Maethoriel felt cold in her soul. The Mines of Moria felt like the corpse of a once-great King, infested with maggots that ensured he was nothing but grotesque now. The darkness lingered on her skin, her clothes, and in her heart, draining any joy from the travellers and obscuring any sense of time. They could have been following the maze of passages for hours or for days, feeling numb and desolate, reluctant to stop for fear of ambush, yet reluctant to continue for fear of what awaited them deeper in the Mines. Her father had heard whispers of all kinds of evil creatures, but he had never been certain – Maethoriel was sure that, soon enough, she would be able to put the rumours to rest and expose the truth, but she knew that the company was now in more danger than ever before, and they would be immensely lucky to make it out unscathed.

She followed at the back of the group, so that she could provide admittedly dim lighting for those furthest from Gandalf's staff, trying to help to the best of her abilities. Boromir walked in front of her, following Aragorn, and as her thoughts began to wander to the fate of the two men, she acknowledged her desperate need for a distraction and eagerly grabbed the chance.

Boromir was a man of honour, travelling in the name of his people and his family, hoping to restore the faith in the strength of men. The One Ring was beyond powerful, Maethoriel could not fault him for being manipulated by it so easily. It had a mind of its own, a will of its own, and would stop at nothing to destroy the company from within to strengthen its chances of returning to its master. Boromir was the weakest when faced with its power, but that did not make him a bad man. He loved his brother, he loved his father, and he loved his city, he only wanted what was best for them. Maethoriel understood why his priorities lay where they did – Gondor was the barrier between the wrath of Mordor and the rest of the free world, it needed all the strength it could get to keep evil at bay; but the Ring was absolutely not an option. Denethor, Boromir's father and the Steward of Gondor, was a withering man; it would be pure foolishness to let the Ring fall into his hands.

Maethoriel sighed as she caught a glimpse of the back of Aragorn's head, completely uncertain of what path he would follow. He was humble and concerned about the mistakes of Isildur, but he was also concerned for the people of Gondor and recognised they needed better leadership and protection. He would be an excellent ruler, if only he stopped holding himself back.

The company began to slow as Gandalf stopped to run his hand over the wall to their left. "The wealth of Moria was not in gold, or jewels," he told them, turning then to look into the dark cavern that dropped to their right, "But mithril." He lowered his staff to illuminate a relatively small area of the abyss, exposing Dwarven machinery that had not been utilised in many a year. As he began to move forwards again, he looked over his shoulder and claimed, "Bilbo had a shirt of mithril rings that Thorin gave him."

"Oh, that was a kingly gift," Gimli replied in admiration.

"Yes," the wizard agreed. "I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the Shire." The company fell into silence after that, contemplating how the old hobbit had been bestowed such a magnificent gift without even realising, and wondering at how he had been worthy of such respect from Thorin son of Thrain.

Eventually the thin walkway led them to a staircase that seemed inconveniently steep even for a dwarf, strangely. The hobbits crawled up them as if climbing a slanted ladder, taking care not to slip and fall, while the others kept a close eye on them. At the top of the staircase was another, but shorter and much easier to climb. It curved upwards to a landing that sat before three separate archways, each looking as unwelcoming and disconcerting as the next. The efforts of the Dwarves that had gone into creating such an immense structure in the foundations of Middle Earth, had been sullied and dishonoured. Maethoriel could see in the way that Gimli beheld the stonework that it had once been rough but awe-inspiring, and had now been vandalised and destroyed by Goblins and other monsters. She felt such regret for having neglected it in its time of magnificence.

Gandalf had stopped on the landing, looking between the three archways slowly. Then he muttered into the darkness and silence, "I have no memory of this place," and the mood of the fellowship deflated even further.

"We should rest," Legolas told him. "Do not rush your decision; whatever evil that lies hidden in the dark would only benefit from a rushed mistake."

The elf then turned and encouraged the hobbits to take a seat upon the bottom of the small staircase, giving Gandalf space to search his memories. Maethoriel sat on the top step of the steeper staircase, and was joined by Aragorn and Boromir. Gimli sat a couple of steps down, looking out into the vast emptiness, while Legolas leaned against the rock behind the emberling. As Aragorn lit his pipe and exchanged mumbled words with his kin, Maethoriel leant forward to place a hand upon Gimli's shoulder.

"I am sorry for the fate of the Mines, Gimli," she said softly. "I hope it comforts you to know that I am still in awe of the talent of those who built them, and I think it is still something that your race can be proud of." When his head bowed slightly, she took that as his acknowledgement of her words and removed her hand. It was truly upsetting that such a spectacular show of Dwarven talent, that must have taken years to create, could be defiled so easily and so gruesomely.

"Are we lost?" Pippin asked quietly.

"No," Merry replied.

"I think we are."

Merry shushed him. "Gandalf's thinking."

"Merry?"

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

Merry only sighed in response.

Maethoriel had been looking over her shoulder, watching the two bicker, but now noticed Frodo look startled at the space below the staircase. As he hurried up towards Gandalf, she turned to see what it was that had upset the hobbit, and noticed a strange creature easily traversing the perilous route through the Mines that the company itself had been struggling along. Her fear for Frodo's safety intensified tenfold.

She heard Legolas kneel down behind her, leaning in to her left ear. "Is this the first you have seen of him?" he whispered.

She nodded. "You knew of him already?"

"I first noticed him three days ago," he replied. "Gandalf and I agreed there was no need to alert the rest of the company; Gollum is outnumbered and we are prepared for him. No harm will come to the Ring-Bearer."

"No doubt a trick of Sauron's, allowing Gollum to be free again," she frowned, turning to look at the elf. He merely met her gaze grimly, gently squeezing her arm in comfort.

