Finally got a chance to update. Please enjoy.

Hope always finds ways of extinguishing itself. It is clearly one of the most fragile of treasures on this earth. One day I had hope that the whole journey could be passed without much incident, and that I might even be able to be as respected as my traveling companions. The following days I had been led through biting cold, a monster at the bottom of a lake that threatened to kill us all, and now the dark tunnels of Moria.

To add to this, I kept spotting the dead in the corners of the halls.

Fali held her hope up like a torch, and through it she could always see a light at the end of the misfortune. I was not so lucky. I had passed enough fallen men already, and I did not hold onto any thought that somewhere in this mine there could be anyone alive.

When Gandalf at last said he knew of a way out, my relief was immense. For a second his words fanned a tiny flame of hope to life. When Fali set free the raven I was even more relieved. Food me may have needed, but I did hate any form of death, and having been surrounded by it for days now I was tense, and had troubles sleeping in the night.

In the quiet, I noticed the sound of our light steps changed, taking on an echo. Wherever we were, the room had broadened out, and considerably at that. "Let me risk a little more light." Gandalf said, and our vision of the room before us was intensified. In front of us a great expanse of pillars and arches in the ceiling dominated the caverns, polished smooth and the white wispy veins of marble glowing back in the light of Gandalf's staff. Gimli and Fali both had small audible gaps at the sight.

"Behold: the great realm and dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf." Gandalf said.

"Now there's an eye opener and no mistake." Sam breathed.

Indeed, my own eyes were probably wide with amazement. My head glanced back and forth. Here was what my great-Uncle Thorin had fought for with his father and grandfather. This city was the prize for the battle in which he was given the name of Oakensheild. The kingdom Balin had attempted to bring back. They would both be proud to hear we had stood in the halls.

"Incredible." Fali remarked, walking over to touch one of the pillars with her fingertips. "No one has lived here for centuries."

"There would have been thousands of dwarfs." I said, my gaze traveling over everything. "Can't you imagine it?" I recalled what I had read of Moria. "Marketplaces that spanned for miles, the sound of hammers pounding mithril, dozens of pages running back and forth." I touched the pillar beside me sister. "There was once so much life within these walls." I glanced around at the emptiness of them now, and frowned. So much life…and now the kingdom sat here like an stone shell.

We continued on our way, passing the pillars. My eyes remained fixed ahead, my hand shifting to the hilt of my blade, in a nervous habit I had formed since the gate had collapsed. There was a gasp suddenly, and my gaze was torn away. For the first time in days I saw real light, reflecting into a small room on the side of the hall. Gimli was the one who first rushed in. I looked past him and saw more dust and cobwebs, more bodies strewn about. There was certainly a good quantity of them for a room of that size.

A tomb, which the light shone upon.

The others began to follow after Gimli, and Fali rushed behind him. Gimli collapsed to his knees before the tomb, his face one of tragedy. Fali stood behind him, and made at first to grab at his shoulder, but then her face changed. It contorted into despair, and her hand that was outstretching toward Gimli covered her mouth. She choked back a sob.

Fali was in tears, and it frightened me further. Fali was the brave one, the one who stayed cheerful and optimistic. Now she cried, and my heart was stopping. I took a step forward, tentative and slow.

There was an inscription on the head of the tomb, written in runes.

Balin.

No.

No.

A million memories flashed through my mind. The kind uncle, though he wasn't truly an uncle, with the snow-white beard and so much wisdom. How many times had I seen him in the workrooms? How many times had he complimented me in my studies? He had held us as infants, he had seen mother and father, Uncle Kili and Tauriel, married.

I glanced at the inscription again as Fali turned and buried her face into my shoulder, taking in deep breaths and trying to calm herself. "Balin too." She was shaking. "He's gone too."

Yes, it still read his name, Balin, son of Fundin.

Lord of Moria. They had proclaimed him a lord, an incredible honor.

