Delusional

Jessylane318

They awoke for breakfast and make quick haste to begin again as they finished eating. No one wished to spend another night in the darkness of Moria, Harry especially. The place gave him chills, reminding him of the Chamber of secrets.

"Harry," asked Merry then, while they were packing. "What did you finally decide to make your wand with? You still hadn't found a substance when we'd left, if I recall correctly."

Harry blushed brightly as attention fell on him once more. Gandalf, it seemed, already knew, for he grinned foolishly before going back to work, putting up pans and other things. Harry wondered once more just how much the man seemed to know and yet did not say.

"My original wand was Holly with a phoenix feather. I've had the Holly ready for ages, but the hairs just didn't work. And since I don't think there are phoenixes here, I've been using hairs. Only none would work. Finally, when you'd all left, I found three strands on my bedside table." Here the young wizard looked up, and only then, did he notice that Aragorn was slightly red as well. Blinking, he wondered why.

"Ah!" cried Gandalf with obvious relief, "then you found it, eh? I knew the Lady Arwen could be trusted with such a task! Indeed, did I not say she could?"

"Indeed you did," mumbled Aragorn. And only then, did Harry notice that he was missing a good section of hair. Far more than three pieces. "Let us go though, before our hunger assails us once more!"

They followed Gandalf, then, deeper into the mines until they came unto a chamber to the side, where a bright light flooded the area, as though raining from the ceiling. In the middle of a dusty floor, a large box of stone stood, the bones of the dead surrounding it's empty confines.

"It looks like a tomb," muttered Frodo who bent forward to examine with a morbid curiosity. Harry managed to glimpse what looked like runes etched into the stone. They were crude and very linear, but beautiful all the same.

"These are Daeron's Runes, such as were used of old in Moria," said Gandalf. "Here is written in the tongues of Men and dwarves:

BALIN SON OF FUNDIN

LORD OF MORIA

"He is dead then," said Frodo. "I feared it was so." Gimli cast his hood over his face.

The company of the ring stood silently beside the tomb of Balin. Harry did not know the man, or rather the dwarf, but he felt his heart clench for him all the same. He understood the pain of loss, he had lost his family when he was little, less than a year old, murdered at the hand of the Dark Lord Voldemort. He had lost Ginny and Hermione. Bob. He wanted to comfort Gimli, but knew the dwarf would hardly appreciate the effort.

Gandalf lifted a leather bound book covered with dust from a corner of the room. He read it carefully, Frodo and Gimli on either side. When an eternity seemed to end, he looked up at last.

"It seems to be a record of the fortunes of Balin's folk," he said. "I guess that it began with their coming to Dimrill Dale nigh on thirty years ago: the pages seem to have numbers referring to the years after their arrival. The top page is marked one—three, so at least two are missing from the beginning. Listen to this!"

Gandalf read aloud the words of the records, or diary. Harry listened to the death of the Lord of Moria and the coming of orcs. He had just heard the words of being trapped when his scar began to prickle. Something was wrong. He tried to tell Legolas, but the elf seemed to ignore him, in favor of the story. He turned to Aragorn then.

"Aragorn!" he whispered loudly, tugging on the man's sleeve insistently. Something terrible was stirring, he could almost taste it. The blue eyes turned towards him in concern. "Aragorn, shouldn't we be going? Balin is dead, but we will be too if we don't hurry. Aragorn, something bad is coming."

The ranger frowned, and shook his head.

"We will leave in a moment, when the account is read."

"But-"

"In a moment, Harry."

He nodded, albeit reluctantly. He didn't like the feeling in his gut. They needed to hurry!

"...and then, drums, drums in the deep. I wonder what that means. The last thing written is in a trailing scrawl of elf letters. They are coming. There is nothing more." Gandalf paused and stood in a moment thought. Harry wished he wouldn't.

"We cannot get out," muttered Gimli. "It is well for us that the water has sunken a little, and that the watcher was sleeping down at the southern end."

Gandalf spoke a little before he finally decided to leave. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he did. The quicker he got out of the black mines, the happier he would be. The place was to reminisce of the chamber of secrets, only much less lit. And without the rat bones and giant snake skins.

"Come now, back to the hall!"