She turned away again as she tried to listen in on Gandalf and Frodo's conversation. "Do not be too eager to deal out death and judgement," the wizard was saying. "Even the very wise cannot see all ends. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before this is over. The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many."

"I wish the Ring had never come to me," the hobbit said gently. Maethoriel closed her eyes and lowered her head, wondering if any earlier intervention from Emberlings could have stopped Frodo from ever having to bear such a life-altering burden. "I wish none of this had happened."

Feeling Legolas starting to take his hand away from her arm, Maethoriel surprised herself by reaching her other hand over to cover his own, seeking the comfort he so willingly provided. She heard his movements as he came off his knees to instead sit behind her comfortably, his thumb stroking the skin of her forearm. She knew in that moment that he would be there for her as long as she needed him.

"So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide," Gandalf replied to Frodo, his wisdom once more shining through. Maethoriel hoped the young hobbit was finding as much comfort in the wizard's words as she was. "All we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the Ring. In which case, you also were meant to have it. And that is an encouraging thought." Maethoriel smiled sadly, opening her eyes to look at Legolas once again. He smiled softly back at her, squeezing her arm again, and she wondered if these other forces Gandalf spoke of had made it so that she was supposed to be there, experiencing and sharing that moment with the elf.

Suddenly the wizard exclaimed, and everybody quickly turned to see what had startled him. "It's that way," he said, without a hint of doubt.

"He remembered," Merry said happily as he stood up with the rest of the company.

"No," Gandalf corrected him, "But the air doesn't smell so foul down here." As the hobbit came up beside him in the archway, the rest following behind, he advised, "If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

And so the fellowship reformed the line, following after Gandalf down yet another staircase that seemed to go on forever. Maethoriel resumed her place at the rear of the line, even more wary of having her back exposed now that she knew for sure they had someone of ill intentions trailing them. However, she knew that Legolas, who walked in front of her, had exceptional hearing, better practiced than her own, and so would be onto the creature before he even considered making a move on them.

When the staircase finally came to an end and their feet finally walked once more on flat ground, Maethoriel sensed a change in the air around her; she no longer felt claustrophobic, but almost unbearably exposed. The light from Gandalf's staff illuminated a wall of intricate stonework that rose up above the darkness to an unknown height, and Maethoriel wondered at what kind of space they had come across.

"Let me risk a little more light," Gandalf muttered, lifting his staff.

His white light grew brighter and brighter until the darkness fell away before them and a room of incomprehensible size and grandeur was revealed to them. What she had mistaken as a wall, Maethoriel now realised was one of hundreds or thousands of pillars stretching from the ground at their feet to the ceiling far above their heads. It was empty save for those pillars, but it was absolutely incredible. She only wished her father could have seen it.

"Behold," Gandalf announced to them, "the great realm and Dwarf-city of Dwarrowdelf."

"There's an eye-opener, no mistake," Sam muttered, looking around with awe. The light from the wizard's staff stretched on for half a mile and yet it did not even touch the opposite wall; they would be walking for hours to find it. Gimli looked around at everyone, immeasurably proud of how the work of his people inspired such admiration from a variety of races, especially that of an elf. Maethoriel hoped that both Gimli and Legolas would learn to respect and appreciate each other, but they had many matters that were far more pressing to attend to first.

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The emberling was glad to have had a brief respite while Gandalf had pondered which archway was the right choice; if he had just marched on without pausing, she knew they would have had to take a break, and although she was still amazed by the spectacle of Dwarrowdelf, she would have not enjoyed resting in such an open area. They had seen evidence of battle between Dwarves and Goblins, but there was nothing to say that the Mines were now unoccupied. They had to be cautious and quiet and get out of Moria before any evil was alerted to their presence.

From a few pillars behind, the company had noticed a change in the wall on their right and knew that an exit was coming up, but only when they passed the pillar closest to it did they realise it would not be bringing good news. Skeletal bodies were littering the ground before the doorway, arrows and axes laying next to them after losing the skin they were embedded in. Gimli let out a shocked and upset gasp, turning off the path to hurry into the chamber through the doorway.

"Gimli!" Gandalf called sharply, but the dwarf paid no heed and continued on.

The company had no choice but to follow him, watching as he jogged to a plain sarcophagus that was shone on by a single strip of light coming in through the ceiling from beyond the chamber. "No," he uttered miserably, slowing down to kneel down before it. "Oh, no," he sobbed, bowing his head, as the others moved into the chamber, examining the destruction that had taken place around Gimli's fallen relative.

His sobbing continued as Gandalf went to the top of the sarcophagus to read the inscription. "'Here lies Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.' He is dead then," he said, removing his hat, "It is as I feared." He handed the hat and his staff to Pippin, who moved away from the group with eyes full of fear and discomfort.

Maethoriel, Boromir, Legolas, and Aragorn stood behind Gimli, quietly lending him support without overstepping their boundaries. To have lost so many of his people, to have lost his people's beautiful city, and to have lost one of his close family members, Gimli must have been feeling sorrow like no other.

Legolas watched as Gandalf pulled a book from a skeleton's hands and opened it, blowing away years of dust. "We must move on. We cannot linger," he muttered insistently to Aragorn, clearly feeling unsettled.

Gandalf either did not hear him, or ignored him, instead preferring to read aloud from the book. "'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. We cannot get out.'" The company began to fidget uneasily, looking around their surroundings as if expecting an ambush. "'A Shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out. They are coming.'"

As soon as the wizard finished, Pippin squeezed the hand of a skeleton sitting precariously on the edge of a well-like structure, and the head fell off, clattering loudly off the walls as it did, the noise echoing through the Mines like an explosion. The entire body followed after, and dread gripped the company in its cold hands.

Maethoriel knew that their journey through the mines was no longer a secret. They were going to have to fight their way out.