To us he was not seen as the Lord of Moria, to us he was a friend first, very nearly family.

One of my most supportive uncles, in every name but blood, was dead.

I buried my own face down against Fali's shoulder, patting her head, and stroking her hair.

"He is dead then. It is as I feared." Gandalf said, with sorrow in his own voice. He had known Balin well too, back in the days when Erebor was being reclaimed. Gimli let out an unsteady breath that held the air of a sob, or cry of despair.

Now we knew the truth. No one was alive.

Not Oin, Balin, or Ori.

I thought of Hana and Orian, the scribe's wife and son. They had held onto hope all these years, and for nothing.

The world in that moment was dark and unjust.

Gandalf removed his hat, and gave it and his staff to Pippin to hold. He bent down before a corpse that held a great book in his hands, carefully moving the bony hand that was overtop the volume.

"We must move on, we cannot linger." Legolas said in a hushed tone to Aragorn. Fali's head rose from my shoulder and her face bore a scowl that did not even try to hide itself. I could tell she was biting her tongue to keep from snapping at the elf prince. For a second I thought she would, but she turned and knelt beside Gimli, and whispered a prayer with him quietly.

Gandalf blew the dust from the pages of the book, and read aloud. "They have taken the bridge… and the second hall." Gimli and Fali went quiet now, and stared up blankly at the wizard. 'We have barred the gates… but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes."

I knew it then, the way the simple written words conjured such a picture in my mind of the growing fear, and the hopelessness of the mission.

Who else would be writing when doom was so close at hand?

Ori. It was him. I quickly checked the ring upon his hand. Yes, here was his final resting place.

"Drums… drums… in the deep."

This was what war did. It killed everyone, it left nothing but devastation and rot. What about this kingdom was so valuable it was worth the risk?, I thought to myself angrily.

"We cannot get out…"

None of this had been worth it. Every last warrior was gone under this mountain. They had been fighters, born and bred. And I? I was no fighter. I had no dream for the iron swords and glory that occurred here years ago. I didn't even know what I was doing on this quest.

"The way is shut." Gandalf finished after a tense pause.

Bang! There was such a terrific smashing and banging that it made very hair on the back of neck stand on end. Each sound echoed off the walls, surrounding us and overwhelming our senses after we had grown so used to quiet.

Our heads turned to the source of the noise, and a sheepish Pippin, red in the face with embarrassment, stood by a headless skeleton sitting on the edge of a well. A guiltier culprit I had never seen.

The rest of the skeleton followed, tangled in the chains of the well. The resounding crashes commenced again, setting my nerves on edge, until I was left shaking lightly, and disturbed.

"Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" Gandalf slammed the book shut, as Pippin winced at his mishap.

Boom. The air around us shook. My eyes widened again and Fali and I stared at each other. Boom. Boom. The heavy drumming went on and on. Then there was another sound, like an inhuman shriek, rising from the depths of the mine. True to the words of Ori's entry, the ground quaked beneath us.

"Frodo!" Sam pointed at his friend's belt, and Frodo pulled out his sword, which was giving off a blue glow.

"Orcs!" Legolas shouted. His shout was followed by shrill sounds, which could only be the war-cries of a good many orcs.

The drums started to sound more like a heartbeat, pounding furiously in my ears. Boromir, unlike me, was not frozen still at the side of a corpse. He rushed instinctively to the door, and began to push the heavy slab of wood closed. An arrow embedded itself into the wood, narrowly missing his face. My breath was caught in my throat in that moment, thinking for a second the arrow had carried off his nose for all we knew.

When he flinched back I realised he was not harmed, yet. Aragorn put down his torch and ran to help him. "Get back!" Boromir ordered the hobbits. "Get behind Gandalf!"

Merry and Pippin were already in his shadow and Sam was quick to grab Frodo and pull him there as well. Fali had jumped to her feet and was gathering all sorts of fallen weapons, muttering small apologies to the dead whenever she picked up a hatchet or a knife. Everyone was picking up weapons and shoving them through the handles of the door, to prevent it from being opened.