He had barely said the words when a loud shout echoed through the depths of Moria, and a deep drum began to beat along with a raging horn. There was the sound of many feet and answering calls further on. Harry felt his gut sink.

"They are coming!" cried Legolas.

"We cannot get out!" shouted Gimli. Harry shrugged off the leather from his back and pulled out the heavy sword. He pulled the sheath back on and slipped the wand into his tunic, wrapping it tightly against his arm.

Doom, Doom, came the drum beats that shook the walls.

"Slam the doors and wedge them shut!" shouted Aragorn. "And keep your packs on as long as you can: we may get a chance to cut our way out yet."

"No!" said Gandalf. "We must not get shut in. Keep the East door ajar! We will go that way if we get a chance."

Harry swallowed his fear and moved between the hobbits and the door. He would protect them with his life, as the others of the fellowship had sworn to do. He would prove his worth and show Aragorn he wasn't some pathetic child.

Resting the blade at the stone between his feet, he saw Aragorn pull his own sword, Andúril, from it's sheath.

The door pushed open slightly and an ugly, scaly muscled arm pushed through, the green hand groping while a smooth foot entered as well below. Boromir rushed forward, his sword coming down in an eager arc with much strength. It clang as it met the outstretched limb, slicing cleanly through. Frodo sprang forward just then.

"The Shire!" he shouted, stabbing his own blue blade into the foot which quickly retreated. Black blood dripped from the blade and smoked on the floor. Boromir pushed against the door and it shut once more.

"One for the Shire!" cried Aragorn, the heat of battle burning on his face. "The hobbit's bite is deep! You have a good sword, Frodo son of Drogo!"

The doors beat again and finally sprang open, releasing many orcs into the room. Harry sprang into action, dodging a blow that would have killed him and hacking the creature with the sword he could barely pick up. When the blade only half killed the creature, Harry released it with a hand and pointed his arm.

"Incendio!" he shouted, the fire jumped through the air and burned into the creature, killing it instantly.

He turned to move to another when a pain shot through his shoulder.

An orc blade had lodged itself in Harry's arm, he lifted his hands to the creature's face and watched with a muted fascination as it burned away and turned to dust. The monster fell to the floor dead as well.

Then, in a dizzying flash and pause, Gandalf was shouting to leave. Sam was bleeding from his head. The orcs were pulling back. The light was painful and bright. The blood was falling fast. An orc chieftain raced through, defying both Boromir and Aragorn.

Harry saw him face Frodo and felt the fire burn again. He pulled at it, dragging it up. He didn't bother to say the words, his mind to groggy. The pain in his shoulder and head too much. His eyes flashed and the orc split in fire, but not before hammering Frodo with spear in his right side.

He had failed. Frodo fell back and Sam leaped forward with a cry, shattering the spear. Aragorn leaped forward and finished the incoming orcs as he dragged Frodo out. Harry pulled himself up.

"Now!" shouted Gandalf. "Now is the last chance! Run for it!"

Merry and Pippin were ushered before the ranger. Legolas had to all but drag Gimli from the room despite the peril, where he wished to continue the fight. Harry pressed against the rear, his sword back in it's sheath, though he was unsure how he managed it.

As they ran down the flights of stairs, Harry pressed against his wound, trying to stop the flow. No one noticed though. They waited at the bottom when Gandalf appeared. Harry hadn't realized they'd left him. Frodo was walking by Aragorn, well alive despite his paleness.

"You will have to do without light-" he heard Gandalf say, and wanted to help, but could not find the strength. He laid against a stone pillar and gasped. A pain in his head was pulsing in and out, more agonizing with each beat of the drum.

They stumbled after the wizard then, chasing through the dark. The beating of the drums still came, but it was muffled now, and sounded far away. Finally they rested, and Aragorn looked to Frodo as Gimli looked to Gandalf. Harry looked to his arm, and tore his own sleeve to help stop the bleeding. A cold numbness had already taken the arm and his eyes were becoming more dizzy.

He didn't bother to listen to their conversations, closing them from his mind.

"Are you hurt?" asked a voice. He looked up to see Legolas staring down at him. He tried to say no, but couldn't find the breath.

