Moria was not a comfortable place.

The girls discovered that after the third time Amy fell and scraped her hands on the rocks, and by the second night of sleeping on rocks that left their backs dotted with bruises Lizzie was ready to kill someone. Sam had erupted in a fight with Frodo, which was very unusual, Lizzie had been moaning all morning about her aching body, and Amy had been sobbing her eyes out off and on for two days. The stifling heat and tiny corridors were wearing on everyone's nerves, but they were grating harshly on the three most inexperienced travelers, mostly, Sam, Lizzie and Amy. The burst of fierce energy that had thrummed through Amy's system when she rescued her best friend had sizzled into nothingness, leaving behind a desperate loneliness and a bone-deep weariness that was beginning to border on depression. Sam had a relapse and spent half of the first morning chattering with chills and fever, bundled in Aragorn's cloak and sweating the poison out of her veins as Boromir carried her. Lizzie, the most vocal of the three, had begun swearing like a sailor and grouching at anybody who offered her help, even Boromir. It was difficult to reason with any of them, though the Fellowship did try. However, by the third day they were all just as exhausted and completely fed up with Lizzie's whining, Amy's crying, and Sam's constant grumping.

Amy had shuffled off into a corner to have a pee and a cry that afternoon, rubbing her eyes sleepily and trying hard not to sob in front of the Fellowship. For some reason she had been crying almost all the time, and, to her credit, she had tried hard to keep it quiet, but there had been times where she just wanted to scream. Everything was so black. The only light in the whole mine was Gandalf's staff, which exuded only a dim glow that was positively radiant in the blackness. She missed home, missed the Ground Round, missed her siblings, and missed the routine she had had back home. She wanted to sleep for a million years on her bed, wake up, and eat string cheese until she puked. She wanted her parents. She wanted her cat. And, most of all, she wanted her books. She missed her books, lined like sentries on her shelves, worn and creased from constant usage, the tattered paperbacks and smooth hard covers alike. She wanted to fall into The Lightning Thief or Harry Potter, and fall in love all over again with the dark, mysterious, sexy Severus or the rugged, manly Poseidon. She wanted things to be normal. She wanted to be home. And she was becoming very upset that she had actually decided to go on a bike ride that day. It all came down to the math, she decided. It was God punishing her for not doing her homework, and now she was stuck in a stinking mine with corpses all around her and nothing to eat but stale bread and with her entire body aching and nothing to talk about except how tired they were…! So she stumbled away from the Fellowship as they rested for a moment while Gandalf tried to figure out where they were. She heard Lizzie whimpering about her blisters and Sam growling something about eating food, and she blocked them out. She needed light. She needed something to eat other than un-gnaw-able bread. But instead of finding either of these things, she found something almost as good.

"Guys! Hey, guys! Look! A pond!" she cried as her feet splashed into the dark water. The water was icy cold and it drenched her shoes and socks instantly. She scrambled out of the water and ripped off her sneakers, tossing the despondent shoes to one side as she tore off her socks. Behind her, Lizzie had forgotten about her blisters and was yanking off her shirt, leaving her topless except for a very dirty bra, and squealing as she dived into the dark liquid. Amy wasn't about to remove any clothing, but she didn't want to get her shirt wet, either. So she stayed in the shallows with her pants rolled up, hugging herself. A rivulet of water, drummed up from some underground source, was feeding the pool, and Lizzie called out that it became quite deep in the center. Sam, completely shameless in her eagerness to get into the water, had stripped to her underwear and plunged into the water. She emerged, her brown hair clinging to her stickily, a look of euphoria on her face.

"Amy! Get in, c'mon girl!" she said, and reached for Amy's ankle in the dark. Amy, who was not completely thrilled about diving into a pond where there might be who-knows-what, edged away from her. The rest of the Fellowship was looking away, very embarrassed to be in the company of three scantily clad women, and Amy felt her cheeks flame. She opened her mouth to apologize when she felt something snatch her leg and jerk her underneath the water. She screamed loud and long, but water filled her mouth and nose and she came up sputtering and screeching, her green eyes wide and terrified. She saw Sam doubling over with laughter, holding her sides as another huge laugh filled the cavern. Amy, completely humiliated to be taken in by her friend, splashed her with a wave of water and dunked the shaggy-haired brunette underwater. Lizzie, not about to be left out of the fun, added a few whoops for good measure and danced out of their reach.

Amy felt her sanity slipping back to her, and she clambered out of the water when Gandalf shouted at them to join the rest of the group. Politely, they looked away as Sam and Lizzie dressed once more, and Amy tried her best to wring out her sopping clothes. She gave another dirty look to Sam as they filed in behind Aragorn, who was trying hard not to eye Lizzie's curves, which were plainly visible in the damp clothes. "Sam, that is the last time I am inviting you into a pond with me," Amy groused. "I would have been perfectly dry if you hadn't jerked me under." Sam's wicked grin spread over her face as she smiled at her friend.

"Oh, but you would have been so hot," Sam said in a false goody-two-shoes voice. "I just cooled you off, that's all." She ducked Amy's swat, giggling, her good humor returning as she bounced quickly in line behind the Hobbits, ruffling their hair as usual. Lizzie snuggled up to Boromir, who was looking simultaneously scandalized and extremely smug as he conversed with the pretty blonde in a low voice. Whatever he said must have pleased the model, because she flipped a wet strand of her hair and batted her eyelashes at the handsome Gondorian steward. Amy turned away and tried not to retch. Boromir was too nice to be taken in by the Venus Flytrap that was currently reeling him in expertly until she got what she wanted, aka, got Boromir to hop in the sack. Lizzie was a pretty girl, but, well, she had a reputation.