An enormous bellow echoed from the other side of the door, and the ground shook again.

"They have a cave troll." Boromir said, sarcastically.

Fali had shut down all her mental barriers of fear, and was acted on instinct that did not fail her. I shot up to my feet at the sound of the troll, and pulled out my sword, making to get behind Master Gandalf too.

"Not you." Boromir's voice stopped me. "Ready yourself."

"What?"

"Stand ready, Master Gideon." Aragorn said, perhaps a bit more calmly than Boromir had spoken.

"You too, Miss Fali." Boromir called to my sister.

Fali did not say a word but followed orders, unsheathing her blade in a fluid mothion at standing in a defensive stance, her eyes like steel. "Stand ready, Gideon." She tried to snap me out of the fear circling in my head. "Hurry!" She barked when I did not do so fast enough.

Gimli stood high upon Balin's tomb, daring the orcs to crash the door down and fight him. He looked a hundred times more ready to fight than I was.

The others hurried back from the doors, pulling our blades and bows. The door jolted with the force of the orcs behind it. I flinched. The door jolted a second and third time, and then a small part of the door splintered away as an orc's axe swung.

Legolas was not at all phased and fire an arrow through the narrow gap. There was a cry from beyond the door, and then the whole arrow disappeared, whoever had been struck by it falling back and dying.

Every time they pushed against the door wound my nerves tighter and tighter. I expected each blow to be the last before the hinges of the door gave in.

The door smashed open, splinters the size of daggers spewing forth with the wave of orcs that charged through the opened doorway.

I had seen rendering of orcs from the journals in the libraries of Erebor. The drawings did not do them justice, they were the very ugliest and most misshapen creatures I had ever laid eyes on. There skin was eerie shades of mottled browns and blues., more the color of a decomposing swamp than of flesh. There armor and weapons were as crude as Mother and Father had described, but just as menacing too.

And they were running straight to us.

Aragorn had a bow of his own and fired freely, felling enemies before they reached him. Legolas followed his actions. I felt as though the sword was a rather poor weapon, seeing as my challenger would have to be directly before me in order for me to strike or block his attack. I did not want to be in close proximity to any of them, and just having them approach the crypt where Balin lay had been too near for my own taste.

Just as everyone was rushing forward to engage the orcs and defend themselves, I was taking a step back. An orc with half a nose drew back his sword for the kill in front of me.

Death. It became the most frightening and real thing to me suddenly.

Survival. It became the only thing I wanted.

Fight.

I swung my blade, trying to put myself out of my head and into my body, the way Fali did as she fought. My blade connected with the tip of the orc's sword, which was curved to a wicked point. I flung both of the blades to the side, keeping a firm hold on mine. The sword was torn from his hands.I swung again, almost blindly. I felt the soft resistance of exposed flesh, and a stream of black ooze spilled over the creatures armor. It made a sound of pain and fell to it's knees, and I made my escape.

It did not end there, like the spars I had before did. There a dozen others waiting to take his place, and they were certainly not waiting for those in front of them to finish their attempt first.

"There's too many!" I called to Fali.

"Keep hold of your sword!" She called back. Her mind was elsewhere, focused on the danger in front of her. The first orc I had faced pulled a knife from its belt and tried to slice into her leg. Fali yelped and without hesitation plunged her sword into the orc's neck. "Make sure you kill them!" She added, hurrying to retain her defense.

Boromir had kept watch over Fail and seeing her brief attack on the orc that was bleeding out on the floor, which had left her side vunerable he charged over to her, and with a single blow beheaded on helmet-clad orc.

I paid the price for my distraction with my sister, as one orc struck his blade against mine , and threatened to slit my throat. I was pushed backward, stumbling in my footwork briefly as I had to step over a fallen body, until I was cornered against the wall.