"A small wound," he ground out, though he knew it a lie. He couldn't afford to slow them down. He puffed slightly, "I... I think-"

He could say no more, he felt the bile in his throat. The elf was kneeling now, his keen eyes sharp, even in the dark.

" Can... make light... if-" He puffed again, still out of breath, his mouth dry.

"You are hurt then," spoke Legolas, he lifted Harry's sleeve, and Harry heard his breath hitch. "This is hardly small, aistari." The elf looked ready to say something but Harry managed to stop him, grabbing his hand.

"No..." he whispered. "Must... hurry..."

The elf looked reluctant but nodded. He gave Harry a sip of water and they began their journey again, this time with Legolas helping him to run as they went. Arrows sped overhead, one bouncing off Frodo, the other piercing Gandalf's hat.

Harry saw Legolas pause, as they crossed the bridge over the huge black chasm, and string an arrow, however it fell from his fingers.

"Ai! Ai!" wailed the elf. "A Balrog! A Balrog is come!"

"Durin's Bane!" cried Gimli, dropping his axe and covering his face.

"A Balrog! Now I understand," said Gandalf as he leaned against his staff wearily. "What misfortune has befallen us! I am already weary."

Harry looked backwards to see a large demonic man coming from the darkness. It was at least eighteen feet tall, with a shroud of darkness. Flames poured from its nostrils, a whip in its hands. The creature's darkness caused his blood to boil, and he felt an unbidden rage build. How dare it use fire to destroy! How dare it stop the company! He heard Gandalf tell everyone to fly, but did not. He stood behind Aragorn and Boromir at the end of the narrow straight. Drawing up his strength as he had learned to when he master the fire.

"You can not pass!" shouted Gandalf. "I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You can not pass! The dark fire will not avail you dark flame of Udun. Go back to the Shadow! You can not pass!"

Harry drew against the fire as well, feeling the phoenix song fill him. It encouraged him, numbing the pain in his shoulder and comforting his soul. It gave him fervor and strengthened the fire that had sparked within him. He didn't understand it, and yet he did. He stepped past Aragorn and Boromir, ignoring their cries and lifting his hands. His body seemed to move without him, as though he were but a puppet, as though he were but the words of an action.

He stared into the monster beyond Gandalf and began to pull at the fire that burned deep within the Balrog. The dark flames burned as they came to him. An icy pain that reeked of evil. It tasted like the basilik's venom. It burned like Voldemort's touch. Harry ignored it and pulled more, drawing in the nasty fire as he went, and holding it above his head as he had with the flame from Rivendell.

The Balrog seemed to notice this and grew enraged. It stepped forward, and he could hear Aragorn and Boromir, shouting words. Harry ignored it all, dragging in the dark fire was his only purpose. He would succeed. He must.

He stepped forward as well, moving past the two men. Neither could touch him with the flames burning so powerfully above him. The heat rolled away in waves. The phoenix trilling in his mind.

"You shall not pass!"

He took one last tug of power even as Gandal slammed his powerful staff into the ground. The fire was falling away then, the Balrog defeated. He gasped for breath and felt his head and eyes spin. A light was filling his mind, the song of the phoenix budding through his soul.

Harry swayed against his feet and fell, sideways along the bridge. A hand grabbed his own, just as he'd almost tumbled into the darkness.

His unfocused eyes saw Aragorn holding tightly, the shaded blue black gaze filled with fear. He understood then, understood it all. How he had come, why. He had not been called, as others had guessed, but sent. It was like someone was whispering in his ear, explaning it all. The rip caused by opposites. The burn of his own fire played fiercely against the Balrog's dark call; the same way the Basalisk and the phoenix's magic had disturbed each other.

Gandalf was tumbling downwards into the abyss. In a moment, the invisible voice told him, he would join them. He smiled at Aragorn, he was saying something. Something far and distant.

"Don't let go..."

But he had too. It was like Fate just slipped down and explained it. There couldn't be two wizards on this journey. Maybe if he had stayed... Maybe if he were older... Maybe if he didn't have his own destiny...

His hand slipped from the desperate grasp, staring at the face etched in fear and horror. He watched it until the world turned black. He watched it as it screamed.