using his first name, but Gimli just nodded gruffly, turning away from the group as if waiting for them to start moving.

Frodo saw Merry and Pippin exchange looks of confusion, while Boromir gazed curiously at Gimli's back and Gandalf merely wore a sly smile. Legolas, on the other hand, was trying to bat off Aragorn's hands as the ranger tried to pry the elf's weapons from his back.

"What are you doing, Estel?" Legolas frowned at the ranger as he caught one of Aragorn's hands.

"You can barely walk, Legolas. Your weapons will not help matters." Aragorn replied, before adding. "They'll be safe with me."

Legolas' frown deepened but he allowed Aragorn to take his weapons. The ranger slung the bow and quiver over his own back, tucking the knives into his belt before leaving the elf leaning against a rock and frowning at the floor to cross over to Boromir. He muttered something into the Gondorian's ear. Boromir frowned at him, but Aragorn said something more and the man of Gondor shrugged to himself, before swaggering nonchalantly over to the elf and holding his hand out. For a moment Legolas simply frowned quizzically at the offered hand, but similarly to Aragorn, Boromir leaned forward and whispered something into the elf's ear.

Legolas' lips slowly quirked into a smirk, and a look of mirth replaced the pain in his eyes as he nodded and took Boromir's hand. Boromir pulled Legolas's arm over his shoulders, wrapping his own around the elf's waist and effectively helping their elven companion walk as they finally set off, their hearts lightened by the approaching exit.

Aragorn replaced Boromir at the rear as the Gondorian aided Legolas in front of Frodo and Sam. Frodo briefly wandered what had been said to Boromir, and in turn to Legolas, for it had created mirth in the elf, and even the stern-eyed Gondorian struggled to suppress a smile.

But as they walked the dark deepened, throwing them again into dependence on Gandalf's staff, and the terrain became rockier rather than smoother. It was as if they weren't near the outside world at all, doomed to walk Moria forever.

They were forced to concentrate on where they stepped, making it all the more harder for Legolas, who seemed to be leaning heavier on Boromir. And without warning the elf stumbled.

The Gondorian reflexively tightened his grip on Legolas; the elf visibly flinched when Boromir unintentionally applied pressure to his wounds. Boromir apologized and immediately moved his hand away from the offending area, receiving only a slight smile in response. Frodo examined the elf closely. Even in the dark he could see that Legolas had paled considerably, looking to be a stark white against the dark of Moria…

And just as Frodo glimpsed Pippin open his mouth to undoubtedly complain, his step landed on smooth stone. Looking down, he found with delight that the rocky floor had been replaced with just that.

"Indeed, Frodo." Gandalf spoke, noticing him looking down. "We are now in the very heart of Moria." With that he raised his staff, and the hobbits audibly gasped.

Never had Frodo expected Moria to be this beautiful- and he had cause after the uncomfortable past two days- but his breath caught as he took his first gaze upon the vast space, marked with pillars and arches of such workmanship and artistic skill that he couldn't help staring in wonder. In front of him Legolas took little interest, whereas Boromir was craning his neck to look at the arches.

The Gondorian looked back at the elf and said something, but the words were too low for Frodo to hear, leaving him confused as to why Legolas grinned in glee. Suddenly, and without warning, Gimli broke off from the group with a small exclamation, running to a room at the side.

"Gimli!" Gandalf called sharply, but the dwarf did not heed his call, entering the room as the fellowship began to follow.

A shaft illuminated a tomb in the very middle of the room, highlighting the dwarven runes carved into it.

"Here lies Balin son of Fundin. Lord of Moria." Gandalf translated, as Gimli sank to his knees with his face hidden in grief. "He is dead then."

The fellowship stepped past the grief-stricken dwarf to survey the room, as Boromir left Legolas leaning against the tomb to inspect the corpses. Frodo watched curiously as Gandalf came across a book, handing Pippin his staff and hat before blowing dust from its cover, and opening the pages. He only paid half attention to Gandalf's voice, his gaze wandering over the room and its skeletal occupants.

"…Drums in the deep. We cannot get out…" Gandalf trailed off, his last words having caught the attention of the company, all except Pippin.

A loud clang interrupted them, and they turned to see Pippin jumping back from a stone well as a corpse collapsed backwards, tumbling down. A bucket followed it, bashing heavily against the brick, and bringing about the destruction of the well as it caved in on itself with such a ruckus it made Legolas wince.

For a short moment the fellowship held their breath; the deathly silence filling the air with rising tension.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf snapped, snatching his items back. "Throw yourself in next time and save us the trouble!"

The wizard turned away, but was stopped in his tracks before he could make another move. Dum. Dum Dum. The fellowship tensed, expressions frozen and eyes wide.

Gandalf closed his eyes for a moment and cursed before opening his mouth.

"Flee!" He bellowed, already pushing Pippin in front of him. The fellowship regained their sense and obeyed instantly.

Aragorn was first out with Sam and Frodo, while Boromir grabbed Legolas again, hastily half-dragging the elf with good cause as Gimli, Merry, Pippin and Gandalf followed. They ran as fast as they could, the small legs of the hobbits and dwarf working rapidly to keep up with the bigger companions. Legolas ran surprisingly well for an injured elf, half supported by another, but he was without any weapons. A sitting duck in infested waters.