I shoved back, but the orc did not go far, shoving right back against me. There was the sound of a rockslide as the doorway burst open again, and huge, bulky creature burst in, it's wrists in chains. A troll, and one easily capable of crushing us. How Aragorn went on fighting even after a brief look at the new danger I did not know.

The orc that had me against the wall was briefly distracted. That was the only advantage I had in fighting them, they were not very bright. I shoved again, and this time he tripped over the dead body of his companion on the floor, and I went for the throat as Fali had. Blood spurted horrifically, and my stomach jumped at the splattering of the black liquid.

There was a groan of pain, far more deep than the orcs, from the troll. He had suffered a few arrow wounds along various joints in his enormous body, some from Legolas's bow, some from Aragorn's.

Sam stood frozen before the troll, looking even smaller than a hobbit would normally.

The troll raised it's fist ready to 'squash us into jelly', if the story that my parents and Bilbo told was any indication. I cringed and stepped back toward the wall again. Fali dove across the middle of the room, with Frodo one arm, and practically tackled Sam, crashing into him, and pulling him along to the side of the room.

Her head whipped around, and then she saw me and made a motion that plainly read 'follow me, and right now, Gideon'. Blindly I followed to their sheltered corner, scampering awkwardly through the middle of the room, nearly bumping into Balin's tomb, and coming too close to the troll. It's high held fist made to descend upon the ground, and my pace faltered as my heart stopped. But the fist did not come down any farther. Aragorn and Boromir were pulling on the chains to which the beast was bound, and it had fallen back enough for me to make my escape. Fali pushed me in front of her and up a narrow staircase to a thin mezzanine along the chamber walls, where statues must have once been placed.

I heard something crash into a recess of the far wall, and realized it had been Boromir, flung away by the angry troll. Before she had a chance to show Sam the staircase she was off to the side of him, slashing through the side of the orc. Boromir was dazed by his flight into the wall, but managed to stand again.

The noise went of it all went on as I stood numbly against the upper wall. Metal grinding against metal, the slick sound of cut flesh, the swish of the arrows through the air, the pound of the troll's steps on the floor. Something touched my shoulder, and I nearly jumped from the edge. My gaze shot to my side, and it was only Merry and Pippin, pushing Frodo past me and into a sheltered corner.

A chain whipped past me and tangled itself round a pillar. I had to blink when Legolas walked across it as though it was sturdy as a bridge and proceeded to fire arrows into the more tender flesh of the troll. The troll swayed and swatted, but he remained balanced, stepped across the shoulders with skill and a certain elegance that reminded me of my Aunt Tauriel. When the swatting hands became too much and all possible damaged had been inflected he jumped back to the floor as though the distance was nothing.

A thunder of crushed stone alerted my attention back to the floor. The troll (features a new axe wound in his shoulder) had struck his mace into the tomb of Balin, and the stone had broken. I grimaced at the disrespect.

The sound of swords and arrows, battle cries and snarls, and…a skillet? I peered below me again and saw Sam of all people belting at orcs with a frying pan, with a surprising degree of success.

The troll roared and Merry, Pippin and I jumped as his mace struck the wall, smashing in part of the mezzamine. I was not struck by the weapon, but fell through the gap as the whole wall quaked from the blow, landing roughly upon the crumbled stones, and losing hold of my blade.

It skidded away from me, clattering to a halt farther into the room. I felt as dazed as Boromir had, blinking back the fuzziness that filled my head. There was a low snarl, and my insides curled.

A man with no sword was a dead man.

I shook my head and saw a rather tall, greenish orc standing over me. His sword was pointing to my chest. I scrambled backward helplessly. He drew his sword back and my eyes scrunched shut.

The orc snarled again, and then there was a great yell, and the clash of two swords meeting in combat, and my eyes allowed themselves to snap back open. Aragorn stood before me, his blade locked with the orc. The two broke apart and tried to kill each other again, but their swords clashed again. Aragorn pushed him to the center of the room and I was free to get to my feet.