Legolas was fighting hard within himself not to notice Amy as she stumbled behind Pippin, her wet red hair sticking to the back of her neck. Her wet clothes were clinging to every curve, leaving little or no decency, and she was very obviously aware of this. Her lack of, erm, womanly attributes in the chest area was more than made up for in the rather nice rear view. Legolas cursed himself as he dropped his eyes to the ground. He had no right to be looking at her like that. He was at least ten times her age, and she wasn't even an elf! She was a Human, albeit a pretty one, and their races could absolutely not mix. So he kept his eyes glued to the floor, and staunchly ignored the attractive way her hips swayed slightly when she walked on the uneven ground.

09

"Behold the Dwarrowdelf, home of the Dwarves."

Amy hardly heard him. She was standing stock still, in utter awe of the gigantic pillars that stretched to the ceiling. Runes and words were carved into them scrawling up to the massive heights, and Amy thought she had never seen anything as beautiful. The hallway was filled with a colossal oaken table that would have been holding tons of food had it been in use. Dusty tapestries, some stained viciously with blood, others tattered or badly shredded, hung on the walls, depicting epic battle scenes in intricate embroidery. She felt an overwhelming sadness, almost a grief, squeezing her soul. She would never be able to see Moria in the glorious splendor, never be able to sit by the fire and eat juicy meat, and never hear the gruff baritones of the dwarves swapping yarns. A broken sob came from behind her, and she saw Gimli trying to hide his tears behind his axe, wiping his eyes with his wrist guards. Amy felt sympathy well up in her chest, and she patted his shoulder, trying to comfort him. He twitched, but left her hand there, and instead continued crying. They shuffled forward, unwilling to disturb the solemn quiet of the great hall, as if the corpses were merely sleeping and could not be awoken. A small door, hanging crazily off its hinges, was off to the side, and Amy saw a small sign lying facedown on the floor near it. She crouched down and flipped it over, reading the letters that had been carefully spelled out in both Dwarvish and Common:

Library Of Moria

She felt hope explode in her chest. A library? With books? She broke apart from the Fellowship quickly, and pushed aside the broken door. It rattled dryly on its hinges, but she managed to pull herself inside. When she was on the threshold, she had to stop. The room was gigantic, with vaulted ceilings and sagging bookshelves that were cracking under the weight of scrolls and tomes. The room was relatively untouched, other than a corpse of a small dwarf who had apparently trying to hide behind the shelves. Blood stained the dusty carpet, and as Amy stepped further into the room, clouds of dust rose underneath her feet. She went over to the nearest shelf and drew a finger along the spines of the tomes, then sifted her hands through the thick scrolls. She unrolled one and marveled at the gorgeous calligraphy, the amazing letters practically miniature sketches. Naturally, it was in Dwarfish, so she put it back and searched for a book in Common. A thick wedge of a book caught her eye and she tugged it from its place. The cover of the book was smooth white hide, and the edges were embroidered with meaningless gold thread, causing the color to change when she tilted it. The spine of the book said simply Tales of Moria. It was too large to be comfortably carried, but she had an odd feeling, something remarkably akin to desire. For a book. She shook her head and tucked it under her arm, then scurried outside to rejoin the Fellowship.

It was only when she stepped into the main hall that she heard the boom of the drums.

She whirled around, all the color draining from her face, and tried to scream. She really did. Fear had frozen her throat, and all that escaped her was a pathetic whimper. She opened her mouth again to call for anyone, Sam, Legolas, even Lizzie would have been preferable than to stay out here and face those awful drums. She heard a door slam shut behind her, and she turned again, trying to call out. There were two metallic chunking noises as they propped something against the doors, most likely locking them shut. Amy felt an icy ribbon of terror weave down her back, pooling in her belly. She was locked away from the Fellowship, and she was going to face the danger of those horrible drums. By herself.

The main doors to the hall burst open, and the scream she had been trying to scream flew from her mouth. It was high and keening, one of pure unadulterated horror as she realized what she was facing. A horde of monsters were charging towards here, ugly stunted things with greasy bald heads and black jagged teeth bared in menacing sneers. Tattoos and piercings studded their faces, and rusty weapons were gripped hard in their slimy fists. They emitted guttural roars as they thrust themselves forward. But standing behind them, beating its chest, was the reason why Amy was screaming so wildly. A massive thing was bucking frantically, trying to wrench the huge chains off of its arms and neck. It swung itself forward on its knuckles like some disgusting primate as it butted its head forward. Two tusks, dripping already with black blood, were jutting from its lower jaw, and chains also hung from these mighty weapons. It was covered in a shaggy layer of grayish fur that was matted in several places, and it threw back its head and whooped an immense cry of savage joy. It bulled forward, crushing one of its own allies as it tried to reach the smell of blood that was dancing tantalizingly in front of its nostrils. The tiny, piggish eyes lit up when they saw Amy, standing stock still, her mouth open, with no weapon in her hands except a thick book.

She bolted, holding the book tightly in her arms as she continued to scream, her green eyes wide and terrified. She continued down the hallway, running as fast as she could, but for some reason she didn't drop the book. She couldn't.

And that book, that damned ornate book, might just cost her life.