They could hear the orcs from every side: ahead, behind, right, left, and even above. Frodo risked a glance up, blanching when he saw the orcs crawling down the pillars, like spiders descended to the flies. They were completely, and utterly surrounded. Just the nine of them in a circle, facing what seemed to be a whole army of orcs. There was at least twenty, no, thirty times as many orcs here as there had been before, and Frodo had certainly never seen so many of the same kin in one, save perhaps for his own kid at one of their famed parties.

They needlessly drew their weapons, hopelessly facing the orcs, as the ugly creatures taunted them as they had never been taunted before. Screeching and hooting as the company's hope was slowly diminished,

When suddenly the orcs froze, their hoots caught in their throats as they suddenly began to cower. With a shriek they turned and fled, yelling and tripping over each other as they disappeared through cracks and up the pillars.

Confused, the fellowship spun to confront only an empty doorway, lit by unseen fire

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir whispered. Legolas knew, Frodo could tell by the uncharacteristic fear in his eyes, but so did Gandalf.

"A Balrog of Mordoth." Gandalf replied grimly, his face dark. "This foe is beyond any of you, go!"

Only before had Boromir had been joking about the need for dwarves to have need of such high archways, and now… now they were running for their lives.

Of all the creatures of middle earth and beyond, it seemed only fitting that the fellowship would have the misfortune to come across a Balrog. Legolas almost groaned at the irony of it all: a dangerous quest indeed.

The pain in his chest flared, and his side felt as though it was ripping apart as he willed his legs to keep moving. The last thing they needed was for him to slow them down, especially with Boromir helping him: a trip could spell the end of them both.

Everything was lit now as they came across a place of broken stairways, and he could hear Gandalf forcing Aragorn through the doorway behind. How typical of his friend to try and help everyone.

They stopped, not knowing where to go, but with his elven sight he spotted the bridge instantly, and he pointed towards it as Boromir flustered. The Gondorian spotted it after a moment of squinting, and signalled the others as they hastily charged down a staircase to the right. He could hear the rapid pattering of hobbit feet as they followed, but only to be confronted with a gap in the staircase. For a moment the fellowship wavered, fazed by the gap.

This will get us nowhere, Legolas thought, and broke away from Boromir to leap.

The move was risky considering his condition, but even an injured elf could make light of such a gap, and he landed well on the other side, albeit unsteadily as he stumbled a little. Ignoring the now roaring pain, he tuned back to the group and beckoned for the wizard.

"Gandalf!" He called, urging the unsure Istari. The wizard jumped, landing safely on the other side with Legolas' hand to steady him.

Next came Boromir, holding Merry and Pippin firmly on either side of him as they also landed safely. Without a word the Gondorian immediately pulled Legolas' arm back over his shoulders, surprising the elf with his hardheaded concern.

Gimli went next, almost missing completely had both Merry and Pippin's hands not shot out, seizing a fistful of beard each.

"Not the beard!" Gimli yelled in alarm, before being pulled to safety by Gandalf.

Legolas watched patiently as Aragorn and Frodo prepared to jump, but at the last moment the stairs began to crumble beneath their feet, forcing them to retreat and leaving a gap that neither man nor hobbit could scale. The two hesitated as they contemplated what to do. Their choice was made for them.

All nine of the fellowship watched in horror as a large dagger of rock broke from the high ceiling, slicing through the stair behind the man and hobbit. The section on which they stood wobbled precariously, careering forward into the stairs holding the rest of the fellowship. The two jumped, landing safely in the catches of Gandalf and the hobbits- no relief was acknowledged, no one even looked back as they ran again, their eyes only on the bridge that lay before them.

The two younger hobbits went first, followed by Gimli, and then Legolas and Boromir. It was by sheer luck that the bridge was wide enough for the two of them as they moved across.

Legolas' breath laboured; he could feel his strength leaving him, and it was only Boromir's firm grip around him that kept him moving. The two almost crashed into the younger hobbits, as Merry and Pippin stood frozen, staring in horror at something behind them. Legolas spun with Boromir, seeing first that Aragorn and the remaining two hobbits had reached them. And then, beyond that…

A great beast of fire stood proud and tall, with eyes of flame and a cruel whip in its grip, and below it: a figure wielding both a sword and a staff of light. Mithrandir. Legolas' stomach dropped. In all of the centuries he'd known Mithrandir, he'd come to know that he was no ordinary wizard, but to do something like this? It was madness. Gandalf's voice boomed as he addressed the beast, strong and confident, and yet the Balrog simply watched him, maliciously cracking its whip.

"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" The old wizard roared, bringing his staff down hard onto the bridge with an almighty crack.

They hovered with baited breaths. For a few moments nothing happened, the beast remained, and so did Gandalf, but when the Balrog opened its mouth to let out an almighty roar of laughter, a deeper crack split the air. Gandalf stood unfazed as half of the bridge collapsed, taking the Balrog with it. Still Gandalf stood, peering cautiously over the edge before turning back to them. Legolas felt a sigh of relief escape him, but he saw then the cruel whip as it made its last attempt. The eyes of Mithrandir widened as he was clasped by it, dragged far enough back that he hung onto a crack with his fingertips. Legolas was aware that Boromir's grip loosened around him as the man restrained Frodo.

"GANDALF!"

Gandalf readjusted his grip, his eyes betraying his final fear. Silent, he held their gaze for a moment, pleading with his eyes.

"Fly you fools." And then he was gone.