My blade lay abandoned on the floor, perilously close to Aragorn and the orc trying to slaughter us both. I was defenseless for those few vulnerable seconds before Aragorn swung true, and fatally stabbed the orc, which fell back with limbs splaying everyway. The ranger picked my sword up by the tip of his boot, flicking it up to his free hand, and then casting it to me. I was able to catch it in return.

As I finished off an orc that had been hit in the thigh with an arrow, there was something between a loud gasp and a groan of pain, echoed by a scream from Fali.

"Frodo!" I said at the same time as Sam did, and turned to find the hobbit backed into a corner, and Aragorn skidding across the floor like my blade had before.

Frodo, our bearer of the Ring, had been stuck through by the troll. It felt as though some part inside me had been cut away by a hammer and chisel. One of the company was dying, really and truly dying now.

Fali rushed to his side upon his cry. I hurried to the safety of the walls, inching toward the narrow staircase. Merry and Pippin had leapt brilliantly onto it's shoulders, burying knives to their hilts into the flesh. No doubt painful, but not fatal for a creature that size. Merry was flung to the ground, but Pippin managed to hold on and stab again, this time in the head of the troll.

Legolas stepped forward, seeing an opportunity. His arrows littered the hide of the troll right now and he notched another, taking aim for the open mouth of the beast. His aim did not fail, and the arrow lodged itself through the pallet, striking into the brain. The troll wavered, dangerously, swayed so hard that Pippin was shaken, and finally collapsed, dead. The fall of it was so heavy that Pippin practically somersaulted off the creature.

At last a hush fell over the room, our enemies dead. It was broken by a tiny sob from Fali. "Frodo…?"

We all rushed over, but the hobbit was breathing, and quite rapidly for someone who should have a decent sized hole in his center. I thought it might have been panic in his final moments, but his shirt bore no blood stains. "He's alive!" Sam exclaimed. Amazingly, he was.

"How?" Fali demanded, still pressing her hands to Frodo's stomach as if to keep imaginary blood inside.

"I'm all right, I'm not hurt." Frodo assured her, taking her hands away.

"You should be dead!" Aragorn was in awe. "That spear could have killed a wild boar."

"I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye." Gandalf spoke.

Frodo unbuttoned some of his shirt and revealed a glimmering chainmail underneath. "Mithril…" Gimli breathed, surprised to see so much of it. "You are full of surprises Master Baggins."

"Bilbo gave that to you, didn't he?" Fali asked.

"Yes." Frodo nodded.

She was smiling and glaring at the same time as she snapped "I could strangle you right now for not telling me!"

"Easy lass, he just lived through a troll." Gimli pulled her and Frodo up.

Drums and snarls rose in the distance again. Gandalf called for us to follow him to a bridge, the only safe passage out of Moria now. We ran, cloaks flying behind us. The hall about us changed instantly. It filled with the enemy to the hundreds, some racing down halls, some creeping along the pillars like a hoard of spiders, coming out of every crack in the ceiling and floor.

Being so outnumbered it was not long until we were surround by them. I held my sword out in front of me, and eyed the orc opposite me. This one had rather pointy teeth, as though each one had been sharpened that way.

There was the sound of something heavy approaching in the distance, something big. My mind considered it to be another troll and I cringed inside.

Then, surprisingly, the orcs cringed. More than cringed, they appeared to cower at the noise, and flew off, crawling back into the cracks from where they had come.

"What was that?" Fali asked me.

I began to inch backward. "I don't know, but if it scares them, it scares me."

The light of a fire was seen far off in the hall, rising and falling back to shadow. "A dragon?" Fali asked. Perhaps this was more like Erebor than we had thought.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir asked the wizard.

"A Balrog…a demon of the ancient world." Gandalf responded, grimness in his tone. "This foe is beyond any of you. Run!" He demanded.

We flew. The stone became rougher, less polished and more natural and I knew an exit was close at hand. Boromir suddenly stumbled, our path ending in a ledge, which he wavered on until Legolas pulled him back.

"Lead them on Aragorn, the bridge is near." Gandalf ordered.

The Balrog roared, and Aragorn took on the duty of guiding us. Fali and I glanced to Gandalf with confusion in our eyes, but he waved us on ahead, following. "Swords are of no more use here."

The stairs under our feet were steep, and like any proper mountain staircase there was nothing holding you back from slipping over the edge and into the darkness below. Fali and I ran along either side of the stairs, closer to edge to keep the inexperienced hobbits from falling over.

It all came to a halt when we reached another ledge, this time where a staircase had broken, leaving a menacing gap in our way. Fali and I stared at the leap. Legolas leapt across, having little trouble. Gandalf followed, a little less flawless in his jump, but making it safely across. It then occurred to me that Fali and I, being at the front, were next. "Come on Gideon." She took hold of my sleeve, and climbed up a few more steps. "We'll take it at a run."

Forcing myself to imagine it was only a gap between one riverbank and the other was futile, if Fali had not had me by the sleeve, I would have had to be thrown across the gap. We leapt and landing, a bit shaken on the other side, as arrows began to hit the stone steps. Were there no end of enemies here?

Boromir grabbed Merry and Pippin under his arms and leapt. Gimli refused gruffly to be tossed across, and very nearly made it himself. Legolas had to reach out for him, and caught him by the beard, a rather unpleasant experience. Sam was thrown, and Frodo and Aragorn were about to jump when the worst happened. The stairs crumbled, the gap widening as our friends were forced back. They stood with wide eyes as the whole foundation cracked, and swayed to and fro alarmingly. With bated breath we watched and waited as they leaned about, trying to control the movements. The structure fell forward, and there was a crash that shook the whole stairs and the two fragments collided.

Aragorn and Frodo ran onto the secure segment as the broken half fell away, shattering into a million pieces. The bridge was before us now, and we hurried, as a heat rose in the air, and fire lit the walls, and the foundations shook again. For once I was ahead of Fali, fueled by the distant softer light, the way out, the end to this nightmare.

"Over the bridge! Fly!" Gandalf shouted. He stood in the center and faced the growing flames.

Once across I dared to look back.

The walls broke, and I looked up the face of all horrors. Black as soot, and filled with fire, nothing but a giant body, wings and horns. It was only fire and death, materialized into a a demon.

"You cannot pass!" And I was frawn back to the image of the wizard, standing there in grey, looking so small before the demon.

"Gandalf!" Frodo called for his friend.

I had only ever seen the wizard produce light from his staff and the creation of his fireworks. "I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor…" This was no torch bearer now. "The dark fire will not avail you!" This was no common peddler now. "Flame of Udûn!" The Balrog tried to strike him but Gandalf's power deflected the blow and shattered it's sword. "Go back to the Shadow!"

This was a brave man, powerful beyond words, older than I knew and with more courage than all the kingdoms.

The Balrog produced a whip made of flame, which snapped in the air, the very sound of bones breaking.

"You shall not pass!" Gandalf bellowed, and slammed his staff into the bridge. The stone cracked, and we watched as the demon wavered and flailed like the flickering of a flame itself, and fell.

Gandalf held himself up upon his staff, exhausted. He faced us, and there was a relief among us.

He took one step toward safety…

There was the snap of crushed bone again, and the flicker of a line of fire, as he was pulled back to the edge, and dragged over it, cling on to the stone, the only piece of him to be seen his face.

I did not even have air in my lungs to gasp. Fali shuddered like she had been shot through.

"Gandalf!"

"No!"

He looked away from the drop to us. "Fly, you fools." It sounded like a whisper to us, the words not shouted over the distance.

Then he was gone.

Next time: elves!